Sunday, October 16, 2016

♫...I got a twenty-dollar bill that says no one's ever seen you without makeup....♫

Me this morning. Just after waking up.
No makeup. No filter.
Suck it, judgemental types.

I'll be 37 this coming Saturday...& I'm feeling pretty goddamn great about it.
Things are going very well for me now, and I'm SO looking forward to all the fun in my future.
I feel good about myself.
I'm having an amazing time with the people in my life.
I'm about to start looking for my first home.
Having fun is my main goal.
I've picked myself up off of Rock Bottom, and I'm going to enjoy every single step upwards.

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

♫...The shadow in the background of the morgue...♫

I miss you today.
So much that I see your face whenever I close my eyes.
This always happens.
I convince myself that I'm finally fine, that I don't miss you being in my life.
Then, I talk to you...I see your face...
...and for days afterwards every cell in my body misses you.
Then the rebuilding process starts again.
I know you're not good for me.
I know I'm better off.
I have been happy.
I still feel how deeply you hurt me.
None of it makes a bit of difference at this moment.
I hate that my heart still looks at you, and sees home.

Friday, October 7, 2016

♫...I was made of broken parts sewn together with a broken heart...♫

I'm overly cautious.
I often don't do things that I want to do, and then kick myself for not jumping at the chance while I could.
It's a side effect of having your trust destroyed by the one person you trusted most in the world.
I don't trust myself. I don't trust anything good that presents itself to me. I hesitate. I freak out. I'm scared....of more hurt, of rejection, of being a vast disappointment, of everything that could go wrong.
So, I'm often left letting things I really want to experience pass me by.
And it all stems from being lied to, cheated on, and brutally tossed aside for someone I was told was 'better'.
I'm sick of this. I'm so sick of being afraid, of finding it hard to trust myself or anyone else (on any level), of hesitating to do the things I want because I'm afraid that there's something wrong with me that makes people disappointed when they actually get to know me...

I don't want to be overly cautious anymore, or shy. I want to do what I want to do, when I want to do it...with no regrets. If I end up being a disappointment to be it. I'll learn to live with it. I'm tired of hesitating out of fear.

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

♫...There's no way I'm going through life having vanilla sex...♫


Someone awoke the beast, and I've had the female equivalent of blue balls ever since. Which was pretty awkward seeing as how I spent the evening visiting my grandparents. It's kinda hard to concentrate on what Grams is saying while you're having explicit fantasies in your head. The kind that, if there is a hell, are probably going to get you sent to one of the hottest levels. 

If you're under the impression that women don't have high sex're wrong. We're all different, of course, but most of the women I know want more sex than the men I know. It could also have something to do with the fact that the women in my age group are at their sexual peak. Then again, my group of friends have pretty much always been this way. I haven't had sex since mid-February, and that's a painfully long ass time for me (and even then it had been longer than I'd liked). However, with all the BS that has gone on in the last 4 months, I haven't felt the desire to have sex with anyone other than myself. Me and B.O.B. were quite fine with our nightly rendezvous. Until yesterday. The beast only needed the right temptation in order to come out of hibernation...with a vengeance. I feel like I'm about to explode...AND I'M LOVING IT. It makes me feel like I'm at a much better place in my life than I have been in a very long time.

Monday, October 3, 2016

♫...kind of devastated less than optimistic or frustrated...♫

Jesus H. MotherFUCKING Christ.

I have a dilemma. I need to make a decision, and I need information.
There is one person that I know without a shadow of a doubt could answer my GODDAMN question, and alleviate all my fears with his vast knowledge on this subject.
My goddamn, motherfucking ex-boyfriend.

We're supposed to be friends, right? Right.
That means I should just ask, right? FUCK. NO.
I'd rather stuff myself in a fucking wood chipper than contact him first.
Yes, I'll always talk to him when he contacts me...despite the pleas from my friends, family, pets, therapist, pharmacist, the local exorcist, the guy who delivers my Chinese food (it gets heavy), and probably Satan himself...but I'll be damned to the deepest, hottest pits of hell where they play nothing but elevator music, and you're forced to live out all your most embarrassing moments over and over again for all eternity before I contact him first.

It's incredibly frustrating.

Friday, September 30, 2016

♫...I'm a moon that never shows its face...♫

It seems that among a certain set of people, there is a belief that today's Black Moon is a sign heralding THE END OF DAYS!

God. I motherfucking hope so.

We need an Apocalypse...if only to wipe out anyone stupid enough to believe that an event that occurs about once every 32 months is a sign that our world is about to end.

There are others that believe that this 'event' brings a great shift in energy...that it is a time of great awakening. A time of great change, all about releasing and letting go of the things in our lives that are no longer positive. Time to clear away the old, and make way for the new. Stop settling for less, and opening yourself up to what you deserve.

I have to admit, I like that idea.
More than anything, I want to put the last 16 months of my life completely behind me. I no longer want any of it to have any kind of hold on me. I want to be able to unexpectedly find myself seeing a photo/video of him on social media, and it not feel like someone kicked me in the stomach. I don't want to care. I don't want to feel anything at all for him, or about our past together. I just want to move forward.

That's my past...and that's where it is going to stay.
My future has amazing things in store.
My present will be spent reminding myself that I did not deserve the bad things of my past (but they did teach me a lesson), and that I deserve the good things in my future.

So, while this celestial event isn't a sign that our world is ending...I'm going to choose to view tonight as the time my world resets and begins anew., if a hot Viking sex god wants to throw me over his shoulder, and roleplay as if we're living in a post-apocalyptic world...I'm more than happy to oblige.

Sunday, September 25, 2016

♫...Hold me down, break my wings Wouldn't change a fucking thing...♫

I remember the first time someone called me fat.
I was in middle school, a time in anyone's life that's particularly trying unless you are Barbie doll perfect, and blessed with an iron clad, healthy self-esteem.
I was neither.
I was short, in 'advanced' classes, no one had taught me how to 'fix' my hair, I wasn't allowed to wear makeup, and I was still dressing in looney toon tshirts. The fact that I had sprouted ginormous boobs, seemingly overnight, did not go unnoticed or uncommwnted on by the woefully unoriginal adolescent males. Also, the little clique of perfect popular girls seemed set on making every day a misery for me.

The moment that was to be branded into my memory for all of eternity took place in the mandatory, co-ed Home Ec class that I was less than thrilled to be taking. This particular day, we were handed a brown paper bag and some strips of paper. We were supposed to write something nice about each person, fold it up, and put it in their paper bag. Then one by one we were supposed to stand up, pull out one slip of paper, and read it in front of the class. People stood up, reached in, and read things like 'I love your hair' or 'cool shirt'. Back then, I wasn't acquainted with my dear friend anxiety, so I wasn't particularly apprehensive about reading a strip of paper in front of some classmates. I stood up, reached into my brown bag, and pulled out a folded up strip of paper. My stomach crumpled up into a little ball and crawled into my throat when I read what was on the paper. Written in pencil, three little letters, written big enough to cover most of the paper, stared back at me: FAT. Back then I wasn't as talented at swollowing my emotions and hiding how I really feel behind a carefully constructed mask of cool indifference. I'm pretty sure my face turned red (which is impossible to miss on someone as pale as me), and I looked distressed because my Home Ec teacher marched over and snatched the paper from my hands. She was angry and lectured the class on how they should not be cruel etc. I just remember sitting back down, fighting to not cry, and desperately wanting to fold myself in to make myself smaller.

I remember hating my body all through my teens and twenties. There wasn't a diet pill that I didn't try, or a fad diet that I didn't subject myself to. Things had to get worse before they got better. It all started with a comment made by a guy I fancied myself in love with. We weren't 'together', but we were close friends, and we fooled around a lot. One day a mutual friend finally came to me and said he felt he needed to tell me something so that I would quit wasting my time with this guy. He told me that the guy I had been fooling around with said that I was 'too fat to date publicly'. It was like a punch to the gut. It broke my heart, it broke something in me. Then when he got involved with someone much thinner and younger than me I went into a deep depression. That on top of being laid off, sent me down a dark path, and when I finally shook myself out of it I had gained 100lbs.

If I hated my body before, it was nothing compared to how much I loathed it now. I could barely walk around campus between classes, and I was embarrassed for anyone to see me. I stopped going out, I refused to see my friends. The moment that changed everything was when I saw my graduation photos. It took me 10 years to finish college because I had to go part time, when I could, while working 40+ hours a week. I was proud of myself and I wanted the world to know that I achieved this goal. However, I was too ashamed of my body to even purchase the photos. After that. I started the diet and exercise regimen that I've mentioned before. I lost 120lbs, and I felt a lot better about my body...but what I had put it through had left its mark. My body isn't perfect and there are parts I still loathe about it. I still worry about anyone seeing me naked, that they'll be disgusted, and I'll once again be deemed 'too fat to date'.

The thing is, I've started fighting back against those thoughts. I have a belly pooch, stretch marks, and cellulite. My thighs touch, a lot. It doesn't mean that I'm not cute as hell. If I feel cute, and I feel like taking a photo of myself, it's my way of fighting back against my own negative self-image. What doesn't help at all is when friends/aquaintances make negative comments about me and those photos. I've spent so much time hating everything about my body, and it has taken me a lot of time and effort to get to a place where I feel good enough about myself to post pictures for the whole world to see and comment on. When someone I've allowed to be a part of my life makes negative comments about me posting these photos, they take a wrecking ball to all the work I've done. I wish I had a thicker skin, but I tend to trust people much more than I should. I'm working on it though. The encouragement and support of the amazing people in my life helps a lot.

I think what I'm trying to say is that you should really watch what you say to people. You never know how much your words are going to damage someone, or how they can scar someone for life.

To the people who judge me for posting cute photos of myself: Fuck you.

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