A piece of me will always love you.
Just a piece.
A piece of me will always love you.
Just a piece.
It seems easier the more you say it, so they say.
Maybe I am too fucked up for someone.
I don’t disclose many things but at this point I lost it all…what else is there to hide? Not a damn thing.
I am a self-centered, pathetic, sadistic slab of a human that is looking for a disease to save me. I am this mess. This sad pile that is reflecting it all. That wants to know why it got this way. I’m not editing..I’m ranting..it’s 9:14 p.m., and I should be working…on what? On something that ultimately made me alone…?
I am curious how a knife feels.
I am curious.
past thoughts swarm pass to heighten my curiosity…
I was in a bad relationship at 18. I was emotionally abused and sexually assaulted, to the point where I thought that’s how it’s suppose to be. First real relationship with an older guy, this is normal?
Fell in love at 19. Lasted till I was 23. On and off and between juggling my insanity I had people in between. Couldn’t be alone.
Tried again at 23-24. Had more people in between.
Tried again at 25…fell in love.
Fell again I’m alone.
Because I blame 18 for this so much. I blame it all on who I am. I blame it all on the nightmares. I blame it for every single thing.
and I’m curious how it feels on my skin.
if that’s how it is to feel…
An abandoned blog, a thousand apologies.
I’ll spill the nutshell later, I am just happy to write, although it seems that anger and hurt only make me write.
I feel that I need to write this, I don’t tolerate bullying.
A couple of days ago the cops came to my house to talk to my brother. A disturbed image came into the officer’s hands. A doodle of my brother blowing his brains out with a message to a girl he drew it for. No, this isn’t the way to win a girls heart, but who can blame my brother, this is what he saw in my dad. We’re about 10 years apart, what I saw, I processed differently obviously then him.
The cop though, felt that there was more than what was drawn. He wanted to talk to him.
My brother was bullied all his life. My rant on how the school’s do nothing will be for later, but now in high school it seemed to have stopped. Now just simple adolescent problems that I hope my tomboyish ways will make up for the lack of a male role model in his life.
Times like those scare me. The thoughts that followed and bounced off scenario to scenario haunted me. I tried to shake it off.
When a young person feels no need to live anymore, to breathe, to exist, because somebody thinks they are a waste of space. Who is anyone to make the judgement of a person? Yes, he likes comics and draws a lot (very good at it by the way), but he isn’t afraid to be himself.
More courage than those bullies, to keep going.
Then I stumbled across his email by accident while trying to check mine. Adults, young kids, who knows the age of the person on the other end of the computer screen, telling him to kill himself. For simple things, simple animation that he makes, simple “memes” hes trying to do. Trying to find himself, trying to see where he fits in.
Broke my heart. No one should ever have to feel this way.
I did what any normal parent, older sibling would do. Create a fake account and respond back to every single one of those D-bags. I can take it. Go ahead, give it all to me, those words can’t hurt me, just the words directed to him.
This is the problem with the world.
What is the point? At what cost to feed ones ego? To do it just because…at what cost. Young people take their lives all the time due to bullying and I don’t want my brother to be another story I tell. I don’t want to read anymore stories about people who couldn’t take it anymore, who tried to talk and no one could listen, who kept it inside because they felt like no one would listen.
If anyone out there ever feels like this and happens to stumble across these pages, please talk. Talk to me! It’s fine. I’ll show you cat pictures, but please know that you’re not alone, not the only one battling these demons, and there has to be an end to this.
Nothing can be done if nothing is said.
I swear I’ll listen.
Shouldn’t be punished for being human, for being alive. We all have the pursuit of happiness, all entitled to equal happiness in life.
How does somebody find courage? That is my question. Teach courage?
Talk. Speak. We will listen.
It’s raining in Southern California.
The word leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth.
I do not drink as much as I use to, which is…good? Yes, let’s go with good.
I am though a fan of the dark ale and will try to have it any chance I get.
Not sure what is the point of replaying scenes in my head from almost a week ago, as if I could go back in time and shut myself up. As it is, I have a trigger word vomit disorder and with the help of good ol’ dark ale (or any alcoholic beverage), the vomit gets worse.
That should really be the name of this post.
I am stupid.
I wish to apologize to everyone at the bar who listened to me.
Honestly, who goes on about what one’s older sister said to one’s younger brother, such as, “I was plucking my vagina hair.”
Must be the same person who got excited about growing a cup size in bras and telling everyone about it…
…only to find out it was a bad week for mother nature and they were simply period breasts.
(I’m still disappointed)
Of course in between this, along with my accent, came the slurred speech.
The man behind my coworker smiled the whole time, waiting for his move to butt in and make some wise ass remark.
Did I give him an opening?
You bet I did.
In between a story about throwing shoes around, my hands projected to the side and knocked over a glass of water.
It didn’t sound as loud but my embarrassment must have drowned out the shrieks of panic of glass shattering, or my co-workers voice telling me I spilled it all over his pants.
I caught the glass though, it did not shatter, but the old man butted in.
I don’t know what he said. I honestly don’t. I just have his image in my head.
Smug, old, trying to impress his date from match.com.
My co-worker was disturbed.
I don’t remember much, but I swear like a sailor and told everyone that they are “little bitches.”
Then I fell asleep.
Because I am one classy broad.
This is my story and I’m sticking to it. If I remember anything else, I fear that this is the timid version of the repetitive memories.
I’m sitting outside enjoying the last of my rum staring at my farm of cats. They were plotting to kill me, due to the lack of food. I only own 2. Not sure how the additional 5-7 extras came into the picture. This morning they weren’t pleased with my leftovers of chicken and spaghetti, and ate it out of spite.
They now have food.
Its a nice day in Southern California. I forgot how warm the winters could be. Weather like this always gets to me. It makes me enjoy the day but I think more.
Another season passed, the days are changing, and all I can think about is tomorrow. Hypocritical to everything I preach.
Tomorrow scares me more than today.
If I may offer one word of advice: Do not name the stray cat that has been bugging you, and you’ve been feeding, “Hitler.”
It offends people…
Especially at Target when you yell, “I need a huge bag of food to feed Hitler.”
My collection of cats is sadly growing. If you haven’t reevaluated your life, do it when you wake up to 5 cats outside your door. Everything falls into place and finally as in a personal growth triumph, you get out of the denial phase of being a crazy cat lady.
Oddly enough, the only thing that offended me from that name was the term lady. I’ve gotten to that point as well? A lady? I picture some hunchbacked prune in uptight clothing staring…for no reason at all. Just staring. This swarmed in my head as the cats stared at me. I saw my reflection and immediately tried to stand up straight.
My spine has gotten use to being lazy and now I try to tame it? I looked like a flat chested girl trying desperately to pop out her A’s on her chest. No people I am better than that…I am a B.
Walking upright with my B’s in the air I feed that collection that is supposed to fill any void in my life, right? This is why people get cats in the first place? What if they come to you, is that worse?
It’s hot as hell outside right now and I’m evaluating my life by Hitler’s standards, which is never a good sentence to think none the less say. Ants are crawling up on me to the point where I can’t kill them all by myself.
“Get them Hitler, kill them!”
Somehow even the cats knew it wasn’t a good move yelling this out.
I apologize to the air, like if anybody is listening.
I mean, “Hit-la…hit-la…not Hitler…it’s a female cat.”
It’s been a long, bad day for me and Hit-la.
I believe the ants have accepted me as one of their own. I woke up with only a slight itch, that may have been a couple of rookies who missed the memo. The ants now go around my slab of human flesh on the couch and downwards to the wall that holds the t.v..
I’m so grateful that I have been thinking of giving them a peace-offering, but what do you give an ant? Should I leave cookie crumbs in a shape of a heart by the window? I mean Valentine’s Day is coming up (sigh says bitter cat woman). Too desperate huh? Yeah, they don’t like kiss asses.
I know, a spoon full of sugar! Very thoughtful and later we can all reenact Mary Poppins. My umbrella has a couple of holes, never the less, the ants will carry me down a banister of leftovers from the cushions of my couch.
I’ll work on this later, my bigger issue are my cats.
This morning I feel like I walked in on a meeting of what seemed liked my assassination. They had “rubbing out Jane” all over their little cute eyes.
See, in the transition of me working and actually seeing any money I am penniless. With a whopping $1.97 in my savings account, that was transferred from my checking as I closed this account to avoid fees since I wasn’t working, (a day before I got hired…I know), as the teller laughed when he asked what to do with my $1.97. Oh, I’ll be back Chase. This may be the reason why the ants pity me.
Sadly cat food has been scarce and limited to the cheap, non appetizing dry food, and the 99 cent store isn’t how it use to be. With my last physical dollar I bought a small, sad attempt of kibble and tried explaining to them, “Yo mama is broke. Wait!” They never do.
Of course I added extras like ham, some leftovers, and chicken gravy to sauce it up…with love.
So this morning as I stumbled from my couch to “my room” I opened the door on them meowing silently. With one of my cat’s eyes staring into my soul, flicking his tail harder and harder on the tile. Suddenly we had a telepathic conversation. “I’m waiting….” Noting how hard he can flick his tail.
His brother sat quietly, still meowing under his breath.
I didn’t get my usual good morning greeting. No, I got the stink eye. A stink eye from a cat is the scariest and disturbing stink eye one can receive.
I backed away and came back with the remains of the kibble. The fat man walked towards the bowls, checking them out for approval.
It was ok.
A look was given and received from one brother to the other. Casually, the little man pawed an empty box of cat food towards my feet.
We met eyes.
He gave me a warning.
The box was empty with its corners strategically ripped and torn off. He then walked off to join his brother to continue with their food and meeting.
I’ve raised mob kitties…and I couldn’t have been prouder.
They could be in cahoots with the ants, you know lulling me into a false sense of security as the kitties strike, in exchange for their lives. Someone’s pulling the strings, and I smell kitty.
Well, I always smell kitty in my house but I use Febreeze, it works.
I would’ve accepted a dead fish in newspaper, but they’re pretty hungry, an empty box will do.
If I don’t write anymore, the fat man and Mr. Brandon succeeded.
Just look how reckless they can be!
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