The concept of forever

I think one of the truest concepts of this world is that nothing is truly permanent. Situations, people, ideas are typically in flux and evolve overtime. Yet we as people always have this gnawing little feeling of permanence. We will always be in love or we will never find love. We will always want what we don’t have or we’ll never lose what we do have.

Where did forever come from?

I paused to do a little research. A lot of the articles stem around religion. So I deduce religion is to blame. And man created religion so essentially man is to blame.

I do wonder though if we took forever away, how would we then feel about our current situations? Would we hold more value? Attach a little less? Would we feel more free?

Lonely is her favorite place to be

Like all humans, I am strong in some areas in life and more fragile in others. I feel I am fragile when it comes to friendships and relationships and even interacting with coworkers. I am sensitive and sometimes my perception is off.

Lonely has become my favorite place to be.

Lonely is my favorite place to be because there are no expectations of others to meet. I am free to feel, think, and do as I please. I also make the best company because even though depression likes to visit at times, I like me. I have a hard time telling if others do. So I am flawed in that manner.

I find strength in solitude and now I want to find strength in peopling.

Word Count: 0

I want to write. Or blog. Whatever. I just have nothing to say.

I went away for a bit. I had to admit myself to the hospital.

Now I am back. And without many words.

Word Count: 37.

At the end of my rope

This is a saying usually when someone’s nerves are frayed. I’m using it differently.

Sometimes I wish I could slip quietly into the night and people could just forget about me. But that’s not the way life and death are. You slip away and people are left to grieve. And honestly, I don’t think that’s fair to either.

I am feeling passively suicidal. It would probably be actively suicidal if I didn’t care so much about my mother and her feelings.

I don’t believe this is situational. I sometimes wonder if it’s not a hint of fate. I wrote in a post a while back that I may or may not still have up about not being able to see my future like I used to. I mean not in a psychic weird supernatural way, but a regular kind of vision of where I could be. I used to see it when I was a child. It didn’t turn out the way I’d see it, but sometimes my smaller immediate futures would. I guess the normal thing to call it is intuition. I had intuition for being alive in the future, and now there isn’t anything.

And this is how I mean end of my rope. I’m not frayed, I’m just close to being no more. Or so I think.

Honesty with children

Disclaimer: I am not a mother. This is solely my opinion. This is coming from the perspective of being parented, not the perspective of parenting.

Content Warning: Domestic Abuse.

A little while ago my friend and I were comparing war stories on growing up. I was explaining that since I was a child, I knew my parents didn’t love each other. I knew there were a lot of issues. And that my mother had shared with me about a man she’d met well before my father whom she did love greatly.

My friend thought this odd. I rebuffed that I grew up seeing my mom abused by the hands of my father so if she were to feed me lies about how great he was, it would have confused me and probably have done more damage than being honest with me did.

I know a mother who has two grade school children. I know a mother who is abused by the hands of her husband in front of her two grade school children. I know a mother who blames herself and excuses her husband’s behavior and abuse for her children so they will still love daddy.

Not even after the first time I saw my father hit my mother, did she ever blame herself for his actions of abuse. And though my mother stayed in an unhealthy marriage for reasons unto her own; I saw her strength, I saw her honesty, and I respect who she was as well as who she is now.

Because of her, I haven’t continued the cycle.


I feel we haven’t had in some time, an activist like the ones you would learn about in history class. I feel it is much harder today to stand out for longer than 5 minutes in our society of fast internet, social media, and shortened attention spans. I might be wrong, some of you might be able to name several civil and human rights activists right now who are making strides. I just don’t see them. In today’s world, I see a bunch of opinions, ideas, and thoughts on how to make today better, but I haven’t seen the actions to make a difference. Make my country as well as the world better, safer, kinder.

Until now.

I feel we haven’t had in some time, an activist like the ones you see in the youth of today. There have been several mass shootings and tragedies followed by several debates of gun control and mental health and beaten down voices on policy change and regulations. I see a spark in the youth following what happened in Parkland on Tuesday morning of February 14th.

May they the strength to fight back three times as hard to those who try to knock them down.

The Life of a Quitter

The first time I remember quitting something was when I begged my mom to sign me up for softball because my friend was going to play. The first day of practice, a young girl and myself were paired together to practice throwing and catching. She threw and it hit me right in the shin.


A ginger from Belgium DM’d me to say he thinks I wear black panties

I don’t know what woman in this world doesn’t wear black panties from time to time, but who am I to know. He started off the conversation normally and before I replied, my spidey senses were tingling. That was until he told me he lived in Belgium, then I was all, he’s harmless. Until a bit of banter passed and I get, do u ware black panties?

No, sir. Not today. They are grey. I didn’t say that. I turned into my prude self and was all, I’m not answering that. I call it my prude self, but really it’s not me being prude, it’s me cutting the bullshit. I’ll sexy talk… with people I know and have been intimate with. But a rando on the interweb? No thanks.



Content Warning: Graphic details of sexual acts, nudity, molestation, sexual predator, sexual acts with a minor

I have told this story a thousand times (maybe less) and I have never told its entirety. Maybe to convince others it happened. Maybe to convince myself that I was a victim. Maybe because I am scared that what I am hiding will cause more insidious effects if out in the open.

There was a hotel party. I was 14. I didn’t want to be alone with the monster. But it happened. Because I was there. I was high and hanging out on the balcony finishing up a beer. I saw his shoe before I saw him and in the moment, my heart did drop into the pit of my stomach. When I had been around him before, he’d wait until no one was looking and lick his lips at me or blow a kiss. I said nothing. He was my best friend’s sister’s boyfriend. I said nothing.

He found me on the balcony — high and drunk — and like a lion seeing a gazelle, began the hunt. He walked past me to sit in the chair in the corner. I was laid back in mine. There was one of those cheap little plastic tables between us. Across the street sat a Publix and I made a lame joke on how it looked like pubix. He laughed. He asked me to come sit on his lap. He took my hand and I pulled away. I didn’t want to anger him. I didn’t want to bear the consequences of being at that hotel party. Of being alone with him. Of not being strong enough to get up and get away. Of being too cowardice to wake the people passed out in the room. He took my hand again and I went out. I know I went out because when I came to, I was cradled in his lap, his hand up my shirt underneath my bra. And his lips were on my neck.

My mind screamed no, but my voice wouldn’t work. I couldn’t speak. Then he heard someone in the room. He placed me back in my chair and went into the room. His girlfriend was crying. She thought he left her on her birthday. He came back to the balcony and he shook my arm.

“We have to go downstairs and call her friend to come to the hotel.”

He helped me up by taking my hand and he asked if I wanted a drink. I said I wanted a Sprite. He got me a Sprite and we headed to the elevator. The Sprite was like heaven. It was crisp and bubbly and cold. In the elevator, he pressed his body into mine. He cradled my face in his hands and tilted my head up. He said I have beautiful eyes and put his lips to mine. I let him. I kissed back. His mouth tasted like Winterfresh gum. His lips were soft and his tongue probing.

We walked past security to go to the payphones. I made a slit-throat gesture to the guard, but he just smiled and nodded. Not at all curious why at some unknown hour of the night a man in his twenties was parading around with a teenage girl.

The friend couldn’t be reached so back in the elevator we went. He was kissing me again and his hands were now roaming my body instead of cradling my face. He lifted my shirt and looked at me telling me how beautiful I was. We got into the room and he took me to the bathroom. He told me to hang on a second. He went out into the room and I locked the bathroom door. He tapped quietly. I told him I was using the bathroom. I stared at the door fully clothed. He asked me to open the door in a tone, but still a whisper. I relented.

He entered and had me facing him, my back to the sink and mirror. He began undressing me. He took off my shirt, unhooked my bra, slid my jeans and underwear down over my hips. He kissed and sucked my nipples, he trailed down my stomach with his mouth. I told him I had a tampon in. He licked my pubis once. Then looked to verify there was a string there. He used his hands on me. He stayed fully clothed.

He stayed fully clothed as he explored my body with his hands and mouth. Then he stopped. He said for me to come to him. He sat on the floor with his back to the wall. I sat facing away from him between his legs. He whispered:

“No one will believe you. This is all a dream. It’s not really happening.”

My arms were on the tile floor when I replied:

“Yes it is happening, I can feel the cold floor.”

He lifted my arms onto his legs and wrapped his arms around my shoulders while shushing me.

His girlfriend woke again and he got up. He told me to stay and left the bathroom quietly shutting the door behind him. I immediately got up, locking the bathroom door. I started the bath, putting the temperature to a scalding heat I have never felt before nor since. I sat in the bath until the water turned cold. I ran another bath. Then I was so tired I couldn’t see straight. I got dressed and went and laid in the bed next to my friend. I was hoping my weight would wake her naturally, but it didn’t. I let myself cry not realizing he was still in the room. He heard me and laid next to me on the edge of the bed and spooned me shushing me and stroking my head. His girlfriend called out for him. He went to her. They began fooling around. I simply said:

“I can hear you”

They laughed. He left. I went back to the bathroom and took as many baths as I could until it was morning and his girlfriend knocked on the door wanting to shower.

To this day it disgusts me how much comfort I get when I have a Sprite or have a stick of Winterfresh gum.