Alone (6/12/11)

I see my city of glittering lights being covered in rain. I’m sitting there, by the lake, watching it slowly become drenched in fog and despair. Only we can find beauty in this, the odd ones, the ones who never truly saw the light of day. The ones who never had a chance.

The airline bottle of whiskey in my pocket goes down the hatch. I light a cigarette and begin to think of the dead. Just one more drink, and maybe, it will be time to confront the skeletons in my closet. Just don’t make me go home. Not back to that empty place. That place where I last saw her; lips blue, eyes glazed and bloodshot, still warm but beginning to cool. Her pulse was beginning to fade from her body, the same body that so brutally turned on her and stole her breath away without warning. It was the last time, the final moment, that I was able to call myself a child. I turned to the older ones, the wiser ones, begging for their help only to find them up on coke and beer and vodka while I watched her die. I just wanted to do the right thing. I realized seconds too late, the truth, which I’d known all along but never wanted to admit: “You are alone in this.  This crazy, magical thing called life . . . you have always been alone. You always will be.”


I Will

I will stand up for myself. I will respect myself first, and I will respect others.

I will apologize when I am wrong. I will be honest. I will leave no regrets.

I will ask for the help I need. I will seek out that in which I want. I will get it.

I will work with the tools and skills I have. I will focus on that which is within my control.

I will make the most out of TODAY to give myself the gift of a better tomorrow.

I will NOT be concerned with “whatifs” or that which is out of my immediate control.

I will NOT sell myself short. I will recognize my abilities and I will believe in them.

I will NOT pass up opportunities and chances given to me. I will keep my eyes open and unafraid.

I am a survivor. I will trust in my own strength and I will trust in my intuition.

I will give myself the gift of following these rules. If I live by these rules I will be a person worthy of friendship, love, and success. And should I find myself in doubt, I will remember that I have survived. I have survived myself, the pain others have put me through, and I have survived the unfathomable.

This is the key to making ALL things possible.



To My New Readers

Firstly, thank you for taking the time to read about my thoughts as well as share your own. In the technologically advanced world we live in, I often worry that the outlets we are given to express ourselves can be short, and bittersweet. With a single click, we are able to portray our personalities using a collage of pictures we didn’t take or phrases we did not write. Do not make mistake- this is not something I see as wrong by ANY means. The more of another’s artistry you can appreciate, the more likely you are to share a common ground with others, and this is an innate need. I do, however, believe that blogging, writing- offers something more. It allows a more extensive glimpse of the human mind and heart at best, and it keeps you going with all the laughter, knowledge, and intrigue in between.

Looking back at the writing I’ve done, I’d like to believe that there’s a little something for almost everyone. I write from the heart, and I hide very little. I am gritty, I am real, and I intend to make an impact. I love being able to make people laugh, tear up, or even cringe at just the right collection of words. I love sparking thoughts, creating conversation and passionate (yet respectful) debate. It’s the mental connection between myself and the wonderful bloggers I’ve met (shout out to Xanga!)- and that’s what keeps me coming back.

This blog is going to be a collection of the new, and the old. A lot of it is going to be deeply personal writing, and that writing is for ME. You are more than welcome to join me on my journey if you think you can take something positive from the lessons I learn, or you may choose to skip these posts. I understand completely- my writing can be very dark at times. What I will say is that even in the darkest corners of my brain, I always try to find myself a nightlight. I am not going to wear the mask of a saint; my readers have seen me at my best, and at my very worst. The one thing that rings true with the pieces I am proud of, is that when I do find myself that nightlight- it often shines brighter than I expected it to. It’s a light that is bright enough to share.

Now, in the midst of all this sappy bullshit- I do have a sense of humor (albeit an often screwed up one). It is not unlike me to post about the last thing you’d expect. I’ve written about sharks, about pubes, body image, relationships, fetishism . . . it is a never ending list. In fact, even my curiosity is piqued about where my random writing adventures will take me next. This blog will be uncensored, dirty, and raw- and hopefully, as hilariously controversial as my last.

 Sidenote to my past readers who have made it here from Xanga– THANK YOU! You are why I’m still here. You’ve put up with enough of my antics to know all this already, and you know I have nothing but love for the lot of you ❤

So, now that you know all about me, let’s talk about you. Tell me something nifty . . . I know you want to share! 

Happy Reading! 


Today (From March 4th, 2011)

A “Blast from Xanga’s Past” Production . . . .

“There are two days in every week about which we should not worry, two days which should be kept from fear and apprehension.”

Today, I awoke to a phone call from a lawyer with a quite unpleasant demeanor. My nana’s will exists, but cannot be found. The rich suits have washed their hands clean of the reasons they must pound shots of vodka and pop Lunesta in order to sleep at night.

“One of these is YESTERDAY, with its mistakes and cares, its faults and blunders, its aches and pains. YESTERDAY has passed forever and is beyond our control.”

Today, I called my aunt. Now that I have found the paperwork to get said affairs in order, I’ve asked her for the mortgage records, and my nana’s W2’s. I need to track down a will, in order to prove that I OWN THE HOUSE SHE IS TRYING TO SELL. She can’t sell it unless it’s in her name. I cannot stop the bank from throwing her incompetent ass on the street WITHOUT TRACKING DOWN THE WILL. She will not make payments. She refuses to cooperate. I have a check coming that could possibly salvage the estate, IF we can prevent it from going to probate. TODAY, I have to make plans for tomorrow to face her, to face her abusive boyfriend. Today, I prepare for the unknown of tomorrow.

“All the money in the world cannot bring back YESTERDAY. We cannot undo a single act we performed; we cannot erase a single word we said. YESTERDAY is gone beyond recall.”

Today, my father and I have a talk. This is regarding the fact that he is no longer my guy friend drinking buddy. The fact that he needs to grow up, be a 58 year old man, and be a father. This is the continuance of the ultimatum made two weeks ago, during a fist fight that resulted in him attempting to choke me. But of course, I, being the immature, overdramatic cunt that I am, did not call the police. I do not trust him. I will not let this happen again.

“The other day we should not worry about is TOMORROW, with its possible adversities, its burdens, its large promise and perhaps its poor performance. TOMORROW is also beyond our immediate control.”

Today I deal with a phone stalker. He sends a text, AGAIN, “I miss you.” He has harassed me for two years now. This is the first time I’ve replied in a year. My previous responses consisted of “LEAVE ME ALONE”, “FUCK OFF”, “GO AWAY”, and “DELETE MY NUMBER”. Today I reply, “LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE” x 10. Him: “I love u so much . . . im dying without you . . . i will never ever ever even think of hurting you . . . im sooo sorry”. Me: “I DON’T MISS YOU”. “I DON’T LOVE YOU.” “I DON’T NEED YOU.” “YOU’RE A FUCKING ANNOYANCE.” “DROP DEAD.” “FUCK OFF.” “LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.” “I DON’T NEED THIS SHIT.” Him: Its not shit . . . this i sware to you . . . i need you”. Me: “GO AWAY.” “STOP.” “GET A LIFE.” “GET THE POINT AND DELETE MY FUCKING NUMBER NOW.” “RIGHT NOW.” Him: “I can’t do that”. “How can i prove to you how much i love you”. Me: “You can leave me the fuck alone and stop causing stress in my life. I want NOTHING to do with you, and NOTHING, I reiterate, NOTHING, will EVER, EVER change that.” Him: “I have to make that change . . . i want to spend the rest of my life with you . . . and only you . . . i love you”.  I’ve FUCKING HAD IT WITH THIS BULLSHIT. I FINALLY figured out how to block his number, and thank God he doesn’t know where I live.

“TOMORROW’S sun will rise, either in splendor or behind a mask of clouds- but it will rise. Until it does, we have no stake in Tomorrow, for it is yet unborn.”

Today I look into my boyfriends eyes, after I unload my mind and request immediate, distractional, very hot sex. Today I realize that I have the best man I’ve ever known. He holds me up, yet puts up with my shit enough to let me stand on my own two Bebe accentuated feet. Today I channel my anger into something better. Today I feel smarter, stronger, wiser, for what it’s worth. Today I know that if I take charge RIGHT NOW, in this moment, the future will never require worry.

“This leaves only one day- TODAY. Any man can fight the battles of just one day. It is only when you add the burden of those two awful eternities- YESTERDAY and TOMORROW, that we break down. It is not the experience of today that drives men mad. It is the remorse or bitterness for something which happened YESTERDAY or the dread of what TOMORROW may bring.”

“Let us, therefore, do our best but to live one day at a time.”


“Nothing Is Wrong With You”

I’m beginning to think this is a lie. No, really, I know it’s a fucking lie. I’m just not sure what’s wrong with me yet.

I’ve always been a depressed person. I can’t remember very many times in my life when I wasn’t miserable. From a very young age, things seemed to go very wrong in my life, just one thing after another. It all started when I was 7. There were less than happy memories before that, but I was a kid, and I just dealt with that as a kid does. That was my first suicide attempt. My 7 year old brain actually believed drinking a teaspoon of goo-gone would kill me. Oh, how I waited. 7 years old was when it all really started to set in- when I think back to where my personal insanity started.

For a large part of my life I was a dreamer. I believed in the lie of the American Dream- you work hard enough for something, you’ll get it. The thing about this American Dream, is that it can be true, so long as you’re in the middle to upper class. In the days where I made my dreams come true, I had a family. We had our financial hardships, but were never in a state of true poverty. Since my mother died, my father (who I live with) had not been paying bills, aside from the rent until he lost his job. It was all on me, and it’s amazing how quickly a $10,000 life insurance check can deplete when you’re throwing down $500 every time one of five companies decides to shut you off. Since my father has been unemployed, I haven’t been able to keep up with the rent. I can’t say if I’m in poverty. I still have a roof over my head, today. I don’t know if I will have that much longer. They say money can’t buy happiness. I don’t believe in that either. No one truly needs shiny, material things. What money can buy is a roof overhead, running water, heat, electricity, and a connection to the outside world when you’re stuck at home. If you don’t have the funds to pay for that, fuck worrying about when your next date is going to be or making new friends. Money can buy comfort, security, and normalcy. (For the record, I have a computer with internet access as my job depends on it.) In retrospect, it’s no wonder I stopped dreaming and became more hopeless the more hopeless the economy became. Where I really screwed myself over, though, is when I stopped DOING.

Present day- I KNOW there is something very wrong with me. There must be a reason I can’t simply slap on a band aid and MOVE THE FUCK ON. It’s only ever added up. You read facts about depression, and no one is going to believe you until your disease is on paper with a shrink’s signature. No one is going to stop defeating you with phrases such as “get over it” or “stop feeling sorry for yourself” or “just be positive” or “stop being emo”. How about a bit of FUCK YOU I CAN’T. In the two years after my mother died, I remember scoring over 500 on the Holmes and Rahe Stress Scale. A human being is at serious risk of both mental and physical illness anywhere past the 300 point mark. There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s all my fault. Please, allow me a moment of sheer immaturity: LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL!!!!!!

There was a very important event in my life that has pushed me to find out exactly what in the hell is wrong. If you are of the male sex, you may wish to skip the remainder of this paragraph. As with every female, we go through 5-7 days of unicorns and rainbows every month that turn us into unmanageable, disgustingly leaky nutcases. For years and years, I went through hell being told “You’re a woman. You’re fine. Just slap on a smile, pop a Midol, shove a tampon up there and DEAL.” I got into trouble with both of my vanilla jobs because I was unproductive during my period, or was forced to take time off. Simply put- I am a former self mutilator, and a current fetishist with masochistic tendencies that lean toward the heavier side of things. I do not have a low pain tolerance by ANY means. If I am shaking with goose bumps over my skin, ghost white, and bloated to the point that I appear nine months pregnant- I am in pain, and no, I cannot function. It took a journey of learning waaay more about my body than I ever wanted to know to realize that what the average woman deals with in her entire cycle (in terms of liquid measured my milliliters)- I get on my first day. TWICE OVER. And there’s more to come for the 7 remaining days of hell!

My whole life this is something I dealt with to the best of my abilities. I was told I was normal, and I had nothing to complain about- and I believed it. I wanted to have a baby more than anything in my life, someday. Because I believed those assholes, I’ve found that at 23 years old my feminine health is in such a bad state that I may never be able to have my own child. Thanks for that.

I do need to see a shrink. I’m not ok. I am not normal. I do need help, and I’m done listening to “Nothing is wrong with you!”. I am not a professional, and I cannot diagnose myself- but, taking a long, realistic look back on my life, I wonder a lot of things. I see all the depression, the misery . . .  what I’d forgotten is how I put on a happy face and cover it all up by being super optimistic and happy around people. Or that I still dream sometimes- coming up with all these amazing plans, feeling like I can take on the world- only to be brought back down by the next miserable mood swing. I believe it is very possible that I have a personality disorder. There are too many things that I’ve fucked up as of late, and the only thing in my power to do right now is stay sober and hope it will help the situation.

In the past week, I believe I lost my best friend, and the love of my life. That story will be told soon. For today, I end on this note: This is not a sob story. This is not about feeling sorry for myself. This is about the realization that I don’t feel in control, and that regardless of the outcome of all of this- it is not ALL my fault. It’s time to start picking up the pieces and putting it all together. It’s time to find a better state of mind and a better outlook on my future so that I can avoid fucking it all up again.

After all, I once heard that “the definition of insanity is making the same mistake over and over again, yet expecting different results”. It’s true.


A Realization Hit me Today

Everything hit. All at once.



I was watching Prozac Nation. Out of all the movies I love that taught me something, this one is the most relatable. Right now- it’s frighteningly accurate. I digress . . .

I saw the liquor on the screen. In a split second, I wanted to drink; and then suddenly, I didn’t want to anymore. I look at all the excuses I make for myself, and remember what an incredibly wise woman once told me: “You can have all the best excuses. They can be perfectly valid excuses. But at the end of the day, your excuses are only holding YOU back”. – A loose quote. So I thought about this, and it finally clicked.

Note: In the original format I wrote last night, the page reads: “Fuck. I am writing this on a legal pad my ex gave me. Who happened to be a recovered alcoholic. Fuck.”

Looking back on the past three years of my life, 90% of the humiliating, surreal, even-Snookie-wouldn’t-go-there moments- liquor was involved. I can’t deal, so I drink, I try to hold it together, I make an ass out of myself. And in the morning, when I wake up, it’s not pretty. It’s a whole new set of problems, a bucketful of moments I’d sell my soul to take back (with a few things both added to and crossed off of my bucket list that I never thought would be there)- and all the old problems are still there. Now my head feels like it’s been run over and I have to puke on top of it all.

Great. Wake up, asshole.

And so, the realization is this: the alternative to not picking up the bottle is FUCKING DEALING ALREADY. Yeah, it’s going to suck. No, I’m still not sure I can survive this. It’s going to be a long fucking road. The thing is- maybe, if I change this one thing that seems to be the root of many problems- this ongoing clusterfuck cycle of a life could stop being a cycle. No new problems added on a daily basis. The cycle ends- which means eventually, the pain can, too.

What the hell. It’s worth a shot. (Of Jack). I have a sick sense of humor.

Here’s to a new chapter . . .


Positivity (from 12/9/10)

A “Blast from Xanga’s Past” Production

I sit here listening to a skipping version of Somewhere Out There by Our Lady Peace. My computer has conked out, as I’m lacking a product key for Vista, and so Playlist is not an option. This song brings back memories of the good old days, when life was less complicated . . .

A man walks into my job. Places a $5 order, and hands me a $20. Tells me to keep the change. When i alert him to the fact that his change is $15, he throws down another $20. Tells me to keep it. I offer to share with my coworkers; they decline.

My cat walks up to me and mommy-paws my knee. It tickles. I give her extra treats.

After a recent, tough break-up, I have a wedding to attend. At the reception, a six year old boy named Mathias asks me to be his date for the afternoon. I accept, and had the time of my life.

My dad hears a story on the radio. A homeless man asks a woman for change on his way into a grocery store. She hands him her credit card. The man returns groceries in hand, with his receipt, and returns the woman’s credit card. She thanks him.

As I am told to take out the trash at work, a customer, on a day out with his family, helps me pull out the garbage bags, and offers to take them out to the dumpster for me. I decline, but thank him profusely.

I pass a homeless man on my way to get my check cashed. He asks for spare change, I throw him my last $10. He says “God bless you”, over and over, looking at me in disbelief. On my way back from cashing my check, I give him another $10.

Positivity . . . Pay it forward.

– Vix