Vacuum Cleaner

Kesha’s Thinkin of you is what I play when I want to take a baseball bat to his face.

In case you haven’t noticed it, I’m a very angry person. Years of being a punching bag for people have made me into a dark sinister being. I have to qwell it, but i feel it. Since editing books and coming face to face with how truly dark and angry I am, I’m realizing how terrified I am of myself.

Yesterday I raged so hard I put a hole in 3 of my roommates doors.
I screamed my pain since losing Reginald.
There is a bruise that takes up half of my arm because I threw myself into the wall. Screaming at whatever demons that are in my house, to get out.
That is it’s own story.
My mother was the first demon I truly battled.
There was one though, that still to this day has rocked me to my core.

Frasure.
It’s taken 15 years before I could face this.
He’s a lot of the reason I am the way I am, and in some ways I owe him a huge fucking thank you.
But also?
I hope you die in a dumpster fire.

I used to believe you should sleep with someone you loved. My dream was to lose my virginity to my dream man, and then fall in love, get married. Maybe kids. Who knows.
I was 17 and an idiot.
Jesus such an idiot.
He was in my senior class in school, and although we never really saw each other, it was his eyes that made me fall in love.
I should have not been a complete fucking artard when he jerked off into a water bottle and they dumped it onto my cousin’s head.
Frasure was my world.

I’ll never forgive him.
But I owe him.

He was the first boy I loved. Ever.
He was everything I ever knew love to be. and JESUS I hate myself to this day.
He was the one who broke my soul. My spirit to who I was.
I didn’t know I could bleed so badly until I busted open 2 of my rommates doors.
Writing this is this most…emotionally painful thing.
I’m crying on Mother’s day. Ironically he just wished me a Happy Mother’s Day.
I told him to die in a dumpster fire.

I have always had problems. I am the dumpster fire of most relationships. I love to hard. I’m so many things, but I love deeply. I love in such a way that nobody could ever love me. Borderline Personality broke me.
My mother is a sever sufferer, but my mommy broke me.
I’m crying as I write this.
Because I was 17 and in love.
I was a lot of things, but I didn’t know who I was.
I believed I should save myself for marriage
When I lost my virginity it was after dating for a few months.
I believed you loved that person.
This is the god damned trash fire of pain that I have ever felt in my life. More than Paul, and a pain I have never felt how bad I could want to die in my life. I have been trying to write this for hours.
years.
Even after he told me to kill myself.
Frasure is the person I owe it to.
Frasure is so many things, but he’s a great dad
I hate him to this day.
When I was 17 I had a dream of being this person.
I was not.

I spent my life having this idea of what love could be. I have never been the same.
I met him our senior year of high school and I was so in love with him.
There was nothing special about him, even to this day when I write about him. Honestly I would have rather been straight punched in the vagina….by a lawn dart.
He was this stoner type, which I didn’t know what they were back in the day. He had this laugh, that god help me haunts my brain until this day. I wish so badly that it didn’t.
I’m blanking on how we met. I think it was so random, but he looked at me with those eyes, and my god 17 year old me screamed in a way that I had never felt in my life.
So before him my ex Sean Ryan, who smoked crack with a homeless guy, who has now passed away which I’m sure is due to all the drug use reaally broke me.
Funny story about myself, I used to believe in love.
I used to believe that you should save yourself for love. I had this fucked up vision how my life would go. I thought that I was supposed to be a type of way, and that being pure in my own way could help me find a love from God that I didn’t know I was lacking.
When you’re 17 you still have this idea in your brain. Writing this has made me so physically ill. I’ve cried, screamed. Put my fist into multiple doors. But I have to pour this out to paper.
Frasure wrecked me life, and defined my existence at the same time.
Mental illness is definitely a hereditary trait, and a learned behavior.
Today I asked my father how to forgive my mother, Mother’s day 2020.
My mother was and still the deepest demon I will ever encounter in my life.
My heart hurts for her because God will never forgiver her, and it isn’t her fault.
My mother is still so angry. To the point she went on my blog to tell me I’m a disappointment to her and God and I need to pray the gay away.
When I met Frasure I thought we would get married. I believed that I had found the love of my life. When we broke up, My senior year of highschool was a dumpster fire.
For people who don’t understand Borderline Personality Disorder I can explain it.
So many things all at once.
I’m always in my head.
I feel so many things at once, and can’t explain why I react the way I do.
I feel everything, especially being an empath. I take every story, every sad dog video, and I feel it on a level that not one sane person could ever feel.
I want to scream my pain at you so you can see it too. Because I hurt.
My mother did a great job as a single mom but my fucking lord was she angry.
My dad left her for my stepmother, which is a Jerry Spriner shitshow in itself, but this isn’t her story.
It’s his.
I met him randomly, and I will never forget him.
I can’t.
My heart still bleeds for him.
I’m over it, but I miss who I was and could’ve been.
Even after I told his wife the truth about what happened, and he told me to kill myself.
Frasure made me into who i am to the core.
Like I said I used to believe sex was something you waited for. That you fell in love, and then somehow it magically is the end all be all. I’ve had at least 15 marriage proposal in my glorious age of 32, and I feel there may be more to come.
As I write this, my throat is burning from the nyquil/vodka combination, but I think I just threw up the hardest I ever have, because I don’t want to face it.
Frasure was the person who defined me, because he made me know I could fall in love.
I was 17, and I was so fucking stupid.
I met him and my heart melted in the way that Allie met Noah in the notebook. I thought he was kind awkward way, but he was it. Holy fuck did I fall deep. I went so far down that rabbit hole. I didn’t know how to love, or what lust was. I fell so deep because he woke me up.
Thinking back now I see that it was that emotional dysregulation that made me a wack job.
For example I am so needy, which has gotten worse over the years. He brought it out of me.
He was what I dreamed my future husband would be. I fell harder than I could ever dream of feeling. He had that smile. Holy fuck that smile. I feel like Hannah Baker in 13 reasons why.
That damned smile.
He had this sheepish grin, and the darkest shaggy hair. But his voice was the most intoxicating thing about him. I can never describe to this day why I fell for him, but I did and I went batshit crazy.
I will never force someone to love me, but I needed him to love me as much as I did him.
I went insane. I called multiple times when he was on vacation.
I’m that person who will call you and tell you I know what you’re hiding and I will find your 2007 tax return to verify what you are hiding. I will also threaten to kill you and burn your house down while you sleep. Because when I love, I go batshit insane.
Frasure is what turned me into me.
I remember my 17th birthday clear to this day.
He gave me crabs.
An actual hermit crab. I tried to set the poor thing on fire because my rage turned me psycho.
I remember sitting on his floor, crying, because he broke up with me and I didn’t understand how it hurt to love so much. I would’ve done anything for him. I would’ve laid my life down if it meant I could see his stupid smile.
Alas like every great love story, they come to an end.
I lost my fucking mind with this boy. It’s not his fault. Even now he is letting me tell him I’m going to kill him, but it’s 17 year old me. It was never him. It was a virgin with severe mental illness that never found the help I needed from Kelly, and nobody would take the time to help me. Mental illness is real, and having Borderline Personality Disorder I love so deep that it can be terrifying.
I admit I am a mixturea of gallon and fire ofpof a  but never doubt that I love. I tattooed that on my leg.

Frasure taught me alot of things, but one thing that I am so proud of is that we never had sex.
I believed in my perfect envision of my future could be, and I never gave in. Granted he nicknamed me Vacuum Cleaner in high school because…well that is a secret between me and the movie theater that showed “Without a Paddle”. One of my favorite movies, and he held my hand through the movie.
When you’re young you think love is beautiful. Love is pain.
I remember to this day that moment when I had my first real heartache. It was Labor Day, and I was at my grandmother for her annual picnic when she was alive.
Back then I never dreamed how badly I craved love. Still talk about my severe mommy issues, and I think I felt that in him. Because I still remember when he called me on his vacation.
He had previously told me he watched Open Water, and it changed how he saw the world.
We would get married, we could have babies, and I’ve never cried as much as I did that night.
I still believe he was the one who killed my soul. I tried dating after him, and I convinced myself that I loved my ex boyfriend Jacob, but I never really did. I lost my virginity to him to “The Princess Bride”, and he loved Savage Garden. I don’t want to talk about it.
I never have fully recovered from him and the fact he broke up with me over the phone.
I was dealing with the horrificthorrific train wreck that ismis mother’s side of the family, when I recievedareceived call.
“Hey so I have to talk to you”
I don’t remember exactly how it went, but I will never forget how much pain I felt because I didn’t realize how deep I love. It involves him telling me how he had cheated on me with one of my friends while he was drunk. She confirmed later he was sober because he wanted to drive her car. Nobody drunk would drive her car.

Whatever the case was I searched a camper looking for a plastic knife to cut myself with and my mom screaming at me because I wouldn’t play Bocce ball with her. My cousin and I hate eachother. He threatened to kill him because his little cousin was crying.
Thank you Frasure.
You ruined me senior year of high school. I remember wanting to die as I huffed markers because I needed you to love me, and the thing is it was me. I did a lot of things, but the worst thing I have ever done in my life was love you.

Yet, here I am.

Can I catch ya later, cuz it’s my jam….

I owe you so much because you set me on my own course of adventure to now putting this in my 4th book.

Love,

Vacuum Cleaner

Yeah yeah, #Metoo

He wore a sweater vest.
I was sober.
One thing I am very open about is my sexual life. To the point most people are like “stop talking about butt stuff!”
I am very active on POF, and I find a never ending cycle of fuck wits. I have come to the understanding that I will probably always be alone. I feel like having six more pugs and maybe a zoo of animals would be better than the barrage of complete fuckwits that try to get into my Dm’s. Emails that get lost in a sea of “hey beautiful….hey sexy….” of compliments from men I don’t know. I appreciate the thought of you wanting to make me feel beautiful. It doesn’t. It’s nothing personal, it’s just due to what I’m about to write about. Those messages along with offensive things said to me by men.
All I have to say is “What would your mother think?” What would your mother think if she knew you were saying to a woman “Hey can I blow a hot load on your chest?” instead of a “Hey how is your day going?” Do you actually find someone who says yes? DO you realize what a fucking creatin you actually are? You are probably the guy who puts drugs in womens drinks, and are a certified date rapists. Along with random dudes who send dick pics.
There are dicks you want to see, and dicks you don’t. Don’t get me wrong I’ve done the sexting thing. Who really hasn’t now in 2020…oh god I just pictured my dad and stepmom doing it. Heard it once. I could not put on headphones faster. Thanks for putting my room right under yours!
But seriously I don’t really send nudes. It’s never been my thing. I will rock the shit out of lingerie and sexy photos. But I genuinely like the seduction part of you getting to see me naked in person.
Webcamming though, that’s probably one of the bigger kinks I do enjoy WHEN I like someone. That part will come later in the story.
One thing i’ve learned about topics is that if you aren’t educated on a topic, you’ll look like an idiot. Be it religion, sports, or my favorite subject “Human sexual Behavior” I find it so fascinating I even took a class on it in college. I find people and this so fascintating that I was fortunate enough through Skipper, to have discovered the website.
It’s basically Facebook for the BDSM kink lifestyle.
Funny enough I’m in groups trying to learn about people who want to shove ginger in their peehole, and why, which is called figging, I have seem so many butthole photos from strangers. The thing is, the nakedness, and everything is part of their own lifestyle. It isn’t creepy like random dudes on Instagram presenting their dicks like cats showing off a mouse it just killed. Fetlife has lead to many conversation of “Why do I like to drink my boyfriend’s pee?”
Fetlife also lead to one of the creepiest stalker moments in my entire life.
Lonestar was poppin, and I was in my server groovy mood. The host came upto me, and all I heard was “Scott is here for your section.”
Who. The. Fuck. Is. Scott.
Up until that minute I had only known of one person named Scott, I had never met. He was an editor for a magazine through where I went to therapy, and I wrote a piece for the magazine. Look at “The broken can be beautiful” if you are interested. It was never published, but I’ve definitely known that I am a paticuliar type of writing for certain people. I’m raw. Broken. An animal ready to rip out the throat of anyone that comes near it, and laugh as they suffer. I have demons. I have seen them. They have shown me their true face, and I see the hell I’ve fought to survive. That’s another story.
So I walk up to the host stand , and I see a random man sitting on the bench. Servers usually have 3 table sections. Mine was full…
For an hour and 45 minutes this “Scott ” person waited for my section.
The first thing that this gentleman said was “I know you, but you don’t know me.”
Okay Jigsaw. You want to play a game?
So I have this trait in me that when I’m nervous that I start giggling in the weirdest way like “Heh heh heh heh” in a high pitched tone.
Believe me. This happened for the many interactions with this guy.
“Oh really? Do you. I’m so sorry I can’t place you. I apologize.”
Some small talk happened, because he was a customer, and I have bills to pay. But somehow this guy knows me. How though? I couldn’t place him. Not on dating website apps even.
Then he said the magic words: “I’m going to show you an email, and that’s how you’ll know where I know you from.”
In that minute. I knew.
How the fuck did he find out where I work? On most places I won’t post where I work. For instances like this. The ick factor. The creepy dudes like this guy. This fucking guy.
He pulls up an email from Fetlife.
Are you fucking kidding me? The last place on earth I would ever tell anyone I worked is that website. Nothing personal, but I don’t want dudes who ask to jerk off to my photos to know where I worked. But somehow this guy figured it out. What the actual fuck?
I’m going to sum up how the rest of this interaction went, and what followed because I’ve spoken of him, but this isn’t his story. He’s just a reminder of why I don’t attempt to date:
I laugh nervously the while time. He stared at me. To the point he would crane his neck to watch me walk in the kitchen. I felt eyes on me everytime I loved.
It turns out he found me through my old trash roommate’s page. Not Skipper, the one who saw spirit animals. She was trash, and another story. He had never spoken to her, but discovered her writing, attached himself to her, then found me. She had never spoken to her.
My coworkers knew I was freaked out. They pulled me into the side station, and pretty much said “what the FUCK!”. He of course figured out my reactions were to him. He said “Oh have I given you something to talk about?” I replied, nervous laughter “oh you know…nobody has ever done anything like this before. Just very…sweet I guess?”
He threated to stab me in the face.
On Fet you can pick whatever role you feel you suit. I of course feel like a Mashocist, so what I picked that what I identify as. I happened to get on his page real quick, and he picked Sadomashocist. That is someone who wants to inflict pain upon someone else. I also am very open about the fact that I prefer the Dom/ brat lifestyle. It’s not about anything more than I like the control in my life because I like the control that keeps me in check. I am a wild horse, as Carrie Bradshaw would say. “Maybe some women aren’t meant to be tamed. Maybe they just need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with.”
So as I walked over, I saw the shrimp skewer. At the time before that trash resturant closed, we were running a speciall. I think it was a sirloin or filet, with a skewer of shrimp.
He picks up the skewer. “Your piercings…”
Me: “Yeah..can’t wear them at work!”
Him: “I’ve been wondering what this would be good for.” As he starts waving the skewer around.
Me: No reaction.
He wanted to shove the skewer through my faceholes on my piercings.
In that moment I had to get away from him. It hit the point that my still roommate watched him leave in his car to get a liscene plate. Thankfully he filled out a club memeber ship that I still have to this day, so if I ended up murdered I had his information for the cops. Funny enough he messaged me a couple times after. Trying to get even creepier. He told me that he tried to extend his hand in friendship, and he gave me money because he felt bad for me….
He left me 4 dollars. If you stalk a bitch go with at least 5.
I also figured out how he found out where I worked.
When I started Fet I put up a link to The Winner I Dated. So many broken people. He went through 600 people at the time, to find me, and put where I worked up. He even said “Oh you work at the Budweiser Center too don’t you.” That’s how he found me. Because I wanted to help people. He claimed to drop a name of a girl that was there, who had no idea who he was.
Worst stalker moment to date.
This isn’t his story. I think I needed to share it in order to cope with what I’m about to write.
To all the women who have survived sexual assualt of all kinds I am so sorry. It’s a terror that until you expierence you can shut the fuck up with your opinion. With your opinion on abortion, on how women feel, on anything that involves being defenseless against anyone.You have no idea what it’s like to be a woman who is used for her body. To have men paw at her, like a dog you can’t fight off that’s trying to maul and rape you at the same time.
To feel something enter your body, and you don’t want it is beyond traumatizing. Be it a boyfriend, or a husband. A stranger.
Women are beautiful creatures. They are gentle as they are fierce. They are so priceless, and so many men attack them because they know they can’t fight back. Men hate rejection worse than women. I think Men see it as a sense of their ego. That because they believe they might be ugly. Most have the ability take this with a grain of salt.
Some do not.
Rapists aren’t something you pick out on the street. Rapists don’t stand in front of a sign saying “I’m a rapist.”
Rapists are people who come to you as friends.
When I was 19 my life changed forever. It wasn’t something I ever thought I would end up being who I am not. I was still pretty good. a couple break ups in I knew I need to be single.
I’ve written about this before, but there was Evan. I rarely use names, but this is one of the main traumas in my Hannah Bake’rs life. 13 reasons why,
We met at at a server job. he had those blue eyes that made you just melt. I was slightly a trash panda in this story. I had started to mess around with his roommate, and the dude made me lose interest quick. He gave up sex for lent….okay whatever.
Evan and I started to get close at work. He became a very close work boyfriend. I would giggle while he said things. Here was this blonde hair, blue eyed, frat boy who was a person I called “my minion” and I would think about kissing him.
I was 19 then, 32 now.
That’s how long attacks last. There will be several moments of it still in my future. Mix in the fact that they never stop.
Somedays are wonderful. I don’t have the flashes.
When Evan called me that night. I answered like a friend.
Here was the guy I saw as someone who made me giggle.
Boys didn’t make me giggle.
I found myself really liking a boy. I couldn’t explain it id I tried,.
That night.
He called me saying that him and his roommates were fighting. But I watxhws him turn off the light.
He was clean. He smelled clean. he had a nice shirt on.
I took him to my apartment.
Nobody was there.
But I liked him so it was okay.
I tried to lay him do down.
I told him he needed to go to bed.
He wouldn’t lay down.
But I liked him so it was okay.
He tried kissing me
agressive
I asked him to stop
But I liked him so it was okay.
He began to get heavier
While I told him no I didn’t want to.
But I liked him so it was okay.
I remember asking him to stop
while he went at me
like a dog not caring that his prey was still alive.
After that moment I broke.

In the moment I realized that I didn’t care anymore. Not much longer after that, I watched my ex cheat on me in front of me. Writing about it before made me snap.
In those moments I realized that all men wanted me for was my body, and I didn’t care. I decided to kill men’s spirits with my body. Many drunk nights convinving guys I liked then, told them what they wanted to hear, and then crushing them after. I felt the evil, and the anger course through my body then.
The problem was I had already expierenced such a level of trauma then, that alcohol was the only way to cope. I drank until i couldn’t feel feelings anymore, which helped temporarily. I also poured myself into making friendships with guys because being alone at night with my thoughts made the trauma more in my face.
If I’m not attracted to you, you get put into the friend catergory.
It’s nothing personal, but we all have people we aren’t attracted to. It’s nothing against you. We are attracted to certain people, and there’s no amount of crying or pleading from you that will change your mind. Yes I’ve gone through a dude crying while I tried x for the only time in my life. He was crying because I wouldn’t date him. Why wouldn’t I? Well I was never really attracted to him, but he left me passed out drunk get things done to me by a big black guy.
Guys have never accepted rejection well. Nobody likes rejection, but I have learned that men go off the deep end. You tell a guy “I only see you as a friend” and most lose their everloving minds. I get dudes who freak out on me, and can’t accept my lack of attraction. “You only like dudes who are assholes!”
Obviously. My own things though.
The sad part in in my drinking, there was a lot of goggles to my vision of what these men I let into my life were. I saw good dudes I could hang out with, and feel safe. They would see a passed out girl, who didn’t want them, and here was the chance they had been after…
Several guys saw that passed out girl.
This isn’t their story though.
This is his.
We met on POF. he was in a sweatervest, and I thought it meant maybe he was a little more of a put together gentleman. We also met on Fetlife, which played a part in our conversation, and how I assume things went down. I’m very upfront with what I’m after, what type of relationship I seek, all the good stuff.
We talked for a week, and I finally felt comfortable enough to meet him. I’m very cautious after all these years of dating. I don’t tell anyone I were I work when they ask. I don’t give out my address to meet them at my house before we meet first, and I say that I want to grab a beer but that’s mostly because I want them to get out of a police line up if I go missing.
I had about an hour left of my shift, so I told him he should come up to grab a drink. Next door to Red Lobster is an Old Chicago. 50 feet away, and where I spent several nights after working at a soul sucking hell hole. That gig was what I imagine working for a person with absolutely a cold dead heart, and no soul must be like.
The first clue that something was wrong with this guy.
My bartender Crystel came up to me in tears. He was waiting at the bar for me, and the first thing she said “Hoy cow he’s an asshole.” She told me he made a comment to her, but I also know she was sensitive about lots of things. I also knew he had been a Marine, and Marine’s are a level of asshole that even surpass my own. Military men have a cockiness to them that are a complete turn on. I love a man in uniform, and they will always be one of my biggest kinks.
I decided to give the date a shot anyways.
God do I still regret this decision.
I’m getting past the point of having the desire to write about this anymore so I’m just going to sum it up very quickly.
The date was one of what I could only imagine my nightmares of dates to ever be the bane of my exitense. He was an insufferable cunt. He was so full of himself, and it got to the point that he was talking to me about smashing married men’s wives while they watched because it was a patriotic duty they expierenced for their country.
The more I sat the the more I wanted to punch myself in the face. He was awful. I told him that I would rather slam my head off the countertop instead of listening to him talk. I didn’t finish my pint beer. I almost always had at least 2 on a date. But this one was so bad I needed to get away from him.
I excused myself because I needed to go home…and that’s when it happened.
I was politely walking with him to my car, and he started pawwing at me. Wouldn’t get his hands off me. I told him he needed to stop, that I wasn’t interested. He basically then tried to assert his dominance over met, because we had talks about that area etc…
Talking about it, and absolute agreeance on a subject are 2 very different things.
Like i said there was such a short walk to my car…
By the time we got there he had been continously trying to get me into the car with him, to have sex. I kept protesting that I wasn’t interested. But he started to get forceful.
Then it happened.
He grabbed me by the hair.
He started to choke me.
He bit my neck.
He slammed me up against my car.
Then he shoved his hand down my pants.
While I told him needed to stop.
He tried to get me into his truck.
I refused. While he molested me all over.
I think ultimately what saved me was the fact that I said “This is my job. If they come out and I’m having sex, I will get fired.”
He then kissed me, told me “you don’t know what you’re missing.” then he walked away, and got into his blue truck.
I remember it was blue.
Then I sat in my car and cried.
So many people asked me why I didn’t call the police.
I freeze when these things happen. I’m an opposum.

After that night I wouldn’t leave the house for a year. I still see it to this day. I think it affects me more because I was sober. Drunk me is able to seperate the trauma, but sober me still remembers how afraid I was. How to this day people touching me still makes me panic. But I still am very grateful to have my plan in place. I also learned that webcamming actually made me feel safe. That I wasn’t being touched, but it was still a sign of attention.
To all the women who really have been affected by an assualt of any kind, and men too. As long as you are telling the truth, I will always stand beside you.

Pain

If I wrote about pain,
I would have to write about my life since an early age.
I would speak of a mother who was angry, so angry at the world for things put upon her from her own doing. She mentally destroyed the one creature she was given to protect, because small punching bags are no match for a factory worker with bulging muscles, she taught me to live in fear.
If I wrote about pain I would tell tales of torment started by school mates. Years of being harassed, and told to kill myself by several classmates on a note in my locker. The girls calling me a lesbian because I played softball and I walked differently, and the boys that promised to love me breaking up with me because I wouldn’t sleep with them.
If I wrote about pain, I would write about the first traumatic event of my adult life, I think what turned me into the rabid feral animal that I am. Of how that night I picked you up, and you smelled like fresh cologone which didn’t feel right. You claimed you need a place to stay, the one I called my minion, and I gave it to you;
Along with a part of my soul, when you took my body away from me. As I cried and begged you to just stop, you saying ‘Come on you know you want to” until I finally just did because…..what other options did I have? I liked you so much, and you took part of my light when I went down crying; and you throwing me off you the next morning like I was the disgusting one. That was when I knew, by this time just 19, that men only wanted me for my body, and to take back control using it.
If I wrote about pain I would write the story of 3 friends, a boy who loved a girl, and the third wheel best girlfriend. The girl loved another man, and yet lured the boy into another secret triangle. Well the 2 girls ended up moving to the boyfriends, but the third wheel girl transplanted herself into homelessness. Unable to ask for help, and not wanting to worry anyone, she pretended everything was fine…
Being pimped out when blackout drunk kept her alive with food and enough alcohol to number her heart, even if it was 3 days old with flies floating in it. It was when she moved out of the garage the fun began. See the best friend had to pick up the pieces of the boy. Because the girl wasn’t coming back.
He shoved her into walls, locked her out of the house pretending to call the cops, because she had accidentally peed the bed. He was drunk most days, and liked to grab silverware in an attempt to get attention and reaction. I still have that picture of us the day I left, with a boy who was my best friend, who I destroyed with my own attempt to love.
If I would speak of blindsiding, I would talk of the one who changed my brake lines and head gasket. Everyone said he was bad, but he seems so sweet. Fresh out of a break up we meet, and I fell so hard. I loved him, and we worked together at a skanky yankee type bar. It was awesome, I loved being a shot girl then, and he the bouncer. We were happy until this kid, asked for a kiss on the cheek, and kissed me on the mouth.
He broke up with me, even though I repeatedly argued it didn’t hapen the way he thought it did. He wouldn’t listen, but said we could work on figuring it out.
I then returned to my job with my head held high,
because I win bitches.
We were getting along, and at the end of the night I walked to the bar and I saw him making out with this plain brunette. That was the moment my soul died. All belief in love left. There is not one person on this earth that hurt me more than he, not even the worst person in my list, all Hannah Baker 13 reasons why style.
Yankee Hoe became your myspace name, and throwing girls in my face became your game, while 10 beers and a shot of tequila, Kelly Clarkson’s Never again, and punching the metal utility box 25 times became mine.
It was this moment I went ham, and I don’t know if part of me ever came back.
If I were to speak of demonic behavior, I would share how much pain I gave to the 2 most wonderful guys I ever really hurt. Many of my flings were just that. I went through. These 2 meant the world, and still do to me. I did bad things I admits this. But I also picked 2 men after the most traumatizing time in my life, and someone had to pay. I will write those truths eventually, but to me I don’t care about that. I’m happy to have them in my life. They are proof that you can forgive someone
If I were to write of pain the thing I would say is waking up to guy friends having sex with me. First off I accept my part in what choices I made multiple times. I chose to drink, I chose to hang out with people, but I didn’t choose to become a #MeToo member. They made me into one.
There is sober sex, drunk sex, sex I half remember having, then im not moving sex.
Should I be coming to a 300lb boy, men don’t rape, creating inside of me, with acne, and a lazy eye. Then folks, you really want to know why we don’t tell? It’s our fault, don’t you know? Besides nobody believes you anyways.

I don’t talk about them unless it’s a conversation piece among other people. Rape is such a horrid topic for most people. What people don’t think about is the victim. Those girls that just want attention? They don’t know what scars it bares on you heart, your mental illnesses. You could be like me, and end up PTSD along with your anxiety, manic depression, and borderline personality disorder. I still see them..They flash through my eyes constantly, like the projector and the movie reel.
Besides it was because of how I was dressed I deserved it. I let down my guard, and this is what happened.
If I was to speak of life changing; learning the depths of a psychotic man. Stalkers have been fun, men and lady ones, because they just are fascinated with you. But psychotic men they sink to levels of crazy and that’s coming from me. Faking brain tumors, and a car crash require work.
Pain is loving someone, deeply, passionately, and he marries your best friend. The Rican changed me because he broadened my horizons. He found love with someone that just wasn’t me though, as painful as it was to learn. The passion you claimed first, goes to someone else, but always comes back to you it seems. I loved him the first outta four. One stalked me until I gave in, after my Rican crushed my soul. Then I moved finally to the another friend who had been the one I think I had wanted all along. I kept him at a distance, but wanted him to be the best friend of my entire life. he saw my soul, he kissed my forehead all while telling me I was beautiful, and snuck off campus to get me a birthday cake, which caused the start of making my birthdays rewarding. Making a celelbration of who I am now because of the love I felt for him; the one who enjoyed the pain of the scar I left in his tattoo on his wrist, a mark of forever between him and I.
We became friends because I poofed my hair.
Handlebitch turned ugly, and it was my fault. I didn’t see him before the others. I was so hurt by that many events I couldn’t risk the destruction of someone who genuinely loved me. So he did it for me.

If I wanted to know of what I ever thought would be the most tears I cried, It was because of you. You were the person I gave my virginity to, not the one you think of, but the one who I gave myself to in every form. My ability to reason left me, but not before leaving behind a desire for hurt and pain. He destroyed me, and I took it in like a junkie. Every moment you spoke to me, is like when people suffocated me by trying to give me their love.
This man took my life. He took every simple piece of me that I could barely keep together. I fell apart and even the alcohol did nothing to stop that pain.
I gave my soul to an Inccubus, and he just laughed as he took more.

Pain is what I know, what I love, and what suits my soul. It fuels me, and it’s what I call home.

Chachachachanges

There comes a point in our lives where we just need changes from our lives. We need a change, and we outgrow stuff. We sometimes outgrow jobs, people, or just our lives in general. I’ve noticed as of late I really feel, I’ve outgrown people. People have just made me sad as of late because I just want people in my life to treat me I would treat them. I truly have been the person who would give you the shirt off my back my entire life, because honestly I just want every person in life to feel loved.
The world is a cruel place, and most people just a smile or a kind word every now and again. But the worst thing I’ve noticed in alot of the places I’ve landed is the fact that the people don’t want to be kind anymore. That’s what makes me so sad. I like being a nice person. Being nice, and doing things that are sweet for people. Being better humans makes this life worth living.
I just like helping people I think it’s my nature because I see the suffering and it genuinely makes me sad inside. I also have a problem with giving too much at times. I do it because when I had nothing places like the Lord’s Locker, among people like my friend Jen Jen, they got me through tough times when I was so depressed and suicidal. She took me shopping to cheer me up a few times.
Finding anyone anymore that is kind back to you is depressing. People just only look out for themselves anymore, and it’s leaving this world a cold cruel place. People murder eachother in cold blood everyday, and just stand you up for dates without a text.
Just be nice.
I think I’m just ready to edit the friends list of my life. Old friends, short friends, and even the ones who you feel like you’ve know forever. I can’t give more because I swear I have nothing left in my heart anymore, but funny I think I will still keep giving.

Deafcon level 5

I wrote this piece about 2ish years ago. Forgot I had it. Fuck you Devon. I’m not enough for any man.

I’m a hard person to deal with.

Thats pretty much a given. I’ve noticed after all the years I’ve literally got so many ticks and traits that can drive any person away, and I know that I do have a need to just talk. Maybe that’s what I need in my own twisted way. I want to talk to people because maybe somedays in a sense I’m fucking drowning in a way. I need people because realistically I tend to fall apart alot of the time with out them.
Being alone for me is hard, in a general sense, because that seems to be when I go through the most rough stuff. I do the most internalizing, and I drive myself crazy. I just want someone to talk to most of the time. So when I do find someone I do this thing where I latch onto them in a way, where all of my feelings come out

A couple of years ago I met someone at my job who seemed like someone who could just get me, and it was a weird feeling. We sat and had beers, went back to my place and smoked, and then I told him my life story. He went home, came back the next day, and cleared my head out in a way that it hadn’t been in months. Really since the passing of Paul.
I didn’t mean to unload on the poor guy but I did. It wasn’t on purpose, but I just sat outside with a complete stranger,a found a sense of relief being able to tell someone everything that weighed heavy on my chest. The thing is, I don’t think I realized how much I needed to talk to someone, but I talked to someone who just wasn’t ready to hear my stuff.
After that day he completely changed towards me, because honestly I overwhelmed him. I wasn’t intending to, but I did.

We went to work a day or 2 later, I had text him a few times, and he didn’t respond.
So I was at work, contemplating liking one dude, when I found out the other dude I liked was sleeping someone I called a friend, when my best friend told me that the first dude had called me “Deafcon level 5.”

I don’t think that I ever liked him, it was just the fact he was kind that made me question if I had feelings for him. I think it was because of the fact it was the first time I’ve felt clear-headed in a while, and more than just a manic-state. I feel like I’m working on being a person who makes me happy. So After finding out that the guy I like is sleeping with someone, calls me crazy, and then I get called crazy by someone I felt was a new bestie I was pretty upset.
I get called crazy all the time, and normally I’m used to it. I make jokes out of it because how else do you cope? My pills used to be in a bag that says “Cute but Psycho”, and it helps me cope with the fact that I’ll always be traumatized by the fact that I won’t ever skip through a field of daisies with the man of my dreams.
The idea that someone I liked enough to open up to like that would make fun of me like that hurt my heart. I didn’t mean to put alot on the guy, because no one should have to feel like I’m just a rude person giving all of my problems to them. Apparently I was too much for someone, but not for other people which is actually a great feeling at the end of the day.
Funny enough after he came over to smoke, my head instantly cleared up. It was like I could see things differently. I could almost breathe differently because it was like for the first time I finally understood how sad I had been feeling, because it was finally lifting up. Since Paul died, hell maybe since long before that. I kind of had forgotten what happiness felt like.
Ironically enough when that sadness bubble lifted, it’s like I began to see things differently.
I had met a guy named Damien, who was sexy as hell, and the conversation was pretty amazing I won’t lie. He was intelligent I will say that, but there was one minor issue. He was a disappearing act douche. He went and vanished on me for a damn week, then text me like nothing happened.
Maybe some people can handle that, but I can’t. I go neurotic and psychotic in my brain for the simple fact I feel neglected, and abandoned. I feel like I’m not good enough, which really has to do with the things I’ve been through making me insecure. I overthink, I overanalyze, I wonder every moment of the day. I think I’ve done something wrong because the person doesnt think I’m worth a minute of their time. That I’m not pretty, or desirable. That maybe they found someoneone they like alot more than me. It doesn’t matter that I’m convincing myself of this because It’s so hard for me to see otherwise.
Thing was, this cat was smooth. I was kind of a bitch to him at first about it, saying that he was only interested in fucking; because seriously I haven’t heard from you in a week. I get that you get busy for work but texting isn’t hard. We texted quite a bit when we first met. But then he actually went out of his way to stop in at my work to see me.
That changed the game for me.
I felt beautiful, for pretty much the first time in my life. That I was worth making an effort for. I felt the the fear in me subside, even though I still was a wreck about everything in my life. But it was a changing moment oddly for me, because someone attractive made me feel beautiful and I liked it.
Problem was he kept ditching me when we somewhat had dinner plans, so I was still skeptical. The morning I smoked myself clear headed, it was a form of an epiphany in a sense, and I knew so much in my ramblings. He had texted me, pretty much to bail on our plans because he was “headed into Denver yet again”.
In that moment I realized something very simple, that I texted him the summary of “It’s pretty simple. Either you like me, or you don’t. You’ll make the effort, or you won’t. I’m not going to stress about it anymore.”

I then went on to tell him that I had been dealing with so much stuff in my life; work related, and an ex was going a little fish filet cray. That I had been through so much, I was pretty much projecting everything on him and that I was panicking because of that stuff. But I didn’t need to because he made me feel beautiful by stopping in.

His response?
“I think you’re just too much for me.”
The best part was?
I literally only had “Ok” to say, and I felt amazing saying it because it was the honest to God’s truth. I was okay with it. I wasn’t hurt. I wasn’t sad, I was more like ‘Okay I’ll be too much for you. I want to be too much for people because in a sense those are people I don’t want in my life. I don’t try to go to Deafcon level 5 on people, but I think I do it because I want people to know who I am. I need to know if you’ll be there in my worst case scenarios. I have my bad days, and they are severe. There are days I can’t shower because my brain can’t get my body motivated because I am just gone. I need people to love me just the same, because I love them deeply.
So when Hamelbitch and I went for drinks and George in tow with us, we were sitting there, and in walks “DL5″. I saw flannel out of the corner of my eye, and I was beyond aggravated. I had invited him to go for drinks, but he was stern with his ” NO!” so I didn’t understand why he came.
I sat there just getting angry, and paper getting thrown at me. Hamelbitch said he was trying to get my attention. I wasn’t having it. Georgr, and DL5 went outside to smoke, and George to take his friend with him. DL5 was “we aren’t friends anymore?”

“Well I’m Deafcon Levlel 5” was my reply.

I was so angry. I don’t know why. I don’t know what it was. Was it the fact it was someone insignificant to me? Was it that fact he was under my skin? I think the fact really was that it was the fact I wanted nothing more than to tell my feelings to someone, and have them think I’m pretty okay despite all my faults.

It’s not that I try to be overwhelming, or too much on some people which I really am bad at.

I can be such a butthole, because I love people so deeply.

I think I ultimately just want to be a person that people just understand. That I am able to find people who love me, and think that I am just perfect. Because I know I am far from, and I love every imperfect thing about myself.
Okay that may be a lie, but I try to because I have to learn to try to be a happy person.

But nah. I’m Deafcon level 10 buddy.

Haiku

I wrote a poem comprised of Haiku’s in Haiku style

Desire’s my middle name
overwhelming is the need
calling out to you.

The way you touch me
sends shivers down my body
I’m left wanting more.

My breath is shortened
I feel myself shaking hard
My body needs you.

My hunger takes me
My wish is to be just yours
entirely yours

What I’m yearning for
the animal instinct sticks
because youre my Sir

Daydream believer

My dirty filthy fucking side
wants you to undress me
with your
words.

Tell me you want to taste me
your lips hang off mine
I know I have to hold on
because every moment one
was previously wasted

I want to get lost in your eyes
when you talk about your dreams
find myself searching for answers

Like a cat I meticulously stare
at things around me
that mesmerize me
like shooting stars in the sky.

I want to know your life
as I lay in your arms
Under satin sheets
as you hold me; keeping me safe.

I love .