Fuck depression

Watch me swing my middle finger as I get shit done.
Got another paper in my pocket, checked off another item from shit-to-do.
Never get my tears twisted – I still get shit done, did, had.

I break down in the privacy of this realm of the mind dumping ground I created where I scream them tainted names and pull out the rotten blood out of my throat.

But that is what this place is for.
A dumping ground so I can stay focused on other shits in life.

I still live with a purpose – at times fleeting, at times shaky.
And so can you, so should you.
I clench my jaw hard at the thought of the wrongs done onto me, determined to not let my broken soul break my entire future. I am broken, sure. I am a mess, sure. I am not well, alright.
SO WHAT.

I have always lived a life of unchosen abuse, unwanted offense, uninvited people bringing cracks into the beauty that is my being. It’s alright. I have long surpassed the naivety expecting life to be just, fair and equal. Living is a blessing and a curse at the same time and the sooner we face facts the more we thrive. I know. This leads to people dismissing love, chasing money, all the while craving something real.

I still believe in love but not the kind I believed from childhood fairy tales.
I chase money but not to feed some ego but to be able to have the power to protect, provide, support the ones I love dearly.
I crave something real – always have – so I stay as real as it is humanly possible and some find it too real that they confuse its simplicity as a game.

Fuck depression.
Fuck heartbreak.
Fuck my past.
Fuck him.

I am a world of miracles that stand still ever so beautiful despite all the blood shed. I will still get up because there is no other way to live. I know I will never be able to erase it all – but I can digest it, you, all of the shit and shit you out.

Fuck it.
I will continue on with my middle finger swinging getting shit done.
Keep my miracles closer, hold it tighter, cling to self love and dignity.

You shall not be the end of my goodness.
You will be the proof of it.

Severed Ties.

I finally did it.
I severed it.
I cut it and deleted it.
I escaped it, I left it.
What was present and a potential future, I pushed it into history labeling it ‘the past’.
One last outcry before the end: I love you.

If there was one thing that was certain in our story it was this.
That I LOVED YOU.
Even if we delete everything off of the face of this earth, that shall remain.
This love will echo through the depth of the lonely night and haunt the rest of your days. It will fester and grow and spread into your very cells and take root inside that heart of yours. It will grow ever so slowly and so undeniably it will eventually take over and rip you into shreds – just like me.

I will walk away now knowing what lies ahead for you.
I will focus on breathing to cleanse this unforgivable pain.
I shall conquer it and learn to live again – even if living without love again.
Can’t say I will be stronger, can’t say I will grow from it, all I can say is that I will try to learn to live again without choking on the unbearable truth.

I don’t forgive now.
I won’t.
I DO NOT forgive.

Instead I sever you.
I cut you and delete you.
I escape you, I leave you.
You were my present and my potential future,
I push you into history labeling you, ‘the past’.
One last outcry before the end:
I love you.

TGIF

I find myself at home, in bed, trying to shake off bad thoughts..
I feel like going out, getting drunk, looking hot, and getting laid.
All I want right now is to say fuck it, fuck you, fuck him, just fuck me.
In my bed I sit trying to spit out yet another disappointment with a horror movie. Sometimes it does the trick – scare me straight.

Yesterday I saw he deleted the last photo remaining of us.
Today I was fed bullshit of how this guy was thinking about me wishing I was there while fucking some chick he met at a bar.
And like always I found the one I feel attracted to turn out a selfish cunt who can’t properly apologize before trying to place some kind of fault on me.

Men are shit.
All I want is their hard cock now.
Just fuck me once and get lost.
The pain is too real and it needs to get smashed into pieces on the daily.

Why am I here so fucked up when everybody else is living?
Why do I hustle so hard and lay in bed alone?
Why do I love only to be broken – then crave me some more hoping someone ought to be good out there?

WORDS ARE WORDS.
ACTIONS ARE WHATS REAL.

So are the words I type here.
These are silent screams of a malnourished soul punching in fantasies in the mind that we both know I would not live out in real life.

My words speak of fantastic hook-ups with random dicks.
My actions are opening a bottle of night time Nyquil and filling up a generous shot of it and some tequila – then soon enough – lights out.

The night and its mares

Self denial was the blanket that wrapped my body since that day.
Time would heal all because it had to. ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ was the placebo I swallowed on the daily. Everything happens for a reason and everything will be alright being stuffed into my ears from the mouths of those close to me.

All in time, right?

But there aren’t enough placebos and positive quotes to truly free me from you.
You live in my memories. You breathe the air I do. You flow inside the very veins that give me nutrition.

So there you are.
In and out of the night in my mind’s eye. A ghost but not quite dead, a mirage but so real – cold sweats replace the denial in the darkness of the night.
Of all that has ever happened to me in this life, you. you…you.

Terrors in the night lead to tremors in the morning. Love, lament, exhaustion and disgust mixed into the cup of coffee in my hands – so begins my day. Then the phone buzzes – like clockwork – and there you are in living form on my screen.

Some traumatic events – I realize now – just change you forever.
Time won’t heal it. It just numbs and blurs – just enough to help you breathe better. I am changing and I do not know if it is for the better or for worse.

But I accept it now.
I am not fine.
And I need to be fine with that.

Law and Order True Crimes: The Menendez Case

I slept with a knife under my pillow at night.
I was sure he would bust in one day and kill us all.
I didn’t want to die – not like that.
The threat was real… as real as oxygen is needed to breathe.

Unless you have lived in a realm of ongoing abuse for decades….unless you have lived in fear of your own family… I suppose this may sound like exaggeration, a type of fabrication of a sick mind. This show is a trigger of a past I purposely made blurry so I could live and forget.

Today though I did make a revelation.
One that was already there below the surface but became clear.
My tendency to self-hate and to self-blame all boils down to this.
It was all my fault back then.
Every beating, every scream, every violent action he made was a fault of mine.

I should not have angered him.
I should have not opened my mouth.
I looked too defiant.
I should have known better.

His actions were described as something out of his control, something he didn’t decide to thrust upon and exercise but rather an involuntary reaction from us. We were trained and told to read between the lines. That despite it all it was all an expression of love – a sick one but love nonetheless. That he meant well, that he didn’t know any better, She made excuses on his behalf perhaps convince herself of why life was the way it was. We were to understand him. Never he to understand us. So it was. Just like this. No real communication just eruptions of uncontrollable anger. No real solutions just a repeat of a broken record replaying the hidden meanings of love behind the bruises.

I get it now.
How I came to be the way that I am.
I was trained to be this way.

no title

I am not prepared to let my beliefs be determined by my desires.

Tinder

Can we go back to the beginning? He said as his fingers swiped right on the screen.

I can stop the lies, he claimed as he injected another dose of anesthesia into my veins.

Can you stop this and trust me? He asked as his tongue filled my ears with lies

I do want be with you.
I stopped.
I love you.
I am a good person.
I am a good person.

Back and forth from me to another
Names switching
Apps changing
Blame me for his hesitation
While typing yet more lies designed to impress another

If I decide to get back together with you I have to commit, he said
I need time to think, he said

Somehow all the responsibility of my pain gently pushed towards me to deal with.
Friends messaging from around the world exposing more and more lies. And he still continues.

Why is it so hard for you to stop lying to me? I ask.
His answer another lie.
The kind not worth repeating.
The kind not worth remembering.

High and Low

Doped up on medication,
Ones designed to help me breathe without feeling,
I am here.
I am here now.

I live in the future.
Always 6 hours ahead.
Always 6 hours ahead.
Are you trying to catch up?

Sponsor me why don’t you?

Couldn’t sleep last night. Been reading all sorts of financial self-help/education books lately and they got my blood pumping. I am ready to make money. Serious loads of money. And I swear I will climb out of this heap of the shitpile mess that is my life right now.

So. I went online looking for jobs available. Found a few promising ones that I wanted to apply for which is when I realized I needed to make yet another login account and write a resume. So I did. This morning.

Almost instantly the phone started to ring. All sorts of education related companies calling and even telemarketing companies hollering at me. It felt really nice to know I was not only desired but more importantly capable of getting a myriad of jobs if I so chose to.

Then I realized there was a message I hadn’t read.

“Hi I saw your profile online. I am a single 39 year old male. I have my own company and I would like to sponsor you. It would be 5 times a month and I am thinking $6000 plus incentives.”

Ah. The Sponsor.
Been awhile since I was offered such a deal. Guess in a way it couldn’t have come at a better time since my view on life has flipped sideways and over some more. I must say since webcam, things like this are way more tempting than they ever were. A part of me thought ‘maybe I could do that.’ I was thinking of ways to insure he is who he says he is…. How to guarantee payment…. How to make sure I won’t get raped and taped in a random hotel room… then my mind wandered thinking ‘maybe he is part of Il-Bae* and he will have the gang rape shit set up… yada yada yada. I messaged back.

“Hello I have had offers before but have never taken part in it. What is it exactly that you are looking for? Also where did you see my profile?”

“Well…I saw that you applied for a job at my company and that’s how I got your contact info…are you interested? Do you not know anything about sponsorships? Simply put, you meet me 5 times a month and be my girlfriend…”

“I know some of it but not the details. Where do you live?”

“I live in XXX and my company is located in VVV.. For more detail I would rather we discuss it on the phone rather than text…”

“Ok then I will contact you again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow afternoon would be good. Before 5pm…”

“Okay”

A part of me strongly wants to at least meet this person. See what he is like. What makes him choose to sponsor a girl he doesn’t know rather than date a woman. It’s part intellectual curiosity similar to that of the webcam guys and how I delve into the what,why,when,where,how,whos of their lives. I wonder if he is a decent looking person. I wonder if he has sick fetishes. I wonder if he has HIV. I wonder if he will rip me off. I wonder if he will change his mind when he sees what I look like in person. I wonder if my body would forgive me if I did. I wonder if I will actually become a prostitute. I wonder many things. But I do know I am curious. And I do know even just one month – 5 times to be exact – with this person – the $6000 – would really help me out. I could get so much done. If I were to do that plus the webcam where I made over $2200 in a week – over $8000 a month – all combined would be equivalent to pulling $14,000 in ONE month…. With the total $40,000 debt I have in credit card, loans and rent…. Would help me get rid of close to half of it in ONE MONTH.

…and just in time.
My right nipple begins to leak of breast milk.
Reminding me yet again of what I had done and how despicable I am.

*Il-bae: Anti-feminism group

Tears of a Spread Eagle

I sat in that chair – legs open wide, both arms strapped down with a needle pumping IV into my left arm. The doctor stood over me instructing me to not get upset. “Just think of it like you are taking a little nap” he said. He had noticed the stress that stretched out onto my face and he explained the procedure. He had heard the deep sighs leaving my breath like cigarette smoke. “Being stressed and upset will only serve to cause more problems and potentially prove fatal during the operation” he said. I know he was trying to calm me. I know he didn’t think this was something light.

Tears rolled down my cheeks nonetheless. “Seriously if you start crying you create more secretion inside your body like your nose. And it may cause you to not be able to breathe while you are under anesthesia. It’s extremely dangerous.” He dabbed tissues on my eyes wiping away the tears I could not swallow. Then he told me to breathe deeply in and out…in and out… “Breathe with me now. So deep that your chest expands just like this.” I felt the nurse inject the anesthesia into the tube connected to my left arm. I fixed my eyes on the doctor’s face and his black rimmed glasses. More tears made their way down my cheeks as I felt the cold liquid spread paralyzing my arm then slowly to the left side of my head. As the cold wave made it way the image of the doctor breathing in and out began to flicker. With a burst of the stale smell of anesthesia, I closed my eyes.

 

Don’t know exactly when. My eyes opened to a world of blur. Tears were still making their way down…diving into its own demise on the pillow underneath my head. And so it was. No more. The being inside me was there no more. What I had seen beating inside disappeared into a tube..

 

The shame of being in my 30s and still unable to keep a baby all because I have made every decision wrong in my walks of life eating away at me. Flashes of myself seen from the one above.; spread eagle with my bottom half bare for all to see. Unconscious as the doctor inserts the tube that will bring life to an end. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am sorry I thought I could have protected casual sex. I am so sorry my baby…. I didn’t get to hold you I am sorry the condom didn’t work. I am sorry I am so poor. I am sorry I still haven’t learned how to maintain love with someone. I was stupid to think men and women are the same. Utterly stupid to think I can act like a man, to think the consequences will eventually be the same, to think the world worked like that. Me with my retarded rants about equality in a world where equality could never be. Mommy is truly an immature little cunt who has now ended up costing you, your life.

 

Forgive me.