Today I lost my job for speaking the truth and taking a stand

Well only a few of you know, but now I’m so fucking done. I gave up a year of my life, sleep, any type of social life to care for these residents, and I was BACKED INTO A CORNER in quitting my job to take a stand for my people. One person brought hours of misery and once again they picked her. It’s cool.

I already called Mr. Briscoe who’s mother was my resident that I cared for, and the owner of the building. I also emailed the following message to the CDLE over a person who cost so many their own jobs who needs Jesus in her heart more than my own mother. Grace Pointe Senior Care Community thank you so much for allowing me to see what it felt like to love something so much, but watch it slowly fade away because of one person who you feared and you’ll still be wondering why you can’t keep a kitchen staff. Bless your heart Cindra. Because like I wrote in my 2 weeks notice, May GOD save your soul.

Feel free to share

My name is Samantha Perry, and until 2 days I was employed at Grace Pointe in the dietary staff kitchen. I absolutely loved my job, the residents made the 4am wake up call worth it for the almost last year. I was a month shy of my anniversary.

I am writing to you because what goes on behind the scene is an absolute nightmare. I was throwing up from my anxiety every morning and it was all because of a woman named Cindra. Myself, and many others- mostly teenagers who wanted to have a great shift at work, were forced to deal with her reign of terror. To say she is a tyrant is kind. I held an 18 year old girl 2 days ago who was sobbing because she came forward and told the managers Rick and Luis in the kitchen, and Executive Director Shareen how tormented she was by Cindra. For example this woman in her SIXTIES would mock this girl for being too slow when she barely started a month ago. Jennifer also told them that Cindra accuses everyone of smoking weed, which is utterly false. I do not myself so that’s defamation. They talked to both, Cindra went to HR once again, she’s very familiar with it that being her 4th write up I believe, and nothing was done again. I had voiced how I felt to my managers and about a 20 minute conversation with Shareen prior, and I told Pam in HR how she made me feel. To the point I told I was very close to quitting or transferring to the nursing department.

Well after countless complaints, which included our cook Ricky being accused of being an alcoholic, which is utterly false. He only drinks on Fridays, I just felt that was important to the story. I’ve been told I also am a dirty person who probably gave said coworker Covid because I just wanted to be nice and bring him Qdoba. I take care of my people, which why I am writing to you now.

Yesterday I was forced into quitting my job to take a stand for my people. I am utterly heartbroken over having to do this, but nobody else will protect us. I grew up with a very abusive mother so Cindra didn’t affect me much. Truth be told I would pray for to find love and kindness in her heart, but others are TORTURED by a woman plows over everyone. I was told it’s a “process” to get rid of her.

No they fear her dictatorship. She was in the military and a cop, so that’s how she ran the trainees in her training style. Unbelievably cruel to the new hires to the point they wouldn’t come back for their second shift. A former coworker used to drink on the job mostly to be able to tolerate her, and not cry in the bathroom almost every shift. Her name is being asked be withheld and I can give you her contact information if you choose to further investigate.

For a job that’s slogan is “We serve others” they do not serve the staff or protect them like I am now. I fear no retaliation from this. This is just a daily occurrence for us, and they sit back baffled on why they can’t keep a staff. In every department she does something with someone. That day Jennifer cried Cindra had been almost throwing plates of food at her. Cindra received that write up,

Well today another employee Nahomi informed Alisha that Cindra accused of smoking pot, which she JUST GOT A WRITE UP FOR.

Please help us, I am begging you. I’m no longer there to protect everyone but YOU can help them. Get the tumerous cancer out of that warm loving environment. I’ve contacted cooperate earlier today but I’m not going to stop until other people feel safe instead of being surrounded by vile toxic energy.

I quit my job that I loved to be the voice that kept falling on deaf ears. I just hope it was worth it to quit a job where I made the elderly chuckle daily with animal facts.

Thank you for anything you can do.


Samantha Perry


What’s been on my mind lately?


Why am I not grieving?

When Paul died I absolutely lost it. I laid in bed for days watching P.S. I love you bare handing a Rotisserie chicken. I would come home from work, exhausted from pretending to be okay, and I curled up in a blanket watching Supernatural. I cut myself off from the world, ignoring the phone to the point it destroyed my relationship I had just started right after he passed. I cried for hours, sometimes in screaming pain.

Now I feel nothing most days.

I lost the woman who was basically my mother for over half my life. She showed me love, and what it was like to have a mother figure. She was one of 2 women who took me in when I needed the love the most. Here was a life giver who tormented me like a punching bag, and then the woman I called Momma B would sit with me supporting me and talking me through some of the hardest times in my life I went through.

2 months ago I lost my soulmate, and best friend Elizabeth Taylor. I had that pug for almost 13 years. We traveled together, we lived in a garage together, and most nights she hogged my bed so I just had a sliver and she had the rest that she never used. Most nights she was practically laying on me.
That dog was everything to me. She kept me alive and gave me a purpose. Now I have nothing. I have no one to talk to, no reason to want to go home after work, and makes me wonder the point of sobriety and not go on benders and quit my job because really what’s the point?

But the thing is, I don’t feel anything about her loss either. I feel numb to the loss of ET even more than mom. There’s somedays I don’t even think about her. Shouldn’t I be crying about her the way I cried about Paul? Wailing my pain, instead of just feeling angry when I’m at my job. She died in my arms, and there are just somedays I feel like I wish I could cry.

All I feel somedays is angry.  Things get under my skin. Crawling like I want to rip it off and throw it at people. Rip out my pain, my thoughts, and play them like a movie reel so they too can see the darkness that lies inside my brain. My soul.

I guess what’s been on my mind is why do I feel like I’m failing some of the creatures I held dearest to my heart because I’m not losing it. I haven’t stopped working, and I haven’t cried besides therapy. When am I going to really cry?

You ask me about emotions

You ask me about emotions, and what else can I say?

I have borderline personality disorder so I’m all about emotions

One moment I’m so happy it’s like a feeling of euphoria,

The next I have tears rolling down my face because something set me off and I don’t know why I’m coming unhinged.

I have a rage problem to where I’ve elbow punched about 5 holes in my roommates house because I flew into a fit of fury because I’ve begun to face my demons.

But lately I have one emotion that has risen to the suffering I feel and am trying to take off the armor. Not numbing myself anymore, in some ways.


Ever since I started soul searching, and writing my books I had feelings rise to the surface. All my life I buried the pain deep down. Of all the mistreatments I received throughout my life, I always told myself that “someone has it worse”.

It wasn’t until a little bit ago, that I begun to realize that “no. I had a horrible life, and I deserve to acknowledge it.”

The problem though is I began to climb out of my skin, more than normal.

The only way I can describe my rage when angry for example is my skin crawls. I feel hot, and I tug on my skin, and I can’t unwind.

The vengeance though, I feel it deep in my throat. I feel gurgling, and the need to scream out my demons at the people who wronged me. To make them feel a tenth of the wrath I want to inflict upon them. The boiling rage of wanting to eviscerate people, it’s what holds me back from being happy. From living a life of happiness, because forgiveness isn’t something I do.

I know it’s my downfall, because like they say it’s like I’m taking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

The Bus Driver

This is for my anger management class.

Its all about reflection if you were driving a bus with unruly passengers confusing you while you reflect upon your life.

She boards the bus, for another day on her daily driving route.
To quote the band Brand New “God and the Devil are raging inside of me”.
She takes the time to reflect upon her life, because the same secenic route looks the same to her. She needs wild, untedious, untamed.
She thinks about the mother who used her as a punching bag for the father who left her for her still stepmother. The father being a good man, but was abused so badly, to the point when the young girl was a teenager the life giver killed her dog to get back at her for making an escape to her father’s. Her response down the line was to threaten to kill herself because it hurt her to see her doing so well without her. The police were involved.
Her mother was kind with alcohol, and maybe that’s where her love for the substance itself comes in to play. She didn’t drink that morning or often, but when she does it ends up in a bender. It numbs the feelings of being told she was worthless, fat, stupid, and would be nothing.
She hears the unruly passengers on the bus and tells them to be quiet, but she knows it’s the same passengers she fights with every day so she just accepts it will rise up again in 5 minutes.
She finds herself somewhat lost, and a little distracted but that doesn’t stop her from thinking about her stepmother. The woman who did things for her that a mother would, but told her once in a truthful conversation that “She always wished it had been her, the drivers father, and the half brother who was conceived while the drivers parents were still married. The driver was a punching bag for that woman as well. The brother hated the driver because she had told her brother the truth about his parents marriage, to the point that no one even told her he got married.
The driver kept listen to the 2 passengers, who she now could clearly hear talking about good versus evil, and how they could pull a person one way or another.
The driver wonder if they somehow knew her life story. The years of people taking advantage of her kindness, using her giving nature to drain her dry and laugh as she had to pick up the pieces. The years of torment from kids in school leaving go kill yourself notes in her locker, and a club started by children who wanted others to hate her. The countless men who pawed at her like she was an object they wanted to take for their own; not understanding she didn’t want those Vikings to pillage her and defile like many had done against her will.
One of the passengers just kept laughing maniacally, and the driver found herself getting distracted, and suddenly she didn’t know where she was anymore. She had always been on the path others didn’t take for the adventure of driving, but also for her own life. She found herself on a new path she was excited to explore.
She turned around and told the passengers to be quiet or they would have to get off the bus then and there. It was almost like she had qwelled the demons inside of her and on the bus. She thought about how the wrong turn made her see that maybe she’s ready for a new direction in life. SO she decided her life, just like the bus needed to just have a huge turn around.
God and the devil may rage inside of her, and be front seat passengers on the bus, but the devil will never win and tarnish her good.

My dirty mistress

It corrodes my veins while flowing through me, This thing they call violent rage. It’s so simple you would think How something I can’t see controls me. Anger controls my reaction to many things, even some just so simple that would make someone giggle in utter disbelief over how trivial something is. I feel white hot anger coarsing though my finger tips; I feel release when I punch holes in doors with my elbow that leaves a gnarly bruise up the back of my arm, which was beautiful and the pain was exsquite, almost orgasmic. I laugh maniacally as I throw things at someone who’s made me angry. Breaking a plate or a mug is safer than me clawing up your face. Anger is my dirty mistress, and I can’t leave her. I think I love her.

Subscribe to me on Channillo|Sammay Sam



You’re the fuel to my inspiration, and the complete downfall to me succeeding,

You’re what I love, and want to end at the same time.

I don’t drink to get drunk;
I drink to sleep,
I drink to qwell that demon that says I have to hurt others
I drink to numb any pain that will flash before my eyes, like a projector playing home videos that taunt me, and make me want to cry for how badly I want to scream.


You are the reason I keep doing the same thing over and over Praying to a God that’s abandoned me that maybe today I won’t scream outloud when I see my trauma presented to me like a story I know the ending to that I get to relive almost moment to moment.


I am so jealous of Leonard in Memento. Here’s a man with absolutely no memory, and here I am, a drowning hack of a writer who has a photographic memory that I can’t escape from. My memories, the victims- myself or others I hurt, are my victims. I am my biggest victim because I still think I can escape from.

Why do I deserve an escape? Cut deeper baby girl, and swallow those pills and chase it with liquor. You will never escape yourself. You’re your own Momento.

You aspire to be Bukowski bitch, but you’re a Million little FRAY-d pieces that deserves to be mocked.

Follow me on to read more dark thoughts

Anne marie

Little Anne Marie said it best.

All I have is a picture in my mind
How it would be if we were together
Let’s pretend that you’re far away
Let’s say you write to me
And you promise in your letter that you’ll come home

Come home to my heart
When you come home
We’ll never be apart if I keep dreaming of you
Start believing it’s true
Soon you’ll come home
Soon you’ll come home
Soon you’ll come home to my heart

Soon you’ll come home
Home to my heart
Soon you’ll come home
Home to my heart
If I believe

I have had this song stuck in my head for days. I won’t lie I have played this song on repeat so many times. It’s a coping mechanism that I have. I tend to start feeling a way about a song, then I need to murder instantly, or I need to cry for hours.

Since I was a kid I have an attachment to the movie All Dogs Go To Heaven. I can’t explain it, but Anne-Marie the orphan girl is a character that defines my life to this day. I use to watch this happy little girl be so optimistic, and have no one to even make sure she had Waffles. She meets this couple who are so smitten with her. She ends up with a photo of them in a wallet, and that’s what she sings in the song about.
Thinking back on it now, I modeled myself after that little girl, becoming someone who is still always finding the bright side in even the worst feeling moments. I’m writing about her for a reason.

I’ve come to realize I am my own version of an Orphan. Before you think my parents were killed in a car crash; I have parents. To me I have my father, grandmother, and aunt; but there’s only one way to describe it.

I was a feral animal basically left on my own. I was a punching bag for a stepmom who meant well, a brother who just had a jealousy towards me for being someone who has always been the leader he wish he could be, and a mother who I’ve become to realize she was the first demon I faced in my life. My father always tried to be the one who smoothed things over, but my Grandma is still the GOAT.

I kind of drifted to a couple friends house my junior and senior year. That’s actually when I really began drinking, to cope with all the trauma and the words I couldn’t speak in my own words. I slept on the floor and couches of women who loved me the way my mother couldn’t. I cut my mom out of my life years ago, and I’ve really only had one “why couldn’t my mom love me” cry fest to my grandmother on the phone. It’s been a very interesting self discovery.

One of the first realizations I had about life and my family was when I listened to the Counting Crowes song “She talks to Angels”. The line “She’ll tell you she’s an orphan after you meet her family” and it’s stuck with me since.

I love my dad and my grandmother, but I had to fend for myself. I’ve written about it so it’s not needed in this piece. Just came to the realization when I had that song play on repeat in my head, and the scene where a little girl is looking at a picture imagining a family that would love her, and she’s so hopeful. I keep thinking that maybe someday I’ll have a family that loves me the way Anne-Marie ends up with one.

Until then I’m grateful for the family I do have, and the friends that make me whole. They come home to my heart.

Douche of the day

So I don’t give out personal information, especially to some strangers on the internet. My email is whatever.

To sum up:

Random dude on fet said his friend liked me. I gave my email because oh well I ignore emails. Barely spoke, but a couple of times. I just recieved messages again after months of not speaking, and it goes in reverse but here is the following.

Fuck you dude.

[I had made a crack about it being weird 2 dudes are looking at fetish sites together. enjoy…}

Him: Huh? Random? Two dudes?? Ok… a diss.  I get it. A gay joke. Passive aggressive much? No worries. Hmmmmmm….

But, an antisocial response I would expect from someone with a borderline personality disorder or something. I’m no doctor, though, I did minor in human psychology- or maybe you are just high. For a response, you’re a little ‘hammy’, Sammay. 😉

Look, I’m in a good mood following Trump’s karmic defeat, so I will open up to you, a stranger. Why not? Not fun being a private person all the time. So, here it goes, you get to be the one person in the world to hear the true me, and the last. So feel honored. Here it goes:

To be square, I’m kind of an asshole. But I’m brutally honest and there’s integrity in that. Most people would consider me a psychologically-abusive controlling asshole, which is why I avoid relationships. And when I saw your pictures, I thought- she’d be fun to fuck, use for sex, maybe even get knocked up to plant my seed, but no one I would invest in. So maybe you sensed that in me. Good girl. However, looking more closely at your pictures, you are clearly getting older and losing your figure. Guess I saw pictures of you from years ago. So, less interested now.

I was just reaching out a few days ago because I was horny and a touch high, and would’ve been satisfied with a simple hello in return. Just a little flirting. But you had to get unstable on me and here we are now. I guess with fetlife it’s par for the course.haha

If you ever want to grab a coffee, and talk politics or something then I would be down (I’m having fun gloating about Biden, fuck Trump). I would probably even try to seduce you, consensually fuck you, kick you to the curb, get off knowing I hurt you – because I’m sexual sociopath and dead inside. My poor mom was raped when she was a child and I am a product of that rape. It ruins a person being a living abortion like that. Turned me into a bad person that, though I  respect women because of what happened to my mom, I end up using them for sex and ghost them when I get bored. I’m the big bad wolf, so run away little red riding hood.haha Don’t say I didn’t warn you 😉

Seriously though, I don’t know you, but from what little I saw, you seem like a good girl and know better. Which is boring for me… I’m more attracted to danger and damage. So….oh well.

Lemme know if you ever wanted to grab that coffee, never hurts to make a new friend (or bust a new nut if you are into that sorta thing.) Otherwise, take care. Hope you figure your shit out. Gotta go, now be a good girl, Hammy, and ‘say good night to the bad guy’.

Very Truly,


[This is the past couple of emils. Prior to this I had only spoken to him a couple times…]

On Monday, November 9, 2020, SAMMAY SAM wrote: Yeah don’t have any of any prior messages.  Kind of random 2 dudes look at fet together. No biggie I just never check my email. Happened to because I’m waiting on a response for a thing I applied to. Talk to you whenever
On Sun, Nov 8, 2020, 7:45 PM Blake Washington wrote: I don’t have a formal account there. Do you not have a history of our messages/emails here? A friend of mine who does have a fet account put me in touch with you after I spend an evening browsing the site with him, etc. Unfortunately, this is as good as it gets.haha Was hanging out with him the other day, thought I’d cruise fetlife with him, and saw you were still active, and enjoyed some of your cute pictures. Thought I’d give you a shout out.
On Wed, Nov 4, 2020 at 4:10 AM SAMMAY SAM wrote: Yeah sending me a message there would have made sense. I don’t give private info to anyone ……..   
On Wed, Nov 4, 2020, 2:24 AM Blake Washington wrote: Watcha doing. Saw you are still active on Fet. Thought I’d say hello.

Under the sea

UPDATE: it is now 2020 as I write this. I never thought I would ever be able to top Lisa. [Fuck you Lisa, Fuck you]. Had a few run ins. Hell I got fired for getting another job, with no reason. Some people really tested my patience as managers, but then I found Queen of the…demon possessed cunts. This woman is by far a woman who outsucceeds even my mother who is next in line for Lucifer’s chair. The hate I feel in my heart towards her…I hope God forgives you, because I wish your car would blow out tires go 90 miles per hour. Enjoy this add-on because I think I met the worst woman to have crossed paths. You and most of your staff, may God save your lost souls.

This woman almost never smiled, and she hated me from the start. Kev and Beth were all about hiring me, with my hair going from orange to red. I had stripped it with the intent of dying it. Nailed the interview with Beth, changed my hair and they said it was still too bright. I tried dying it many times, still not enough for her

I did however secure a follow up Interview with the General Manager. Crane, that’s what I’m calling her was such a Cunt, even in the interview just radiated around her. So much darkness to her. Even in her eyes…

I’m just putting this here as what I will call the idea that may have been the catalyst into turning her into someone I hope was raped as a child to have been such a bitch.
Her husband died. He didn’t quickly pass. He suffered through cancer, and Crane was responsible for being his care taker. A couple of little birds may have said she resented the fact that was her new gig besides work. Losing someone doesn’t give you the right to treat anyone how she did. She seemed almost resentful of the fact she had to take care of him. For better or worse huh?

She always hated me. She looked at me with hatred in her eyes, and almost a sneer. Think Dolores Umbridge in Harry Potter.

From Day one she tried to find a way to get rid of me, and she was even vocal to other managers about her hatred for me, and I didn’t do anything wrong. Honest I tried to be an employee who went above and beyond. But I was a target.

For her, for several staff members, and even the lady who hit me.

The first of my troubles was a Gay Cowboy. Yes, basically a side cast member in Brokeback Mountain. Thing is, he never deserves to have a love story. He was something Regina George would aspire to be, and it wasn’t Fetch. He tormented me among a select group of people because he hated his life. I accidentally outted him because HE WAS SO GAY HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN WEARING ELTON JOHN OUTFITS. I was given hours of sidework from him and his little clique of people. Bad mouthing me was a constant, along with the same sneer as Crane. Because I wouldn’t break. Before my Instagram got shut down, I used to have countless videos of being tormented, me crying in the bathroom. I didn’t do anything to this kid, and here he was telling a 16 year old girl she wasn’t even a person, along with making a bet with an actual nice girl that he could be nice for a day. It lasted 5 actual minutes, and I’m being serious.

Funny story though, King Greggory and his reign of terror to the staff, along with his evil henchmen came to a screeching halt when I arranged statements from several employees about his behavior towards myself and others. It blindsided him, and he left the building crying shocked when I just stared at him. Kitty has claws sweetie. 

Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness you fucking idiots.

Drinking was a big thing for the staff. They would go on break during a double, and pop over to Old Chicago and down shots and beer. There’s a good chance any of you have had an intoxicated server who was just that extra push of friendly.

See King Greggory, and the merry band of misfits partied more than I ever did in my 0’s every single weekend. To the point there was an incident of a girl blowing coke, and then not coming to work. They loved nose candy, and I heard many stories from people. The ironic part is when they weren’t around him, not only was the shift pretty great, but I wasn’t stuck breaking down the salad bar cooler every night almost, but I could actually enjoy conversation with people. I don’t do fake friends though, especially when their colors were so clear.

One girl woke up late, and was so drunk came to work, they let her stay and wait tables.
Another girl, who was best friends with Crane, announced to me and everyone that the beer was coming out of her pores.
The coke snorter laid on the ground on a sunday morning, still unable to move because I believe she was way past the legal limit.

These are a few examples, because they are very crucial in this story.

It took my soulmate dying for Crane and I to have anything in common. It didn’t last long, obviously, but it was nice to not have to smoke everyday before going in just to be able to tolerate the anxiety that was turning into full blown attacks.

I went straight to work after saying goodbye to the love of my life, and the days were so hard, but I woke up one day after peeing the bed, didn’t bother showering, and went to work. I didn’t smoke that moring, which plays into this, and ended up hearing Semi Charmed Life which always puts me in a goof mood, and get interested in trying meth. I was laughing and jumping around, got pulled into the office where I was accused of them being able to “smell it on me .”

Lady your line cooks get high on their “break”.

I was shocked. It was my first good day at work since Paul died, and being called drunk when sober, and wanting to step out of the box I had been in with the river of pain I was coping with, and with my replies “I’m having a good day.” I was basically forced to leave to leave, while sober was top 5 golden moments at my job, The lady who hit me, My own Karen, jesus they should have just put grill marks on it, and i would not have violently cried in the office. The woman hit me, yelled at me, then repeatedly waved her hand in my face, was still better than what that succubus of happiness brought to the table.

For example I don’t react well to when people tell me they need to talk to me. Scares the shit out of me, and I become a rabbit about fear. I’ll always fight. But imagine fighting off a wolverine while covered in steak. That’s the level of love she radiates. 

There were so many bullshit reasons I either got a write up, and talked to about things that were clearly only affective to me. But that’s bullied for you. My instagram. I made a video talking about how stupid it was that if we could raises our PPA a certain amount set that day, then you had to write why you didn’t get it high enough.

Because people cheap?

This story is closing to an end, at least these ones so far, I swore leaving that job I would forever never afain allow my amazing unique kind of ass that I’m worth more than that treatment, especially in a job where they replace you the same day. 

It was a sunday, and I remember this is because I tend to be night people most shifts. I’ve written about this before but running water gives me panic attacks. That day they had decided to turn the water faquet that was o the line to put spatulas in it. the water go fast and doesnt stop. I used to turn it off the times when I would expodite food. Make it look nice. I also throughly enjoy the multiple things thrown at me, screamed at me. I was called names. Not given parts of meals to make it whole. It was great especially  when Raven, the dark haired girl though she was bad ass because she was a cook, began to smoke crack in my best friend’s house. [Hey Hamelbitch was the one to tell me, not your ex]. She took 110.00 that day, then made a scene about “not in here” while I had posted a FB status about my frustrations, and just like video I made about the Per person average, it was also seen by the manager somehow but only end up with a chat about the instagram post.

That girl wanted to be me. She hated me because of something I didn’t do, but thought fucking the 19 year old dishwasher I had schmooshed before her would make me jealous.

It didn’t I have to say.

my last honorable mention goes to my stalker. Did so much try to screw up a much better job; that you ended up banned from Applebee’s and I filed a restraining order against you. Next time you slit your wrists go deeper.

SO about this time I had been sad  Paul, and that second I still hadn’t taken a moment to grieve losing the love of my life.

I have severe panic attacks. I kid you not I collapsed and army crawled a couple of times I have for my meds there. By this time I was so on the verge of a nervous breakdown that the job and the stress I felt there was a major factor of my falling apart. 

I walked into the kitchen, and  saw them trying to screw the handle back on, and water pouring out at such a ferocity. The thought of waisting water began  to creep into my chest with pure, crippling terror. I rememer becoming lightheaded, and i thought I had it under control and went to grab the salad dishes I left at a side station. I grabbed them, and thats when I began to lose the ability to walk, let alone stand, so i slid down the wooding back to a booth. My manager Marc rushed over to me, and all I could say is “I can’t stand. I can’t feel my legs”. He asked if I wanted to call 911, but I told him no I would be okay.

Sat down with the District Manager, and came to the realization That I needed time to grieve. I poured my heart into work and the treatment I got piled into my severe mental problems. I sat with a handful of my sleeping pills because I mentally snapped. I wasn’t sleeping for  more than 2 hours a night, 4-5 if I was lucky. I was accussed of lying because I would have died. No  you fuck sticks, Manic Depresssion mixed with Insomnia is why my brain works the way it does. ` I ended up being sniffed by coworkers because they apparently assumed I smelled like any substance that kept me without mind rest for a month. 

I ended up with a week off of work and that’s when I tried to grieve my loss of Paul. It involved barehanding a rotiserrie chicken, and watching P.S. I Love You. It took trying to go to 3 different Targets to locate it. I needed it. The story is of a woman losing the love of her life, and her journey to figure out life. There’s more to the movie than just that simple sentence. It’s a classic.

I went back to Red Lobster, and my whole stance on life had changed. Before, and after. I came back to people complaining about extra sidework, and here I had just watched the love of my life slowly die in a coma after a car pinned his head again a curb. I had never been mean to a single person there, and while I cried in booths about an unimaginable loss and pain I still feel to this day, I had endured 2.5 years of torment from people who treated me like shit, but were kind to my face. 
There was a gay flight attendant who left, and tried roasting all of us. He referred to me as a helicopter and that I was always buzzing around either telling my business to people, or in people’s business. It’s the same guy who used to come rub my back and tell me his problems, or people would unload their business on me. People assume that just because I listen, that means I want to to begin with.

The day I quit was simple.

There was a miscommunication over a table and a section. She raised her voice to me, which she’s about the same level of kindness of my mother, and I went to the office and told my favorite manager “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.” He talked me off the ledge and I was ready to go back at it. Crane rounded the corner, and deviously knew she found her loophole. Sent me home for the night, and I went to Olive Garden to apply for a job.

I came back the next day, forced in a sit down with some random manager. Tries laying into me, then basically tells me I’m let go. I told her it was fine, that I would go somewhere else were I was treated with respect and not talked to like I was a piece of shit. SHE was so pissed she wasn’t getting the reaction out of me she thought she would. She was like “Fine. You do that”.

I shook her hand, thanked her, and told her I wish her nothing but the best. The vile look in her eyes, the seething hatred she had spent building up against me was fabulous. You could tell she had a dream of throwing me out, and I squashed that dream. All she could muster was a “You too.” Of course she felt the need to walk me out, like I was going to reenact the “I’m not going to cause a scene!” Scene from Half Baked.

I left that day, and I felt so much better. My mental health improved, while all these people were left to drown in that toxic enviroment. I’ve seen a few of them out, and had to leave. Not a fear of confrontation, more a fear of the charges I would catch with the seething rage I still feel against them. Some have left to avoid me. There was someone who passed away, and somehow months after I left I was notified, like I had to be upset. This person and I hooked up, and I lent him money. He then became friends with all the people who treated me like shit. My only response was “well I’m not getting that 50 bucks back.”
I was bombarded with messages calling me horrible names, told at my funeral they wouldn’t speak highly of me, and even brought Paul into the mix. It’s cute how you’re trying to compare the greatest friend who ever lived, to the guy who fucked the crackhead like they were trying to rub it in my face. I see you don’t worry.

I’m sure there’s more that I’ll add after this ending, I’ve had to block out because my rage boils and I know I would hurt someone. All I can say is I’ve dealt with demons as of late, but this place? There was evil in the eyes of somany people. Be leery of those little soulless beings asking you if you want another round of endless shrimp.  They’ll stab you in the back as quickly as look at you, always with a devious smile.

Rose Colored Glasses

It really didn’t strike me, my purpose of all, my group, countless books, and yet just insane rambling of this, until a story shared by a woman I have never met shook me to my core. :
“It feels like this needs to be posted on. I’m gonna ignore the posts that don’t keep with the theme. My first boyfriend was in 6th grade. He still deserves mentioned. Even though I was only 11, he pressured me to have sex with him. He tried to feel me up in class while we were watching the original Mummy. He cheated on me with two of my best friends and one he had sex with He spread rumors we’d had sex at school. He tried to make me cut out my stomach fat with a knife (he wanted me to give myself a liposuction). He threatened to hurt me if I ever broke up with him. When I DID break up with him, he threatened to put flaming dog poo on my porch and put viruses on my computer. He left a message on my voicemail afterwards that said “I want your pussy.” Keep in mind this is pre-cell phone, so this was left on my home phone… He tried to grab me and force me to be with him and is to this day the only guy I ever kicked in the balls on purpose. I really started off great on the whole dating thing.

In the moment reading that, I realized what I needed to do. I needed to become a support system for abuse victims. That in itself was a journey. Men won’t talk about it, where as I have found that women are more vocal once they find out they aren’t alone. That is why we stay. We think we’re the only ones, that we deserve this, and I believe the only person who deserves this is Pearl Hernandez. I can’t stop thinking about the Gabriel Fernandez case and to see how you could do that to a child? It doesn’t matter what happened in your life. You break what I call the vicious cycle of abuse.
I realized that anyone has probably experienced the vicious cycle of abuse, honestly. I describe it as the person you are with now loved someone very bad, and it turned them into that person, and then you found them. They inflict that anger on you and you have done nothing to deserve it. But they’re angry and can’t help it. When you escape, you’re left with so much anger you give it to the next person. So on. So forth.
Break that cycle. Please. If not for yourself, but for your children. They will grow up to repeat the pattern most of the time. Some learn, but I didn’t. I was a Winner myself for a long time. Mean, angry, and abusive. To those who got my wrath I am sorry. Truly. But it doesn’t excuse your part as well.
So in closing, you need to get out. It will never get better. They will never change and you are wasting your life and happiness thinking they will. I understand if you’re like me and mommy didn’t love you. But in all seriousness, you deserve to know your worth. You deserve the world and you deserve someone who doesn’t make you feel complete when they are beating the shit out of you. If you are dating a “winner” in the following stories, please know I love you so much. I’m sorry you can’t see through the rose colored glasses. ❤