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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’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…



I assumed love the second time around would be better. Or the third…hell, I thought everything was going to be better.

Sad realization seeps in that maybe I am going to be alone for a very long time, that maybe I am not for another.

I thought I met someone who supported me.

Understood me.

Both chasing dreams.

He never once discouraged me.

Or said stop.

Yet, it’s this very reason why he just left me.

This very reason I am trying to work but have to articulate a couple of sentences to mark the date.

To add to the rest of stories that I hold.

That’s all we are right?

Just stories.


How I Met Jane


I have no idea what I’m doing.

The majority of these posts follow this thought.

Not so much of content, but about life.

Lessons later. Heart-aches later. Hell, even small amounts of success led me back here.

I have no idea what I’m doing.

At this current moment I am trying to figure out how to break it to you that I am not that great of a person. My indecisiveness leads me to hide, and suppress everything that is right.

You’re reading this going, “What the hell is she talking about?”

I have no idea.

Years later I returned to this part of myself where I could be free to update you of how I overcame everything. That I did in fact get the dream job. That haircut I was worried about? Yeah, I got it, and I looked fantastic! The cat problem? No worries, I cut it down to one cat. Oh, and the excessive drinking? I drink f*cking tea now!

If this is what you expected, add another notch of disappointment to your expectations in life. This blog is that notch.

I question my job daily, and drink while on the job. The haircut ended up making me look like one of The Beatles, in a non-adorable way. I had 10 cats at one time (currently have 5), and tea is a foreign substance in my life.

I ended up ruining a lot of good things because I couldn’t let things go.

This doesn’t bother me though.

What bothers me is that I forgot to put gas in my car and now I have to wake up early before work.


How I Met Jane

Holy Sh*t

This still exists.

Want to know something?

I’m still the same.

Within the last post, I’ve done things that I can’t express all at once. Karma came back, and why, it wasn’t the best meeting. Cycles of depression, and worried thoughts, and the never-ending fear of the treacherous, “What If’s?”

I wouldn’t change it for the world.

I wouldn’t be here typing if it wasn’t for those events.

I wouldn’t be here lying to you if I said I wasn’t afraid of the next relapse.

But I am here.

So, let’s meet Jane again.

She can control her whiskey, but now she steals beer out of bars.




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.

Everyone will.

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.

Word Vomit

Memory Serves

Memory serves nothing good.

an escape, that’s what is left behind.

but it’s all you

left in me

that he sees.

what angle can I use,

what line should I cross,

to look the other way?

time weaves us all

in the basket that can’t hold my tears.

what is left?

memory serves liars.

Sadistic, masochistic, pathetic, perfectionists that hate the reflection of themselves in others.

who to hate?

I want to create something

more than a fleeting orgasm

it’ll last till the next

and I’ll do it again to get that high

one thing I can control

and I can’t anymore

and nothing is left but the thoughts.

my eyes leave his

pray for blindness.

let me feel.

memory serves the damned.



How I Met Jane

“You guys still think i’m cooooool?”

I just got asked if I was popular in high school.

An intense flashback of me with bleach blonde hair and stripped pants sitting on a bench laughing as I secretly stole glances of a boy I liked for four years who only noticed my existence 6 years ago.

2014-01-26 10.17.25

Yeah, I was a creeper. He noticed me though, said I had a “Staring problem.” Yup. Self-explanatory.

I mean I wasn’t at the bottom of the food chain, nor the top. Every now and then when a “cool” kid talked to me it was nice, thus proving my cool ranking was not as high.

I think I fell in between the cracks. I was cool enough to be noticed by my senior year since I got voted “Most Unique” which is a nice way of saying ” You’re one weird girl whose cool and we remembered you because you had pink hair.”

…I still don’t understand how guys liked me. To this day.

Some of my co-workers think that I was the cool kid in class though. Ha, if they only knew when I sat on gum my freshman year and tried desperately to walk backwards, clinching my butt cheeks to go home.

If someone asked me if I was popular in Middle School though, the answer would be no. Hell no.

Socially awkward, lanky girl,with no bangs to expose huge forehead, pimples, and whose only friend was a little Asian girl just imported who stood by a pole with an Adidas track suit pant and jacket that never matched and talked about homework.

2014-01-26 10.41.51

Good times. Fun fact: little Asian girl grew up a little slutty. Now has an adorable baby.

Still on this question, I still don’t understand where I stood on the popularity scale. Maybe I was that kid you liked but was afraid to admit out of fear of lowering one’s street cred?

Not sure.

I wasn’t a cheerleader.

I couldn’t successfully play a sport.

I wasn’t dumb to be cool.

I wasn’t smart to be known for being smart.

Didn’t have huge boobs.

Didn’t dress girly.

Just now in my mid 20’s understand what the meaning of a “pedicure and manicure.”

Didn’t have my first kiss until I was 16 and didn’t know that spit was exchanged.


I obviously didn’t have a boyfriend or put out to climb up the social ladder.

I was just me.

and after you go from being so out of the circle of not being cool, it is then cool again and you go back up for not caring.

It’s like a fashion faux pas of wearing white after labor day. Or neon colors from the 80’s, it’s cool again.

In the end I’m pretty glad. Most of the cheerleaders now are fat and have babies, but I mean there’s nothing wrong with being a cheerleader. I’m not anti-cheerleader. This isn’t a typical low-self-esteem, tall girl who writes poetry cliché hate statement.

This is more of a “I’m dating a guy who was a football player, dated a cheerleader and now has a kid from said cheerleader and this seems to still haunt me” statement.

I was (still am) one of the guys. The girl who cursed with them, drank with them, and had a crush on one of them and he never responded back and went with the fat girl who I still don’t understand why…huh…

So to answer the question if I was popular. I would say no. I was too cool to be mainstream. I’m a little indie, independent dork.

…this is what I tell myself to make me feel better.

It works!

Always be yourself. At the end of the journey of avoiding yourself, to be someone else, you end up with yourself; this is how you end up making yourself. Make someone good.