Got Brain Bleach?

Honesty

2011-06-02T00:04:00.000-04:00

So, I apparently blog unlike most bloggers.... not that anyone is going to read this, or care. It's a journal, an open book, the place I vomit my thoughts (and sometimes wind up deleting them the next morning if I've had too much bourbon to navigate good taste... wait, I apparently don't know what that is when I am stone cold sober).
I'ma bitch now, kk?

I won't know until tomorrow, just how soon I can get in to see a therapist- I say "A" therapist, because I'm frankly undecided that this is going to be helpful, or successful... but not for me and kind of worried that whatever I say will be taken out of context and used against me. At least here, I can say what I wish and there is a small footprint to be referenced when it's used against me. *sigh*... Either way, I'm in a bad spot and trying not to say anything that I'll deeply regret, even if it is completely true.

In personal relationships, I am not known for diplomacy, or even tact. I assume that being intimate with me, you're fully aware and okay with the fact that I simply speak the truth, as I see it. I throw that card down on the table to be played off of. Pussyfooting around the truth doesn't make it any lesser an evil. However, in completely superficial social situations, I'm good with playing the diplomatic role, even that of peace keeper- because I... Just. Don't. Care. The long term outcome means nothing, so my personal integrity isn't as much a consideration. Fucking personal integrity.

I'm a fan of people being completely, one hundred perfuckingcent honest with me, one hundred fuckingpercent of the time. I take being secretive as having something worth hiding, which I will *never* be ok with. I just won't. Period.
If I can't trust you not to need (or want) to hide the truth from me, well... I just can't trust you. Especially if you've left evidence in the past of your bad behavior- or your intent to behave badly... Which, by the fucking way, I have the decency to announce BEFORE hand. Yeah, if I'm going to do something earth shaking, I'll let you know first, so you have the time to fucking come to terms with it.

In so many ways, I'm old fashioned as a mother hubbard. I expect, even *demand* decency from those who I am closest to. Being fucked over isn't my favorite past time, but it's one I've learned from... If you cant claim me openly, happily, proudly, well... You don't deserve me, or all that I do for you. If you're going to behave like you're ashamed of me, I might as well behave accordingly, no?
It's like accusing someone each and every day of cheating, being a cunt about it, eventually he'll do it because he has no reason not to. You already believe he has, what would it change?

Unlike those who use their intellect as a superior throne, I claim nothing other than being a plain spoken, self educated, left leaning, free thinking highschool drop out who makes incredible grammatical errors, but at least knows how to fucking read and spell (OK, so grammar isn't as bad as it could be. Notice there is no comma between and, and spell(: ).
Take it or leave it, I am what I am. If you're ashamed of my unpolished form, I'm ashamed of your superiority complex. When it comes down to raw humanity, I can successfully navigate around the piranha. Can you claim the same? Fuck an an, I've made my mistakes, but I OWN them. Integrity? Anyone?

Why does being honest always have to hurt?

Prowler

2011-05-30T17:44:00.000-04:00

So, I made the mistake of telling my ex that we would be away for the weekend camping... Yeah, I'm a fucking dumbass.

While I was picking up the kids toys in the back yard (yeah, the ones they were told to pick up), I notice that the row of corn planted next to the garage has been trampled- directly in front of the window. To anyone else that wouldn't look lie anything important, but I now better. The kids hadn't been in the back yard since before we left. My lovely stated that he had been incredibly conscious not to step on it... It couldn't have been done by the 9 lb dog.
Upon further inspection, I find the grate which is in front of our crawl access ajar. I consciously closed it all the way before we left, because I didn't want critters in there.
At that point I felt incredibly uneasy, so I walked around the property checking doors and windows, only to discover that the back entrance to the garage had been tampered with.

Coincidence that he knew we were supposed to be out of town, and I stumble across evidence of attempted intrusion? I doubt it.

Just when I was finally beginning to feel safe here.

Hallmark Holidays

2011-05-06T13:16:00.001-04:00

This is the time of year I feel completely unappreciated. It is entirely selfish of me I know, to want or dog forbid, hope for a little pat on the back for everything I do.

Mother's Day absolutely is a Hallmark Holiday. It would take a complete fool (or idiot) to deny that, but it is not only a justifiable Hallmark Holiday, it is one that Dog damn it! We deserve.

For 40 weeks, we puke, stretch, gain weight, have headaches, are constantly tired, grow into planet sized belly status, are an insecure, worried, miserable, emotional wreck as we obsess over what is best, what is harmful, what we should do.
We cope with heartburn, which just breathing seems to cause. Incontinence- fuck, sneezing, coughing, laughing, doing nothing will cause us to piss ourselves. The roids... yeah, those fun, swollen, itchy, painful ass bumps that only get worse when you actually shit out the little "miracle". An inability to sleep in any comfortable position, and then being told if we sleep any way other than on our left side, we'll kill our babies. Yeah, that's helpful!... The constant back pain, stretching ligaments, muscle cramps, constipation, fuzzy vision, foggy brain, sciatic nerve pain, swollen ankles, feet, hands, everything. Sore, saggy, leaky, swollen, milky, stretch marked boobies. The smells... Yeah, everything smells approximately a million times stronger- I can tell if that baby in the basket over in isle 5 needs a change, all they way from isle 23. The constant nausea, you know, like you ate 3 foot long corn dogs and then rode the Ninja half a dozen times in a row.
I could keep going on about how miserable being pregnant is... But it won't mean anything to anyone who hasn't been pregnant.
Then comes the really fun part! Labor. In may case, never less than 36 hours worth of it... Then... Actually forcing another living human being the size of a large melon, out of a hole the size of a ping pong ball. Then... the best part of all!! Recovery!
You get to spend weeks with a crying, shitting, spitting, sucking bundle of joy that needs you 24/7, while your crotch which feels like a pound of ground round tries to heal. Every time you piss it feels like someone's dropped a fucking napalm bomb on your twat. Every time you shit, feels like giving birth alllll over again- and remember those roids? Yeah, they're not ass bumps anymore, they look like a fucking bunch of grapes. Your tits are as hard as fucking rocks, leaking on everything and hurt enough to bring tears to my eyes just remembering it. Oh, and the cramps, you know, as your uterus tries to shrink from watermelon back down to pear size. Then there is the period that never ends- kinda like the song that never ends, except that there isn't a cute little lamb singing, and you're passing blood clots the size of a gerbil every few minutes, and can't use tampons... so, should your pad leak- yeah, there goes the only pair of pants that fit in the wake of all of this destruction.

In the months to come, you're nothing but a walking milk dispensary. Your sole purpose is to shove a boob in the crying little miracle's mouth, and wipe it's ass. Which would be fine, if you could lose weight while doing it, but unfortunately dieting and nursing are not compatible if you desire to keep an adequate milk supply.
Then, they hit that stage where they start moving around. Crawling, walking, getting into absolutely everything that hasn't been nailed, glued, or otherwise sealed completely shut.
After that, the terrible two's- the only word they know at this point, is "No". Which they use for everything.
Later, kindergarten... learning to be social and navigating all of the pitfalls that come with... Then, then comes the really fun age, when they think they know EVERYTHING there is to know about anything- then the teen years, which thank Dog I haven't had to cope with yet, but anyone who has deserves a fucking medal simply for not killing the little bastards, or committing suicide.

Moms are the snot that sticks the tissue to the lining of the jacket pocket. There isn't anything we don't sacrifice to take care of our families- and not just our children.
We lose sleep, skip meals, are denied all privacy (I have yet, in 10 years to piss by myself), we keep everyone else going even when we're sick, when we walk into a store and look at sales, we're looking at teenie sneekers, pants, shirts, next year's school clothes... not a sexy little black dress. We skip showers when the clock is running fast, and forget about having our hair or nails done, we learn to be happy when we have time to brush our teeth- things that everyone else takes as granted, because we make sure that they have the time they need to do them.
We give up friendships, hobbies, alone time, careers... We give up our bodies and our lives. They're no longer ours, they belong to our children. We give up control, which is the hardest part... letting go of what you want, to do what everyone else needs.

So... It may be just a Hallmark Holiday to you, but to me, it is the one day each year that at least some of those life altering sacrifices are acknowledged. In fact, it is sad that it took corporate America to realize this, and capitalize off of it.
We deserve a thank you, ALL of us- regardless of how shitty your mom might have been, you wouldn't be here without her.

If you're not a mother, you'll never understand just how much we give up- or how much it hurts that it is simply taken as granted that we do so without thanks. That it is simply expected of us. As rewarding as motherhood can be, it truly is thankless... Having one day a year that we're acknowledged should be a granted. But, I guess it isn't.

A little insignificant thing called "Corporate Identity"

2011-05-02T23:53:00.000-04:00

I've had just enough bourbon to realize that A) I could really benefit from a therapist *right now*, and that I am going to make mad pytos. B) I've had just enough bourbon that I don't give a shit about either.

Since I don't have my DL yet, therapy is out. Since I don't have access to a car I can drive during the day so I *can* get my DL, therapy is out. Fun, eh?
That leaves me full of bourbon, pissed at my ex, the judicial system, my lovely, his fucked up mother and the rest of the world that has beef with me because I have not been successfully brainwashed into needing a deity to dictate what does, or does not happen to me, with me, my children, or my life.

The ex, I can't do shit about. I am Northern stock, raised in the dirty south, bred with and married a good 'ol boy (now, if you can take into account that down here, rape does not legally occur within a marital bed, you'll understand much clearly)... I made my bed, now to lie in it. Fuck me running. One of these days he's going to kill me, I'll be another unidentifiable body if ever I'm found. Thank the US Navy for that... the fucker had already graduated BUDS when we met, though the story surrounding his "Other than honorable" discharge is one for another day... lets just say, if I had the balls to talk about the shit I've seen him do, he'd be done.
The SC judicial system is something which I shouldn't need to explain. It is broken, utterly fucked. Run by "Good 'Ol Boys". If you have a clit rather than a cock, you best just shut the fuck up and bend over.
The never-going-to-be-inlaw... She's a piece of work. So incredibly ashamed of the fact that her son, her baby, the one she wishes so badly to control is involved with me, that she LIED to her bestie about having visited. Having been in our home. Having seen us together. Having knowledge of our relationship. Man, how fucked up is that? Seriously?
She's a fundie. So is my mum. We were raised in the same 'first generation crazy' household... On the same street. In the same church. We saw the same reality, though it took him longer... It took the pain of naivety. It took being taken advantage of. Which I had nothing to do with... but the simple fact of my presence is enough for her to place blame.
I must laugh at the fact that, though I am far removed emotionally, mentally, demographically, politically, I am still attached to the grape vive. Whatever is said, eventually trickles down. Especially when you say it to one of the biggest gossips in the south eastern US. :) Yeah, that bit about not knowing (after you'd already visited) that we were living together, resulted in an *immediate* phone call to my mother. To "warn" of what her daughter was up to. LMMFAO!!!

The thing that bothers me, is that more than 2 1/2 years later, because of all of this, regardless of what life is like at home. Regardless of what we really are, he is afraid to admit we are anything. He won't let us be seen as a "Corporate Identity" ie, a couple.
Thank you JW. Thank you for fucking up one of the most incredible men I have ever known. Just because you were an obese, schizophrenic, homeless, jobless midget who saw easy prey. Then tore him to shreds when you realized he was better than you. You can take the trash out of the trailer park, you can't take the trailer trailer park out of the trash. Glad you feel all cozy and at home now, back in you element.
Thank you LB for causing my life to be a living hell by spreading rumors. By speaking out against me in our community (which resulted in abuse you can only imagine). By accusing me of somehow leading your children astray... if only you knew of all the things I talked then OUT of doing. If only you knew the things they really did- because you were so barbaric in your religious control.

It really doesn't matter that I'm not openly an important person. That I'm hidden behind the curtain, I wash his clothes, cook his meals, support him in any way I can, without a second thought.
It really doesn't matter that I can't be a prize, or that I'm even something to be hidden from others... I keep things moving smoothly, on an even keel. I know how important I am to him, even if he is afraid to say it to you.
It doesn't matter that it hurts, that you will always see me as a lesser human being- I've PROVEN to be more than you ever could have been. I am stronger. I have stood in the face of adversity and said Fuck You. I have been through the fire. I've stood up for, beside, and behind in support of him through the hell which was opened up in her wake... in wake of the woman you opened you life up to without question, because she "appeared" to you as someone she was not. I am what I am. I am honest. I hold steadfast to my integrity- no one can take that from me. Honesty is threatening.
Much as it'd be wonderful to be accepted. To be open. To be proud... the reasons that can't happen are obvious.
You don't have to like the reality, but understand that what the outside sees, or is allowed to see and what actually is, are two different things :)
Love is a verb. Love is a verb.

Bin Laden Mania

2011-05-02T21:13:00.000-04:00

Kill a terrorist and every fundie comes out of the woodwork to say "Thank you lord!". Seriously. I don't know how much more I can take.

Mahatma Gandhi said "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind." More accurate words I can not find to describe what is happening.

Why is is so complicated to comprehend? Every action has an equal reaction. By killing him, you're simply asking "Please, please fucking attack me. We're bored and need a reason to make the general population fearful, because they're easier to control that way."
I'm not suggesting that we turn our cheek, only an idiot does that. But it takes a FOOL to provoke a snake into striking.

On this day, I can say without malice that I am ashamed to be an American. I am ashamed of my fellow Americans. Of their behavior. Particularly those who claim that Jesus was the Christ.
On this day, I am proud to be an Atheist. I am proud to be able to see things for what they are. I am proud that I have not lost the ability to look at the world around me in a practical, rational, analytical manner.

As for OBL... Well, I really have nothing to say. Nothing that anyone wants to hear.

Goddamnit

2011-05-02T20:43:00.000-04:00

Two things have pissed me off today. Here is the first. My ex husband. Not an unusual thing to be pissed st, or about. But, get this... He just got out of jail time for the $6,000+ that he owes in child support payments.

You know you live in the dirty south when, your criminally abusive ex can walk into court, throw a sob story at the judge and have it come down to simply being a "Good 'Ol Boy". Yeah, I know. My fault for marrying him- I knew it was a mistake at the time. What I didn't know, when I was 17, when I met the sorry sack of shit was that he would be like fucking cancer.
So, he goes in there, says "I broke my knee, lost my job and when I have the money I pay." Judge is perfectly OK with that... NEVERMIND that he works under the table so he doesn't have to pay taxes because he can't claim the kids and get his $2,000 when he only made $17,000 that year.

Right now, I could spit fire. It isn't about the fucking money, I'll never see any of it. It is simply that EVERY time he winds up in trouble, he slimes his way out of it... AND.... AND.... AND.... The goddammed judge TOLD HIM that I filed the complaint against him!!!
The judge in question, was the one who handled our divorce. THAT is another issue which will always piss me off. So, the sorry fucking sack of cheese curd vag puss tells him that *I* am the one responsible for his presence in court... He tells that to the psychotic piece of shit that tried to kill me for not cooking his eggs correctly!!! The same sack of shit that tole me I deserved what I got, because I slept with another man before we were divorced... Yep. That sack of shit who refuse a protective order, despite the evidence that my life was and IS in danger.

Why I ever thought that the system would actually fucking help, I will never know. Maybe I am as delusional as those who attend church every sunday.

The Drama Llama Needs To Mosey On

2011-04-18T13:13:00.000-04:00

I've had enough drama to last several lifetimes. So much, in fact, that I can say without malice, that if you are a Drama Llama you can just mosey right on out of my life.
For years, and years, I put up with it from all sides. I mediated, listened, was a shoulder to cry on, a sounding board. I should have nipped it in the bud then, alas, I did not and am now saddled with the reputation of being a "safe" person to talk to. Which is true, whatever you speak in confidence stays with me and me alone... But, do you really expect me to fucking care? Especially when it is something you, with foresight, decided to do- even when you knew it was either none of your fucking business, or a really stupid idea to begin with.

You know, if I want drama I'll go pay $9.50 for a comfy stadium seat. I'll sit back with my bladder buster & popcorn, enjoy the show and walk away. THAT dearie, is what drama is for. It shouldn't ever become a normal, daily routine for anyone. But, it is for you, and you, and you, and you, and you. I don't know if you prefer it that way, or if the cycle has you trapped.
My ex provided me with an endless stream of unwanted drama which I will forever be linked to... It'll never go away until he is either abducted by aliens, or makes some typically stupid decision which results in his death. That said, I have enough exterior pressure form it to make me implode, without your added bullshit.
Sorry, but it isn't your business who got who knocked up. It isn't your business who someone decides to sleep with (or what gender they are!!!!!). It isn't your business who someone decides to befriend, how many animals they have, how they vote, what the eat, believe, or how they dress. It isn't any business of yours if they don't make the same life decisions you do- and it certainly isn't your place to stick your big ass right in the middle of it... FURTHERMORE, your hatred and intolerance disgust me. But, you'd never know that for all of the patience and reserve I exercise while dealing with you.
If you could leave well enough alone, you wouldn't have drama- neither would I. Unfortunately, I gave you the benefit of the doubt... My bad. You're simply a Drama Llama, you always have been. You thrive off of the negative energy it creates.

This is me, being finished with the fucking bullshit. Yes, bullshit apparently fucks.
This is me arriving at the reality that I can't be good for you, because you aren't good for me.
This is me taking a step back, reevaluating the situation and saying "Oh, fuck no!" which I should have done years ago.
This is me letting go of the broken people who refuse to rebuild... I've been broken too, but unlike you, I want more out of life. I've rebuilt, I have a foundation to stand on- where's yours?

So long, fare thee well...

Ouch

2011-04-17T17:53:00.000-04:00

I'm hurt. I believe any 'normal' person would be, and some have even gone as far as to say 'red flag! that is abusive behavior!'... but they don't see the life I live, or understand how magically good it is, in spite of everything evil that has happened to prevent it.
If there were someone for me to safely talk to right now, I would. There isn't, and I can't sit in my own thought stew and fester. Doing precisely that is what has lead to my current emotional state. Then that last straw drifted down from the sky and it's weight broke my back.

Looking at all of these "Happy Couples", their smiling faces, cute kids, outwardly beautiful life makes me feel sick. For years, I looked like the happy little housewife when I was anything but- appearances really mean nothing. If I could just get someone to understand that.
It is the little things that matter. The seemingly unimportant, mundane details of life which, when put together over time have a cumulative effect which forms a picture of reality. Not a facade, not the "Happy Couple". An actual mural of reality, expertly painted by all of those mundane details, remarks and events... Anyone can photoshop a happy picture, only reality can paint a mural on the walls of our minds and hearts.
As much as I would like people to see us as the happy couple, not even a single picture of us together exists- Not one in 2 1/2 years (that I am aware of). Worse, is the fact that publicly I'm single. Publicly I can not distribute any information about the reality which exists within these walls, in our day to day life. I'm not permitted to present myself as a happily spoken for, content woman who is not on the market... He will not allow a "corporate identity" to be presented to anyone, for any reason.
Meanwhile, I see the picture of what he still holds in such high esteem... the picture of the happy family, of what he feels he had- Even though it has been admitted otherwise- the perfect happy picture which he so very proudly distributed in as many places as he could. Yet he claims to "enjoy my company", he claims to "like having me here", which I can only assume is some warped, twisted, mangled way of saying he cares, or is interested, or in some way attached- because he will not say those things. Nor will he allow me to say them to him... that maybe hurts the most. Anything I say is perceived as shallow, misguided, a lie. That the words I speak are just words, they mean nothing... which couldn't ever be farther from the truth. Perhaps I am an anomaly in the world of women, I say the things I actually mean and I mean the things I say.
When I use the word love, it is not tossed around lightly. It is never spoken in jest, it is spoken with reverence for all that it was designed to encompass.

The years I spent trying to build the facade of a happy family, taught me just how fucking dysfunctional we all are. That even though a picture may say a thousand words, they are often a work of fiction.
Trying to present a photoshopped picture to the world *is* something to be ashamed of. To try and create happiness where there is none is a lie, and I am ashamed, I was ashamed when I did just that. I know better now, and I knew better then. False representation of any situation has no good final outcome.
On the same token, falsely representing something good, wholesome, beautiful even, by not representing it at all is even worse. Hiding a reality which can only be clearly seen over time, through the seemingly unimportant and mundane details, as the entire mural comes into view *is* something to be ashamed of.
Our life circumstances are most definitely not ideal, but then, who's are? The "happy couple" with the corporate identity who are always putting on a face for the world?
Most people would be ashamed, I guess. I'm not kidding myself there, I know what this looks like compared to what it is (which I'm not even sure of, since it hasn't been defined as anything). There is this saying though, that I have heard all too often as of late and found frighteningly true- "You make your own reality"... and we have, and it has been one of the hardest things I could have chosen to do at this point (even further complicated by his ex wife, who with malice attempted to wipe him clean from the slate of society), but we succeeded. We have something to be proud of. Something that most people will honestly never know they are missing out on. That *is* something to be proud of. That *is* something worth sharing even if it doesn't fit the societal norm, I've never fit any mold why start now?

I refuse to continue to be ashamed of my mistakes. I made them, I own them. I learned from them. They do not define me, but they presented an opportunity for personal growth, and through them I have become who I am today. Without them, I wouldn't be equipped to appreciate life as I do now.
I thought that was understood. I ASSumed that I was not something to be ashamed of because of it. I was lead to believe that I was of value.

Is it so much to want honesty? Active exclusions of reality is, in effect, a lie.

A promise

2011-04-08T17:09:00.001-04:00

When we met again, I promised I'd never hurt you intentionally... but I've hurt you through the act of reaction, being rash before reason, I'm damaged goods baby- you cared for me gently.
When we met again, I knew I couldn't let you go. We both needed safety, and freedom to simply be. It was was it was, and we are what we are- Which is beautiful, if not a little heart breaking for all it took to make this seem ok. We're still wary of the outside world, of what we are helpless to control, of the people in new strange places will say, think, or more importantly- do. We've got ground to cover, and uncover.
When we met again, we were lost inside of our selves and wouldn't let anyone in. We were cold, hardened, afraid... and somehow made the fear slowly dissipate. We stood behind, beside, and in front of one another when missiles were hurled at us with then intent of destroying everything we knew to be good, or true.
When we met again, something that had felt broken for so many years slid back into place and began to mend. It was the beginning of the end, and the end of the beginning. Now we're in the thick of it, we waded through shit, we fought for what was right, we were wounded but somehow survived- and those broken pieces are still finding the time to mend.
When we met again, I told you how I had always loved you. I promised to always be honest with you, if not completely forward at least finding a small bit of tact- I'm prickly baby, but you know how to handle those thorns. I promised not to hold back the truths which should have been spoken so long ago.

When we met again, I promised to be good to you. To never intentionally cause you harm. To be honest with you (sometimes to a fault). To accept your quirks, and love you all the more for them. I promised not to fault you for being you. I promised to be good with you.

I'm imperfect, I've hurt you. I'm human. I love you as the treasure you are- for all of your imperfections, not in spite of them.

Gettin' My Bitch On

2011-04-07T16:26:00.000-04:00

   I'm not your mediator, your therapist, your personal advisor or your life coach. I'm not here to be your personal dumping grounds. I don't give a flying furry rats ass what happened, who did it, or why. You played a part in it too, own the fault you should be rightly in possession of.
I'm one of the most fucked up individuals you have the pleasure of knowing, even if you don't know it. Just so happens, that I'm also one of the most patient people you're ever going to cross paths with. I'll always lend an ear, but in exchange, you get my opinion. My take on the situation... Most of the time I refrain from telling you how badly your perception of reality has been warped by the pain you've survived. I get it, you're always going to project your unhappiness- the result is, that you're always going to make *everyone* around you unhappy.

Say it one more time for me baby, I don't think I heard it hon... Okay, so this time it was her fault too... I see, you didn't say *anything* about her, her life choices, her sexual orientation, her parenting style- which, by the way, I don't agree with, but she doesn't agree with mine either. Live and let live.... No, it's not 'wrong' or 'fucked up'.... So, because you pay rent somewhere, and the other person has a few beers after work, they're stealing from you?.... Oh. Got it. You did *everything*, and you got fucked... Yeah, you know what? Really? You want to know something?.... When you walk around spewing hate, talking shit about someone, making their business your business, you can expect a backlash.... I don't give a fuck what you feel is "wrong"! People are born Gay, straight, bi, black, white, green, blue, orange, brown, yellow, or polka dotted. We are what we are, and there isn't anything that can be done to change it- you can accept that or move on.... But doesn't your very own religion preach love for your fellow man?.... Oh, I see that only applies when they believe the *same exact thing you do*.... But you're not going to burn in hell for ruining someone's reputation. For intentionally undermining their authority as head of household- and telling their children that they're a sick, bad person?... K, well... You can take it and fucking SHOVE YOUR HATE BOOK UP YOUR ASS...

^^^^^^^
THIS is what I *wish* our conversations sounded like. What I wish I could just come out and fucking say. Nope. Not me. Not the "Good friend". Not the person who always has the tolerance to sit through a couple hours of hate spewing, trailer park politics, scripture misquoting, rage driven conversation. Even when I *WHOLEHEARTEDLY* disagree with absolutely every thing that comes out of your teenie-itty-bitty-uneducated-miserable mind, via your southern, white-trash-speaking mouth. Yep. Always have the time, the patience, and the respect.
NOT NO MORE. Not me. Nope. I do not possess the mental or emotional bandwidth to fucking accommodate your bullshit. In fact, I believe I'm going to pass on this year's bullshit-o-meter calibration. It's functioning just fucking fine and dandy, in fact, it is finally working properly... no need to fix something that isn't broken.

If I *dared* to call any of you up, simply for the purpose of dumping emotional baggage you'd blow me off in a moment. You'd say you have your own shit to deal with, when I know damned well your "shit" is not having enough $$ for some stupid shit you don't actually need. Or having to be a responsible adult, and own up to your share of fault... Yeah, heavy shit man. *sarcasm*

Well bitch... Here's the condensed version.
While you were bitching about how someone "stole" from you, because they forgot to pay the rent on time and there was an extra fee- I was wondering if my child, who had been abducted was even still alive. But I sat and let you have your say.
While you were distraught, because your boyfriend of two weeks bought someone else a drink- I was living in sheer terror while my ex threatened my life, and moved himself out in the woods behind my home so he could "keep a watch over me".
While you were bitching about the 4th speeding ticket you've had in as many months- I was living day to day, wondering if I would be able to keep my family together.
While you screamed about your roommates pets, and what a mess the house is, and how much you hate living there- I shared a dorm with 13 other women, and 20 children. I was videotaped 24/7 for my "safety", even while I bathed. I was exposed to illness, deplorable living conditions, and desperate to keep my children safe amongst it all.
   While you cried over having gained 60 lbs (which didn't exactly happen over night, and you *did* have something to do with), and bitched about not wanting to exercise- I gave up meal after meal to make sure my children didn't go to bed hungry. I lost 20 lbs in a month, just so they could eat.
While you got drunk and dialed, incoherently complaining- I had to hide enough money to keep the water on, and take a good beating for it.
While you complained that you didn't get to go out with friends often enough because of work- I was literally a prisoner in my own home, and I was repeatedly beaten for talking to you at all.
   Through all of your bullshit... when have you ever taken a moment to consider the fact that you might just have it pretty damned good? NEVER.

As bad as my shit was, someone else had it worse. As close as I came to being another obituary, someone else did. When bad shit wasn't happening, I made of it what I could... WITHOUT THE HELP OF ANYONE.

Fuck You. Fuck you very very much.

Sprung

2011-04-07T14:23:00.000-04:00

See, I have this bad habit of writing something, then walking off of the platform and allowing my train of thought to leave the station without me. End result, 45 incomplete blog entries... yeah, I decided that if I haven't gone back to look at them in months, I likely am not missing anything. Delete.
It's spring, though everything around me has sprung into foliage, flowers, and edibles, my mind is still a murky, muddled mess. 'Need' doesn't begin to describe the urgency of what must be, what has to be done... need to clean out the cobwebs that have overgrown the corners of my mind, where I stash away my personal goals, desires, and even happiness.

If only my oven really were a time machine.

The Cost of Victory

2011-03-29T18:09:00.000-04:00

The past year has been a nightmare, which I've not been at liberty to talk about. I don't think I'm going to say much now... I just want to cry.

When another human being does something with malice. Makes claim of heinous acts perpetrated by an innocent individual, with the express purpose of wiping clean their existence in society (and more importantly, the lives of their children), it leaves a void that can not be filled with anything but hatred, fear, anger, loss... despair.
That is what the past year has been full of. Anger at the fact of a lie which could not (until today) be proven. Fear, so much fear of what *could* happen in the event that this individual actually succeeded. Hatred, I admit the hatred... So much hatred. Not the petty dislike which people refer to as hatred. True, honest hatred, which until you've felt you know nothing of.

Every day has been an exercise in patience, restraint, love. Compressing, neatly packaging, and forcing that anger to the pit of my stomach until it began to dissolve... End result has been the physical manifestations of stress- Migraines, Insomnia, Anxiety, Weight Gain... Oh, so much fun!

One day, when it is all said and done, I'll have my say... I'll tell the world what this cunt did to her own daughter to try to make this appear real. I'll confront the investigator who refused to take evidence which did not help build her case. I'll tear apart the social workers who refused to actually do their jobs... When it is all said and done, I will be able to speak my piece regarding the injustice which I've witnessed.
The system is so incredibly broken.

My alcoholic, drug abusing, rapist, child abusing, thief, sociopath of an ex husband gets off scott free- is allowed visitation, and I've been denied protection from a man who has beaten, raped, burned, poisoned, thrown me from a moving vehicle, tried to kill me while I was pregnant, literally imprisoned me by nailing the windows shut and reversing the locks on the doors (for weeks)... Would you like me to continue? I've got at least two more pages worth. The sick bastard even sexually assaulted my dog (a 7 lb female pomeranian) in front of me- and threatened to kill her.
Now he's threatened to kill me again ( "You know I won't let you keep the kids. They're mine, and I'll kill you before you get to keep them."... His threat, which he has already attempted, is to kill me so that he can have the children) and there isn't a damned thing I can do until he breaks into my home while I'm sleeping- Did I mention that the judge who denied me protection said, and I quote "You deserve what you get", when my ex stated that I had had an affair. Beautiful, isn't it? The man is an ex seal trainee drop out... and not because he couldn't make the cut. Because he couldn't do that AND maintain control over his then fiancée.

Meanwhile, a man who is nothing if not good, has loved, cared for, and attempted to provide his family, his children with the best things life has to offer has been forced out of the picture so that the trash can return to the trailer park.
I know he didn't realize what she was when they met, how could he have? No, not under those circumstances... it is painfully apparent now though.
She succeeded at alienating the children... that is it. I feel sick, and my heart aches for justice to be done. I'm helpless, and yet I see the wealth of evidence that can, should, and needs to be used... but at what cost? The cunt will stop at nothing. Absolutely nothing, to leverage the broken system against him again... That is one thing she knows how to manipulate all too well, since she's done it before- Eventually, she'll do it again, just like she did to the one before him.
When a woman has a string of 'psychotic exs' one must look to see what the common denominator is... HER.

I come from a "Blended Family". My mother was me- a victim of CDV, and like me she survived. She still exhibits symptoms of PTSD from over 30 years ago... I wonder if I'll be the same way.
My father had his children taken from him by his ex wife (who, we now know has several conditions (mental) which she has been treated for), was accused of abuse, alienated and replaced by a new man who subsequently DID the things he was accused of.
My mother's children for the most part resented me for having been born (I am the sole product of their union, which came to them at great cost- even the reversal of sterilization). Even though my father had adopted them years prior... My eldest brother and I were always close, while the other two (especially my sister) loathed my presence in their lives.
My father's children were in and out of our lives, convinced of some wrongdoing which never occurred. Now, as adults they've become more aware of what actually happened... My older brother is in the *same* situation with his soon to be ex, the system has been leveraged against him. Now he's drowning in it. It is so incredibly common that these deranged women simply LIE to get what they want, that the system accommodates them to get the process over with more efficiently.
Now, here we are, he and I. In the same exact position as my parents... and all I can do is be angry at the system.

I got bent over and had the judicial system rammed up my ass repeatedly, simply because I am a woman, and after 6 years of violent rape, physical and psychological abuse, imprisonment, and even forced pregnancy...after all of that, and two years of being confined to a separate bedroom, told that I was unworthy of HIS bed... I finally took it upon myself to finalize our physical separation.
Literally all he had to do, down here in the dirty south, was breathe the word affair and every judge in the district wanted to see me publicly raped, beaten tarred & feathered, then hung from a tree...

Words from the slightly wiser, broken, fucked over individual... Unless you can see yourself wiping his ass when he's 80- don't marry him. Seriously.
Unless you can see yourself hauling her sz 42 LONG tits off of the floor, and into a warn out bra... don't marry her. Seriously.
Eventually that is where you're going to wind up, and if you cringed at the reality of who you'll some day be married to, know now that you're not going to make it.
At the end of the day, it's not how great the sex it, how much money he/she makes, how attractive they are, talented they are (be it physically, artistically, or otherwise), funny they are, smart they are... none of that is going to matter.
When you get down to it, the shit that really matters is whether you look forward to seeing that person when you wake up in the morning- even when things aren't so great. If you can live together peacefully, without fear of reprisal for unimportant, petty shit. If you truly trust them... I find that most people don't even know what trust is, let alone have it for their significant other. If you know that when shit hits the fan, they'll stand behind you to keep you from getting blown over, or jump in front of you to bear the brunt of the impact, or simply stand beside you so you're not alone and covered in shit. What matters is that the petty shit doesn't matter- at the end of the day, you're there. THAT is what matters.

I wish someone had told me that 10 or 12 years ago. I might have actually listened. Instead, I had to learn it the hard way... so did he. We're still learning. But the one thing neither one of us ever anticipated having to learn the hard way, is that when someone attacks you, leveraging they broke ass system against you, even a small victory will be of immeasurable cost.
He lost his family, and was almost wiped clean from society- and to prevent it from happening again, has to let go of everything dear to him. I lost my right to protection, the sanctity of my physical safety, and the right to provide for my children's physical, emotional, and mental safety. Both of us were violated- Him, emotionally and unlawfully had the legal system leveraged against him. Me, physically- and I have no legal recourse, since there is no such thing as rape (even what is now defined as forcible rape) in a marriage.

We both had victories. They cost more than they were worth. So much more.

Jealousy

2011-03-14T20:50:00.000-04:00

I should be sleeping... it is after 2 am, 6 comes early. I'm pretty sure the time stamp on my blog says something different though, but I really don't give enough of a fuck to go change it. More random thoughts.

Look up "Damaged Goods" in your Websters, my picture is right next to it. No matter how hard I fight that reality, no matter how much I wish for it not to be true- I am Fuckdidid in the heart, and in the head.
Growing up in an environment where love was something they preached about on sunday, but never a warm fuzzy feeling you got from your mommy was pretty fucking confusing. I admit that as a child, and even until I had children of my own I had no clue what love felt like beyond the love of a girl fro her dog. Let me tell you though, I still shed tears over my best friends Toby & Orla. I was more connected to them emotionally than I have been to most people in my life.
   I'm guessing I need help. No, I was told that I do dammit, it's the truth too. I'm totally fucked, completely insecure, and when someone does manage to break through that wall I find an excuse to build another- so a relationship with me looks something like plowing a bulldozer through a 3ft thick cement block wall every few weeks.
All good things come to an end, but even entertaining that idea leaves me distraught. Simply knowing what I do now about love, about what it means, how it feels, what it does... it makes me terrified of losing it. It would be easier to see someone I love die, than it would be for me to cope with their rejection. I don't do rejection. Another reason that being in any kind of relationship with me in my present state poses an occupational hazard. I throw darts when I feel attacked, rejection is a personal attack.

Just a short bit ago I said that I didn't have anyone to talk to, which I don't. No one who I can actually trust not to intentionally cause harm with the knowledge they would glean from our conversations... So, brilliant me thought "Hey... I'll just fucking start typing, no one reads this shit anyway." which is likely the truth, and best for it. The venting I mean.
No one listens to my words either, especially when spoken. They come out a jumble, a mess, a fucking mixed bag. After spending 1/2 the conversation agonizing about what is actually the important point to convey, I generally stick both feet in my mouth until I gag and involuntarily spew words. Not the best plan, I do realize- but generally better than being a selective mute (which would otherwise suit me just fine).
Why Is that, I wonder? Why is it that I am perfectly capable of conveying an ideal, instructions, abstract thoughts, etc using the written word (ok, typed- my handwriting is halfassed at best, and simply indecipherable st worst).
   People who are well spoken often turn me off. Seriously- I can feel my twat drying up when I hear them speak. I rely so much on words though, because I can't read people. I rely on what they say, rather than what I can see because I don't fucking understand human body language, or how to interpret it. I *need* words to know where I stand with someone, but in turn I suck ass at providing feedback that people find helpful- which leaves me wanting to cry like a baby over my shortcomings.
   Animals. I get. They are so clear with their "words". Put me in a room full of angry dogs and in 5 minutes we'll all be rolling round on the floor playing. Drop me in a pasture with a horse that doesn't like to be caught, and he'll wind up coming to me. With people. Not. So. Much.

   I'm ashamed that I need so much assurance, but I do. I actually need it, and when I don't get it I feel terrified, alone, and completely rejected. It doesn't matter what you already told me with your actions, until I hear it, it isn't really true. It's been quite a fucking while since I've felt any measure of......
~*~This is the point at which I decided I could say nothing good, and closed the lappy for the night, wishing sleep would find me~*~

   I guess since I am going through a "reevaluate my fucking senses" tell all session to an imaginary therapist (not much different than prayer, except that I realize I'm the one who has to decide to do something rather than wait around for it to happen) I might as well admit to being truly jealous for the first time in my life.
   Jealousy has no place in a healthy relationship, it makes people do stupid things. Makes us feel insecure when we shouldn't, makes us lose trust for people who haven't actually done anything wrong. It's generally damaging, which is why I have always reacted with a rational approach to the idea when it has been introduced- shove it out of the map. This time however, it is proving to be an immovable obstruction.
   When I hear a woman say "my man" I generally laugh, simply can't help myself. It's funny to think of people as possessions, slightly demented as well. But I can't help wanting to say "MINE!". Juvenile, insecure, and hurt am I.
   As it would turn out, the past can not simply be negated by the now... whoda thunk?

   I've always been OK with being me, well for the most part. Being the odd man out has never been completely cool with me, but I understand people's hesitation when it comes to something new, something unknown, something different.
   Problem with that is when people not only actively exclude (oh, boo hoo... woes me) but attempt with malice to remove the anomaly from their plane of existence. We're ruthless bitches, even when we decide we don't want something that was once perceived as "mine", we still don't let go of it- let me clarify that "we" is purely in reference to the % of the population who were born with vaginas and not me specifically.- and even attempt to undermine anyone else who wishes to stake a claim.
   Seeing people (mostly women) behave badly in a fit of jealous rage has always given me a laugh, because I never understood how threatened and vulnerable they felt. That is the heart of jealousy. It is fucking excruciating. I actually feel for people who experience jealousy on a regular basis, I can't imagine my life being completely permeated by it. I'm blown away by the reality that it has found a way into my life at all, and even worse... is actually doing harm.
   All of that said, I'm overwhelmed with jealousy over an insignificant, used-to-be-important, BUBBLE... a fucking bubble who watches glee. Jebus what the fuck is wrong with me? She is a BUBBLE. But apparently is "really cool"... yeah, I'm sure... and about as deep as a kiddie pool too.
   Maybe it is the lack of intelligence which causes me to recoil from a reality which once was, questioning whether or not I'm undesirable because I am capable of independent thought... perhaps it even stems from my insecurities regarding my own broken, used, destroyed body- that is what happens when you're forced to carry a pregnancy before your body has properly developed to accommodate the task... Meh, nah... that bothers me too, but I know plenty of men who would kill to get just a taste of me. Its the idiot thing. What kind of man is attracted to that?

   Why are men attracted to fluffy, bubbly, STUPID women? Why? Really, does it make it easier to convince them to gobble your knob? Or to assign an opinion to them because they aren't capable of doing so their self? Control... maybe that's what it actually boils down to for most men.

   So, like it or not I have to put my big girl pants on and simply fucking cope. Like always, even when I'm not wholly responsible for the miscommunication which resulted in the fucking uncomfortable fuckedupdididness.
   Though, this is one time I just wish I could fucking climb up on my high horse and drag MINE up there with me, and be the cunt of the century.

2011-02-24T00:31:00.000-05:00

   I don't understand my own mood, my frame of mind... It just can not be framed.

   A few moments ago, I looked myself over. A long, hard look in the harsh light of reality, and that of a mirror too.
My youth has escaped me, simply slipped by without warning. I've no more chances for wild fun, for making mistakes, for being beautiful. My once firm body is firm no more, is covered in battle scars. It isn't youthful. It isn't beautiful. It simply is.
   I got glasses this week. Now I feel old. That was the icing on the cake... The things I didn't realize I wasn't seeing with razor sharp clarity anymore. Even just the minor, pathetically weak prescription that it is, makes me feel so old. So worn out, so un-sexy. I look geeky, which would be fine- if I were an uber hot geek who all the other geektards wanted to fuck. I'm not. I'm not sure that I even qualify as a MILF anymore.
Fuck an A. I used to be hot. Well, ok... for a 15 year old, before my body was totally trashed by pregnancy. I worked my ass off, and deserved the rock hard abs, tight ass, toned thighs.

Normally I'm not this vain. Really. No, I mean it. I'm not.

Things in my life, my body, my mind, they're all changing so rapidly. The sense of urgency is almost as strong as the sadness that possess me. In retrospect, I gave it all away. I blew my life away. All the things I *could* control, I used to fight the reality that they were preparing to saddle me with... and I bought myself this new, not so pretty, murky little pond to swim (wallow) in. I did it to myself, but I didn't have a clue what I was doing, or why. Just that I had to do something to change what was happening.
   Strangely enough, the only things that actually matter to me are the things that I stand to lose if I can't roll with this tide. If I can't force this sense of urgency to become productivity, to drive me to success, or at least to veer me away from perpetual failure.

   Ever have that feeling like you're floating in space, caught in a vacuum, you can feel your lungs being torn apart by the pressure... I can't breathe. I know what I have to do, I know, I fucking know damn it. Its the only obvious thing in my life.

   I've been accused of being angry/irritated all of the time. As in 100% of the time. Well, I'm not. I'm scared shitless of my own inadequacy. Even though I can't say that to your face, and even though I become defensive and project irritation/anger, I'm not actually angry. I'm afraid. So fucking afraid.
Its amazing how far a little encouragement goes, or a little security, or a little compliment, or a little assurance, or a little positivity... Its amazing how much of a difference being acknowledged as more than a simple failure, a no longer youthful failure, can change someone's perspective. Seems like I'm always changing someone else's perspective, but can't change my own.
   God, how wrong is it to want to be loved? To be of worth to someone? To be wanted? To be beautiful? To be good enough...

Afraid

2011-02-18T17:54:00.000-05:00

Rejection.   False Judgment.    I fear that look in his eyes that says, "I'm trying to care, but I just can't". Being thirsty, and being denied water.   Being burnt.   Small spaces.   Clown Faces.    Zealots.    Always being the last to realize what should have been obvious all along. Being the butt of the joke.   Inadequacy.    Growing old.   People who believe in figments of their imagination.   My ex husband, and all the promises of pain he still has to make good on.   Failure.   Driving.   Getting my hair cut.    Weighing myself.   Looking in a mirror, and realizing that I am no longer young.   Singing in public.    Being misunderstood.    I fear that no matter what I do, it'll never bee good enough.   Drowning in my own vomit.   Cancer.   Losing my sight.   Being on life support.    Being alone, and realizing that I'm not really lonely.   Being seen crying. People.   Being raped, again.   Being burnt alive. Not being able to love.    Bridges. Becoming bitter.   Jellyfish.    Needles.

   The things I fear are real, they're valid, they frighten the shit out of me... and I'm helpless to control almost all of them.
   My parents are to thank for my security issues, and lack of positive self esteem, or healthy body image... for my lack of confidence, my fear of failure, and the bitterness that lurks just beneath the surface. I can thank them for fucking up any chance I had at a real education, or ever going to college. Thanks mom. I know you meant best, right? I was the golden child, right?

    Is it wrong of me to want to be loved, to be shown love? Is it wrong to believe that it could build confidence in something which may, or may not be? What it is, it will be, and it's not... so here I begin to see, that I'll never be good enough. Or even enough. She was, and the one before her, and I'll never be. No matter how much I do, or give, or am to anyone. I'm not her.
Bitterness is seeping in, and I want to be alone. I want to be angry, to be violent, to destroy, because I fear my own bitterness more than I fear rejection. Here I sit all paint covered, being hailed for food, and not done earning my keep... and I'm bitter. I want love. I want to hear it, to see it, to know it, to share it. Can't have it.
    So afraid, I'm so afraid. I don't want to be alone, but not lonely. I'm blocking out myself too, and all that is good will soon be completely gray, and tasteless, and dull. And for what? What the fuck does it accomplish? Nothing... I'm just afraid, and shutting down.

Fuck Valentine's Day and the Horse It Rode In On

2011-02-14T23:13:00.000-05:00

    Fucking Valentine's day. Something most people buy into wholeheartedly, and spend an ASS LOAD on, even though it is completely asinine... totally not worth your time.... and all of the sappy smoochy pictures plastered all over their fb pages. OMFG....

OK, now Ima admit that I am incredibly fucking jealous.

   I've never been much of a holiday person, and knowing that service is my love language makes it even harder for me to participate in such shenanigans. BUT (there is always a big fat but in the middle of everything, isn't there?)... I'm also inwardly the sappy, romantic type. This is likely the only time I will ever admit that to anyone, let alone everyone on the interwebz... Must be my codeine and beam induced haze (really, not mixing the two- haven't had the codeine in 24 hours)... Sometimes it just hurts to want something, ya know?

While everyone gets their Valentine's on, I quietly make his morning coffee and walk out the door to the bus stop with my son in tow, setting the alarm and double checking the lock on my way out.
   As soon as I walk back in, my baby is awake, so I do what I can to keep his moans of hunger at bay until the cereal hits the table... All the while my manimal sleeps. He needs his sleep, a lot more than I do and I try to make sure he gets it.
   8 AM rolls around, and I have to wake him. If I don't he'll have a hard start to his day instead of lying around drinking the coffee I bring him, and waiting for me to finish his breakfast... He's a creature of habit,bad habit. Maybe I shouldn't interfere, maybe I should let him learn for himself what is best.... But then I would have to watch his misery on a daily basis, as he wanders around decaffeinated, hungry, and clueless.
   It's but one of the ways, that I know I can show him I love him without actually saying it. Without forcing him away with the words he doesn't believe, doesn't want to hear, and are still tainted with the bitterness of wrongdoing. See all of the beautiful things I inherited? The things she left for me?


    Never an "I love you". Never an assurance. Never a promise. Never a commitment. Never.
   It is what it is baby.

   Nothing is fucking simple, and you take all of the warmth, happiness, comfort, surety, newness away from your happy little picture, and what do you have? Nothing... But I'm still jealous of the fact that you can celebrate freely what simply is, even if it only lasts a moment. It is worth celebrating.

   Regardless of how solid, fluid, understanding, well mannered, well behaved, considerate, peaceful.... We'll never have the ability to celebrate, even though we have more worth celebrating.

Homeschooling IS Abuse

2011-02-07T16:33:00.000-05:00

   Alright... I honestly don't give a shit if I catch flack or not. Hell, I almost hope I do- because that means I fucking struck a nerve, and I'm undeniably right.

   I forgot that as a homeschooler, you have more right to accommodation than anyone else... that the whole fucking star spangled universe revolves around what *you* want to do, and perceive as a need.
   I forgot that you need special treatment, because you operate outside of the acceptable social norm... That you're above interacting with dirty, uneducated public school families. That your children will learn bad habits (like maybe, just maybe how to fucking interact without your constant guidance, supervision, or intervention), or perhaps see that you are not the absolute authority, nor is your knowledge infinite.
   I forgot that exposing your child(ren) to anyone you haven't pre-approved presents the risk of your child learning what "Social Isolation" is, and that interacting with people outside of your tightly knit group poses the threat of your child coming to grasp that social isolation is abuse.
   I forgot that you're the god of your little universe, and if your child lives under your rule alone, they'll know no better than to blindly worship you.

   You're no better than a religious homeschooling zealot, as you sit upon your pedestal, shining down in all of your shrouds of deceptively believable intelligence, purity, and sense of entitlement. Portraying yourself as the only person qualified to educate your child properly, and prepare them for a successful adulthood.
   The reality is that you're afraid of losing control. You're afraid of no longer being the God who rules your child's life. You're afraid of your child becoming an individual, capable of making their own life decisions, and learning to be a part of the hive.
   A single bee, left to its own devices will die. It needs the hive, for shelter, for protection, for food, for its livelihood. The same is true of us bipedal mammals.
Our society does not make accommodations for those who can not be assimilated. Nor does being assimilated make us any less individual, capable of critical thought, or analytical process.... Those who possess those traits simply do, regardless of whether or not they've learned how to navigate the hive.

   You go ahead and make your argument against public or private schooling...

There are bullies;    You mean, like the one they live with who prevents them from experiencing any sort of normal existence?

They won't get a proper education;    No, not if you don't bridge the gap. But you're not singlehandedly qualified to provide for their every academic need either.

They'll be exposed to violence;    Just like you (and your child) are every time you walk out your front door. So, are you going to bar your doors and windows, and start stockpiling food, guns, and ammo now?

They'll be exposed to drugs;     Because as we all know, those only exist in public schools, and that is the only place to learn about them, gain access to them, or get away with using them were you so inclined. OK, yeah, makes perfect sense.

Children in public schools do not learn to socialize;    No, they learn how to become pack. How to successfully navigate their peers, and survive without you. An important skill to have later in life, when you won't be a helicopter hovering over their every movement.

I don't feel that they're safe;    Because no house is ever broken into. No family is ever murdered. No car is ever plowed into by a mack truck. No child ever falls down on a playground and breaks their arm. No convenience store is ever robbed while you're paying for gas. No one walking around the supermarket is ever sick, and willing to share their illness, and you can prevent all of these dangers by simply being present 100% of the time?

Lastly... You know as well as I do that in a perfect world, we would have evolved past the point of a need for religion at all. But, this isn't a perfect world.
It was argued with me last week that "It isn't fair to say my rights should be taken away because someone else uses homeschooling to abuse their children" OK... well, I would like you to tell that to the little Paradise girl who recently died as a result of homeschooling... Oh, wait. You can't. She's fucking dead.

   Homeschooling for the sake of keeping your children at home, under your rule, in your world, associating with those who you choose is abuse.
   There do occur circumstances in which parents should consider homeschooling, and I respect those who can successfully segregate home life, from school. I respect those who realize when their child needs something more. I respect those who do not feel they are masters of the educational arena, and ask for fucking help when it is needed.
   What I am against is the "right" to homeschool. It isn't a fucking right, it shouldn't be... It is a privilege. Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

   "Police allege that the younger girl was being disciplined for mis-pronouncing a word during a home-school reading lesson the day before she died.".....
   Is that an extreme example? Yes.

     Do these types of beatings occur each and every fucking day? YES.

     Are children emotionally scarred, physically and sexually abused, raped, psychologically abused, and falsely imprisoned EVERY DAY? Fuck an A, YES. All because parents have the "Right" to homeschool.

   But that should be overlooked because in order to begin to put an end to it, your *rights* would be violated. OK, yeah. I got it... Welcome to the same plane of existence as the fundies.
   It's okay that they do what they do, as long as you get to do what you do. Makes perfect sense. Kinda like blaming the rape victim.

   I offer no apology for speaking the truth. What is right isn't always popular, especially when you're dealing with a subculture that is self persecuting.

    As a survivor of religious and homeschooling abuse, I have every right to state an informed opinion regarding the effects of homeschooling, unlike you- who has only been on the instructional end of the spectrum.

FYI- the higher the horse you ride, the harder you fall.

*****To all you the responsible home/unschooling families that I know- I commend you for your effort to do the right thing, regardless of your reason, if you're succeeding you deserve a pat on the back.*****

Single Parents

2011-02-03T18:44:00.000-05:00

I never thought I would say this... But maybe it is in the best interest of parents to stay together (even if shit sucks) so that they at least have one another to fall back on when raising children. Screw whether or not it is better for the kids, no one will ever be happy if the parent they live with is always stressed, and has no help. No support. No one to stand behind them and make discipline a less daunting task.

Now, anyone who knows me, knows damned well where I've been... the abuse I lived with, and why I have a problem with people staying together for the kids. But this isn't for the kids. This is for sanity. This is so that the little shits don't gang up on you, and slowly destroy you.
If nature had intended for up to care for our young alone, we would be able to reproduce without men. Unfortunately, most men aren't interested in being a father, let alone a daddy. I think my ex pretty well demonstrates what a fucking deadbeat looks like.
Any man who is interested, or inclined to be the nurturing, fatherly type is either married and serving his role in the household... or so fucking damaged by what an incredibly violent, vicious, heartless, sociopathic bitch did to him that he'll never go there again.

Can you tell I'm having a bad week? Maybe just a bad reality.

Why is it so hard for two people who are inclined to hold the same value in a relationship to come together, rather than getting snagged in the net of evilness that some immoral fucktard threw out?
I know I had a chance, once upon a time... I fuckingblewit. Now I'm stuck between a jackass, and a cliff, and trying not to fall off.

No one realizes until they become a single parent, that the mental, emotional, and physical recharge you get from having an involved partner meant more to your wellbeing and stability than ANYTHING else in your life. Simply not having someone to stand behind you and tell the little monsters 'No' is completely draining. Not having someone there to give them a bath at 3 am while you clean up the vomit. Not having someone to help with the homework, or sit and read a book with them long enough for you to run the laundry... I could go on, and on, and on about everything that you take as granted. Well, it's NOT. Once you split, it's all on you baby!

I couldn't have stayed with my ex, he would have killed me. Hell, he still may... Big invisible skydaddy knows, he's tried to carry out those threats enough times, and if I ever give him the chance, he will. But damn, simply having 2 parents is the ticket to semi-sanity.
I see why women get involved and push their kids on a man, I really do. I disagree with it, it's wrong, but I understand that they do it so that they won't wind up going crazy like me.

If I could turn back time... damn, now I've got that song stuck in my head. Fuck. I'm so sick of the bullshit. I have 15 more years until I'm free from the drama of being legally responsible for these little carbon copies.

To Be Me

2010-12-04T23:49:00.000-05:00

For want of a nail, the kingdom was lost. For want of a life, all fight was tossed. And now, here I stand, basking in the glow of a thousand burning memories. It is hard to discern reality from wishful thinking, hopefulness from what a ship lay sunk in the summers storm. A life of light from the winters cold, abrupt, ancient, and taking refuge in the winds of time, ever roaming from heart to heart.
Its like a skipping stone, heavy and light, atop the water having taken flight by the hand of a child, like a dream it skims the surface of the reflecting pool, only to sink into the eventuality of its own reality. Gravity. It pulls us, as the wind pushes, falling, flying, soaring, roaming... we're all coping. Thats all any of us can hope for.
I feel the life of my life, the breath of my breath, the reality of my reality inside of me, freeing the being of my inner being. A soul, it is our consciousness... It is the breath of our breath, the conversion of oxygen into life, and into death. We're all addicts.
I'm rambling now, off in a swirling torrent of thought, caught beneath the surface, and lost in the undertow. I can not make a cohesive declaration of my present state of mind. Ah... to be me.

So scrooge me

2010-12-04T14:44:00.000-05:00

This being the holiday season, now, by December 4th I have already had my fill of Xmas muzak. Fuck, I had my fill by the end of October... It seems that people are starting sooner every year. I couldn't believe it when I saw Xmas and Halloween decor right next to each other!

I'll take this opportunity to say that if the Xtain community screams any louder about taking the 'christ' out of 'CHRISTmas' (yes, they fucking annunciate it, and even spell it that way!) I may very well split my side laughing.
Do any of them know what the 25th of December is? It sure a hell isn't the date of the birth of baby Gee-Whiz (he was born in the autumn). It signifies the Rebirth Of The Sun God, when the days begin to lengthen after the Winter Solstice.
Now, I understand the claim that anything which they choose to celebrate in reference to their god is considered praise (by the way, what is their god's name? We know its a male deity, right? All I see are a collection of titles, but no actual name...hmm... have they forgotten his name?), which goes back to the "God in all things" claim... *sigh* And I clearly see how, and why the catholic church integrated the wonderfully significant pagan holidays (Don't even get me started on easter... omfg, that one may be the funniest of ALL), but that does not justify their claim to persecution when someone does not "respect" their Xtain holiday.

My brain almost explodes when I attempt to analyze their process of reasoning which leads to such an assumption...
Disagreement = persecution.
Differing religion having right to practice = persecution.
Being informed of the actual historical value of their holiday = persecution.
WTF? I don't follow... I couldn't even when I was living in their midst, I never could. I guess we're wired differently.

*sigh* Guess I'll be a scrooge again this year, and say "Happy Holidays", "Merry Yule", and "Kiss my ass you holiday stealing rat bastard... christianity really IS a bastard religion, just look how baby Gee-Whiz came into the world."

One last word to you, since I've been asked so very many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many times why an Atheist (you want me to capitalize your "c", you capitalize my "A", kk?) would celebrate an Xtian holiday... IT ISN'T ONE. But I guess that would take understanding your religion's history.

wtf

2010-12-04T14:23:00.000-05:00

I'm a raving idiot. I just fucking erased an entire page. Fuck.

OK, I say fuck too much. And I like it. Get over it.

OK... Nuff of that.
Lets see, where am I at? Hmm... Take my temp here, see where the boiling point is, well, unless I have surpassed it. I'm in a slightly odd state of mind (for me, I know that I am inherently odd, that is aside from the point), after the last visit with my ex husband ( who shall from here forward be referred to as "Dumbass") several interesting things have occurred.
I did something incredibly stupid when he was here last. I let him out of ear shot with my kids, and he had a little session with them, in which he told my babies that they did not have to live with me... That they could come live with their daddy if they didn't like me, or if I was 'mean' to them. He told them that they did not have to obey my lovely because he is not their father (which backfired, in a huge way)- Troy is apparently confused, since his "dad" made it perfectly clear to him from the day he was born, that Damon was his favorite, and he meant nothing to him (dumbass avoided this child like the plague, and still claims that he is not his child). From Troy's perspective, Dumbass is "Damon's Daddy". Hmm... Interesting. Something I have gone out of my way to avoid, confusion, that is.
He took the opportunity to alienate me, to affirm in their minds that I am the villain of this story, and that they can do justice by simply not yielding to my (or my lovely's) authority. He took the opportunity to implant the idea that he is their knight in shining armor, and that he will rescue them from this tower I have placed them in... Yes, yes, let lord fuckwad 'rescue' them. Never mind that the police had to rescue Damon from the condemned, drug infested hell hole that Dumbass had him living in, and that DSS confirmed that he was in fact abused and neglected. Ugh... FUCK!!!
I'm angry, and I don't want to be vindictive. I refuse to be the bitch that he has painted me out to be... I won't let him have that, I simply can not, for my own integrity's sake allow that to become a reality. That man stripped me of all I was, of all I had to offer, including my dignity, self worth, and ability to trust- the one thing he couldn't take from me was my integrity.
Sorry sack of shit just called me, demanding to speak with his children. Fucker had better be prepare for EVERY conversation that he has with them to be recorded... maybe he will incriminate himself. Maybe, maybe I'll be that fortunate. He's so good at what he does, I have to credit him with being slippery as hell.
blah, blah, blah... I can't say anything else constructive. Fuck, fuck, FuCk, Fuck, fUck, fuCK ME running. (that should be my indian name)

Fuck The Underlings

2010-07-24T01:05:00.000-04:00

I'm going to need another brain grenade before I can really get going... These fucking wisdom teeth are killing me, the jaw clenching, the pain. I deserve a drink- I swear if we went through teething as adults, like we do as infants, we would commit suicide.

Alright, stuffs on my mind. Lots of stuffs, and I'm actively working on a solution to help bring it to the forefront. On a way to get it out. Fuck. Take two?
I've decided to shove in the face of all of the fucktards who actually possess a lower IQ than I do, that I'm not a fucking country bumpkin who has no other aspirations in life but to shit out 3 kids and live a meager existence of servitude.
The days of being pitied for their perception of inferiority are god damned over. Bitch, you might have it on paper, but when you hit reality, it hits back- be ware. You're living in your cushy little world where the only thing that matters is how effectively you learn to memorize the material- not whether you're capable of comprehension.

This, my anger I mean, brings to question my motivation. Am I driven simply because they have dared to question my intelligence? Could I be so truly vain, or is it a knee jerk reaction when some lowly sullen pieces of society posture their selves as superior? Ah, I am lead to believe that it could really be that simple after all. It is entirely possible that I fear being placed in the same bracket of existence as these filthy underlings. That I need, for some undefined purpose, to be better, to be me, to thrive, to win, to own them all.
A good friend of mine once said (and I'll not mention who- she's a school teacher) that, "You can teach an idiot to read, and recite, and pass tests, but you can't teach them to be intelligent. You just can't put something in there that wasn't there to begin with". Maybe this is why I fear being one of them? Being perceived as one of them? She has a point, you know.
The anger that swells every time I have to think about what they did to me- about the fact that I was fucked out of a conventional education... From about 3rd grade on, I was my own instructor. Asking for help when absolutely necessary, reading, reading, and reading some more. Oh, I loved to read, I loved to learn- I could have thrived if given a proper education!!! Instead, I was left with no options, no legal path forward, no proof of my "education". Nothing. I am simply another illiterate HS drop out- statistically speaking.

So, my english sucks, but for one reason or another people enjoy reading my rather vulgar, excessively descript recount of my life's experiences. My borderline personality disorder seeps through the lines, and is (to quote an acquaintance) "Captivating". It is, after all, the thing I always enjoyed more than reading.
You know, I take that back. I retract the previous statement (though I could simply backspace). It is one of the few things I know, that makes sense. I simply choose to ignore the rules. What of expression? What would I sound like if I did not write as though I were speaking? Perhaps is the reason that people find me so readable. Perhaps.

No decisions made yet. As I stated in a previous post, I have yet to successfully regain the math that was lost when I OD'd. Fucking drugs iz bad. Ah, the pain. The pain of studying something that used to be common sense. Something which simply flowed from me. Reality is a bitch.
What I ultimately wind up doing, who knows. Least of all me. My rant is that I have been accused of being incapable, of being a simpleton, a fucking idiot (now, go wiki "Idiot' to see why I'm pissed).

I have not just fucking survived. I have survived intact- fucking underlings can't make it out of adolescence without contemplating suicide. You know, they should do it, just get over with it, quit being a drain. A fucking hole in which people pour their kindness.

Date Rape

2010-07-20T14:00:00.000-04:00

In the spirit of admitting the reasons why I have cut myself off from everyone, from myself, and am hesitant to let anyone in.

When I was 13, going on 14 I met a young man. I was a little girl, he was growing into the man he would become. A HS Senior, star of the wrestling team, worked for his father as a mechanic, went to church, posed himself as a devout christian (don't they all?)... Little did I know, or even dream of what was in store for me.
We met at church, and he was immediately drawn to me, maybe he saw vulnerability, maybe he actually liked me... who knows anymore. I wasn't particularly interested, but he was persistent, and once I got to know him a bit, I found that we got along pretty well. So, we began dating.
A few months later, he had become fairly comfortable with me and we went out regularly, usually alone, to some place quiet. I actually trusted him based on the fact that he was generally respectful, never tried to cross any of my personal boundaries. I wish I had known then, what I know now. He was carefully testing my boundaries, and posturing himself in the least threatening way, so as to gain my trust. Looking back, there were red flags, but I was helpless to even recognize them.

It was a Wednesday, spring break 1999, beautiful day. I had gone out running, when I came home I had a message so I called him back and he was on his way over. I didn't even bother changing out of my sweaty sports bra and running shoes. He said we'd go do something fun (we spent a lot of time out doors).
When I got in the truck with him he flashed me his famous smile, and we were off on an adventure. Ah, but before the day was out it would end in tragedy, for me... We headed out of the city limits, and I asked where we were going, he said it was a surprise. But I wasn't too surprised when we pulled up to his house in Mint Hill. I had been there many times before.
We went inside, and the house was still, I expected his mother to be home, or a few of his friends over (they all liked me, and we got along well). No one was there. I still felt safe, I shouldn't have, but I was naive. He flipped on the tv, and playfully tossed me on the sofa, I was like a rag doll compared to him. He outweighed me by over 100lbs, and was over a foot taller.
After a few minutes of talking and joking he scooped me up and started carrying me into the other room, and threw me on his mothers water bed. When I told him not to be so rough with me, he laughed and told me that I had not idea what I was in for, that I deserved it for teasing him, that he knew I wanted it... Finally, I was afraid. And rightfully so.
Before I could react he had already ripped my pants off, I remember telling him to stop, telling him no, begging him not to hurt me. It was useless, I couldn't have forced him off of me if my life had depended on it. Next thing I knew I was laying naked on the bed as he pinned me down, fumbling with a condom... he said "Don't need any little brats running around, now do we?". My this point I was helpless to react, I was in shock that this was even happening. And, oh how it hurt, unlubricated latex, let me tell you-I would have been less traumatized if he hadn't used a condom.
I still hear him breathing in my ear how good I was, how tight I was, that this was what I needed- what I deserved for teasing him, how lucky I was to have him.
I tried so hard not to cry, I was silent. What could I have done? No one could have heard me scream, no one was there to help. I knew I didn't want to piss him off, I'd seen him angry before. Not at me, no, but angry. He was not someone to be trifled with.

The worst was when he finished (which fortunately didn't take long) he said "Get dressed, I've got to get a shower and clean up for church. Then I'll take you home so you can get a shower so we won't be late."
Sure enough, that was what happened. I laid there on that bed for a while, trying to regain my composure. Then I got dressed, tried my damnedest to make myself presentable, and we got in his old beat up red ford pickup and headed home... When I got home he sat down and turned on the TV while I showered, and then we left for church.
That night at youth group we sat next to one another like we had been for weeks, I think now, so he could keep an eye on me. I was humiliated, and withdrawn from everyone- not that I was particularly close anyway, religion was not my cup of tea. Wasn't then, isn't now.

We went on like that for a couple more months. There were many more encounters after that one, and I simply did not feel that I could say no. I knew if I did he would take what he wanted anyway, and had the power to do so.
I finally confronted him, and told him that I had been a virgin, and he laughed... He said that no one would believe me over him, that I had willingly had sex with him after the fact, so there wasn't anything I could do. I didn't believe him, I knew better, but I wasn't ready or willing to make my mistake known... I wasn't willing to be blamed for what he had done to me, which is probably the hardest part of being raped. More often then not, the victim gets blamed, not the attacker. It's truly sick.
He got pissed, and that was the last of him I saw for years. He graduated HS, moved on... Now, he is a youth minister, married, and has a son. I find myself tempted to tell his wife what he is truly like, but chances are that she already knows. What good would it do?

I've accepted that what happened to me can not be changed, that bad shit happens to good people every day, usually because they are good people- that makes us vulnerable.
The most important part of this experience is that I learned how to trust my intuition, something I ignored the entire time "A" and I dated... Somewhere within myself I knew what was coming, but was too naive to believe that it could or would happen to me... I've learned to trust myself.
Now, I admit that it was a traumatic experience, Dog only knows- but I've chosen not to dwell on it. What good does it do to play the victim? What good does it do to live in fear? None. None at all.
Every day I make the decision not to be affected negatively, to take my lesson for what is was, one of the most important life lessons I have had to apply... I don't tell people what happened to me that long 11years ago- I don't want their pity. That is a slap in the face.
I want them to understand that no matter what happens, there is a lesson to be learned, and applied. Unless you take it in stride, it'll eat you alive.

There is more to be said, but for another day... For another day.

The OD

2010-07-20T11:36:00.000-04:00

Admitting to myself what has happened is one of the hardest things I must do, and this is a step forward. My life experiences have colored me to the rest of the world, and without explanation will continue to do so. Though this will only reach a select few, likely the ones that mean the most to me in the grand picture of life connections, it should explain much surrounding the question "Why?".

In 2002 I had a significant drug over dose. It was accidental. I was not depressed or suicidal, I was simply in a bad place, falling into a lifestyle that I knew little to nothing about... Being dragged down a hole (not entirely willingly) by my now ex-husband.

The story goes something like this... (Some details omitted... I'm not ready to spill all of the beans, just enough to see if they're still viable seed and can grow into understanding.)
I was 17. The semi-serious boyfriend with whom I had created a new life, and had been abandoned by for a newer model had only recently left the picture on a permanent basis. This was when I met my now ex-husband. A charismatic 27 year old man, who I willingly trusted (though even then I knew better). I was heartbroken by the reality which I had hoped for, having been heaped onto the fire. That reality, I knew, was not what I truly wanted, no. That which I truly wanted was out of my grasp, and it would be many years until the picture began to come back into focus. It is only now beginning to do so.
He was a "Bad Boy" type, and after the previous experience I was willing to fall into his arms, simply to have a place to feel welcomed. Otherwise, I would never have given him a second glance. As it would be, it took me 6 years to snap to my senses and leave. Amazing how strong that particular trap was, and even now I still see the scars from how deeply it had bitten into me.

It was a long night, and I was offered a roll (ecstasy- or MDMA), and semi-willingly accepted it. After all, I had taken it before with positive results in breaking through some of the barriers which existed as a result of my previous relationship... Little did I know that it wasn't "E".
The drug in question turned out to be a combination of what I later found out was Heroin and LSD. It was accidentally given to me, and the mix up was only later realized after I lost consciousness, went into respiratory failure, and then cardiac arrest.
I recall sitting, staring at a digital clock, realizing that I was not breathing. From the time that I lost consciousness (which I oddly still remember) to when I was brought back was nearly four and a half minutes. In short, I should not even be capable of typing this. I will say, that if you are going to associate with addicts, at least make sure that they are of the boyscout variety- always prepared. I owe them my life.
It was an interesting experience, death. I was perfectly calm, probably because of the Heroin, but I would like to believe because I could see it coming, and was at peace with the reality I was experiencing. I sat listening to the others, as they were unaware of what was happening, it's been stamped into my mind. Then the light began growing darker, the room looked bigger, I felt smaller, almost like I was in a cavern looking out onto open space, all the while staring at the clock. By this point I was aware that I was no longer breathing, but I was unable to speak, or to move. There I sat, silent, motionless. Dieing.
Never did I receive medical care. I should have, but I was more afraid of those who were present being found out and seeking their revenge, then I was of long term affects. I did undergo several years of HIV testing to ensure that I had not been infected when they brought me back to life. Oh, how I loathe needles.

The affects were immediate. The stutter I had long since left behind in early childhood came back with a vengeance, exacerbated by the damage done to my gray matter. It was terrifying. Worse was the memory loss, but fortunately it was selective, and not widespread.
In the short term I was not terribly worried about the memory loss. But I should have been, it has proven to be more problematic than any stutter I could have imagined because I have been unsuccessful at regain the majority of what was lost.
In a long ago time I once typed like the wind... Lost that. Slowly regained and no longer hen peck, but still have to periodically look at the keyboard. Math that once made perfect, clear sense to me no longer does, even on a basic level. I've spent several years in study, to no avail, attempting to relearn what was lost. Oh, the cost of my mistake!
The stutter killed any social inclination I may have had. I simply could not communicate, my brain was scrambled. I would think "Where is the vacuum?" and then ask "Can I have a Valium?"... Word association became a game I played with myself when I was alone, learning to reverse the damage. I realized that if I couldn't find the word I was trying to say, and came up with a completely garbled sentence, I could think the garbled sentence and would say what my actual thought was- It is freakish how the brain works.
For a couple of years I avoided people, or having a conversation with anyone I used to be close to. I spoke to myself aloud when I was alone, almost constantly, and slowly the stutter went away. As a result though, I had a hard time distinguishing between speaking aloud, and thinking silently. So I was prone to say things and not even realize that I had- Strike two for my social skills. I still have a hard time with my words, though I have no problem expressing myself in text, spoken word is often a daunting task. I find myself making a joke about "That big hard word I can't remember", when I find myself lost... usually over high frequency words at that.

So, I became completely introverted, reclusive, bordering on hermit-ish. I'm sure my neighbors thought I was an Agoraphobic because I seldom came out outside, and never interacted.
Now, here I am. Damaged, but slowly regenerating. I still feel like a freak sometimes, and at least in that sense I know I am not alone... I long for the days when I was well spoken, articulate, and made my stance on any given issue known with ease. Not anymore. I am awkward at best.
Those who know me well understand, and some of them even forgive me for my shortcomings which is more than I deserve. I made my bed, and I must lie in it. I must credit my lovely for his patience over the past couple of years, though now grown so frailly thin, it helped me to for the most part overcome what I would consider an handicap. Now, the rest is up to me.

I have mixed feelings about what happened, and still have not come to terms with all of it. It's a mixed pot. I feel a sadness, a sense of loss for what is irreplaceable, and at the same time relief and even gratitude for the learning experience this has been, and the knowledge I have gained from it in a much more timely fashion that I would have if my life had run its course uninterrupted.

Some of the most important lessons learned, when taken in a crash course can be devastating unless you can pick up the pieces and create something new from them... It's like fine china, if you drop it and it breaks, there is still a mosaic in it's future, where it has the ability to take any form, but at it's core, still remains that priceless piece.

2010-07-11T23:06:00.000-04:00

I'm revisiting "Me" tonight. The me that was left behind in the wake of tragedy... In the wake of destruction, out of the burning ashes, like a Phoenix my former self rises.
So clichéd are the descriptions I use, I know.. I know... Pathetic. Ah, but it is what it is, from a simple mind springs forth simple, discombobulated thoughts. Always rambling on, and on, and on. Double backing, crossing over one another, and coming round again. Meh... I'm a HS drop out, what else would one expect from such an uneducated woman as my self?

OK, enough of that.

My reality is ever changing, is not secure, feels stable in the moment, yet at the next pass, the carpet may decide to bank left, and straight into the night it will fly without its passenger.
Adrift, always afloat though, my sharded hopes survive as the raft that prevents my suffocating descent into the abyss... Hopefully these storms prove to pull me into the warm current, leaving me beached on my own life again... Oh, the lessons we learn.
I'm not making sense. I can't, because it doesn't even make sense to me. In all that I have done, seen, experienced, and the fucking mess that I have made... Man, so many others have said it in music... and in much better ways than my pathetic ramblings ever could. Or, maybe not..