Sunday, August 31, 2014

Guilty Pleasures

  Today I am linking up with More than Cheese and Beer for Sunday Confessions. Our prompt is "guilty pleasures". 

  Now, I have literally pondered on this topic for several days, trying to figure out what my guilty pleasure is. 

  I don't even have many pleasures to begin with. Here they are in no particular order: 

  Sex, books, Coca Cola, and Star Trek. (I don't feel guilty about loving any of those) 

  That's it. That's all I've got.

I began to wonder if maybe something wasn't seriously wrong with me. Doesn't everyone have a guilty pleasure? I have no clue. You weren't expecting me to answer that, were you? 

 Instead of writing about my guilty pleasure, I am writing about my lack of one. 

  That's right, folks. I don't feel the least bit guilty about any of my pleasures. Although, Stripper assures me I should, in fact, feel guilty about loving Star Trek. 


Sunday, August 24, 2014

Sunday Confessions: Denial

  Today I'm linking up with More than Cheese and Beer for Sunday Confessions. Our word prompt is "denial". 

  I will go on and admit, I am in denial. In denial that I'm getting old. Here's a perfect example. AirBear asked me to hop with her. 

AirBear: Let's hop like a bunny! 

Me: Ok! I like being bunnies! 

  She hops on ahead of me and in my excitement, I forgot I'm nearly 40.

  On the first hop, my head pounded. I fought on and ignored it like a trooper. On the second hop, my boobs nearly knocked me out. I could've been killed right then! So, I decided to just ignore the pounding brain and hold my boobs. Hopping we went! 

  On the third hop, I broke my liver. Yes, I said liver. Can a liver be broken, you ask? Nope. But I'm pretty sure mine broke. 

  I suffered through the agony of my broken, and surely, bleeding liver. I hopped on! AirBear was in front of me, laughing with joy! 

  "This is fun, mommy!", she said through her laughter. 

 "Oh", I agreed through my tears. 

  After eight hops, I was ready for someone to call 911. My legs were creaking, my back ached, my liver was dying. 

  I'm not ready to get old. My heart still tells me I'm 18. But my body bitch slaps my heart and tells it to shut the hell up before it gets me killed. 

  Who knows what I would do next! I would probably be trying to do a cartwheel. Imagine the horror. I'd break my entire body then. 

   In three years, I will be turning 40 years old. I'm totally expecting to just fall apart right then and there. 

 Do they make WD-40 for old folks bones? Cause I need some. 

Monday, August 18, 2014

Why You No Like Me, Sleep?

  This is my issue with sleep. He's a crazy stalker-like dude. Yes, I've deemed sleep to be a man, because he's an asshole. Just go with it, would ya? 

  Sleep creeps in my mind at least ten times a day. I mean, this dude just will not effin leave! He doesn't take the damn hint that I have a toddler who's wide awake and seems to have more energy than three kids combined. I'm now convinced that said toddler sucked my energy from me as well. 

  So then I finally cave in and start pondering about sleep. Cause that's what stalkers do. They just beat you down until you go along with them. At first you get pissed they are there, then you start kinda liking having them around.  

  Anyhow, the instant my own version of the energizer bunny collapses at night, sleep runs from me like the cops just caught him jacking off while looking in my window. In other words, he's no where to BE FOUND. 

  Suddenly, this annoying asshole who had been bothering me all damn day is no where to be found!! It's like he vanished into thin air! 

   I then find myself laying in bed for well over two hours, waiting on him to return. Did the jerk get lost on his way back?! Was he kidnapped by aliens? Maybe he was getting probed right that second!! Why the hell is he taking so long?! It's just like a damn man to take his own sweet time! This dude better hope he's dead. 

  Then out of no where, BAM! He shows back up. But by then I'm so pissed that he didn't even bother to call or text me ,I ignore him. That'll teach him! 

  He whispers his usual promises of sweet slumber in my ear, so I give in. Hey, he promised me eight hours of this sweet stuff! I'm only human. I cave in. Every. Single. Time. 

  Yet,  only after an hour of his promises of fulfilling my needs, the bastard runs off. I'm starting to think he's seeing someone else. Oh yeah, sure he returns. But only long enough to tease me. It's like he's falling out of love with me, like he can hardly tolerate being in my presence any longer. 

  He only gives me a tiny taste of what I need. Here's my question to you, sleep.. 

 Why you no like me? 


Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Day and Night: My Battle With Depression

  With the death of a comedic icon, everyone is bringing up depression. It is sad to see someone lose their battle, but sadly I can relate. 

  Depression is not new to me. I've struggled with it since I was in my teens. It only worsened as I grew older. 

  I watched as everyone around me laughed and enjoyed life, while I forced myself to just get out of bed. 

  When I was 14, I attempted to take my life for the first time. This was for a number of reasons. One was depression and another was to escape the abuse I suffered at the hands of my father. 

   At the age of 29, I tried again. This time, I came so much closer. I was almost there. But my sister in law found me and called for help. 

  Once paramedics arrived, I pleaded with them to just let me die. I honestly didn't want to go on. I wanted my pain to end. I refused to go with them. I could feel the overdose of sleeping pills I had taken pulling my under. 

  They had the sheriff come and threaten me with jail if I didn't go along with them to the ER. My response.."Take me to jail. I'm already in my own prison anyhow". 

  The pleas from my family dumped guilt on me that I couldn't cope with, so I went. Needless to say, I was admitted to the psych ward by my family after having my stomach pumped. 

  I was there an entire week. I told them what they wanted to hear so I could get out of there. I didn't belong there with those nut jobs. That's how I thought at the time. I wasn't crazy. I just wanted to die. Why wouldn't they just let me die?! 

  When I left the hospital a week later, I reluctantly found a therapist. An amazing therapist. She saw beyond my wall. She "got" me. I began writing again after she encouraged me to write down my feelings. Poetry poured out of me in huge waves. This is the first one I wrote after that: 

"Day and Night

In the light of day..
Insecurity is my only companion.
Heartache is the only emotion I know.
Fears and worries are constant thoughts,
Pain consumes my very soul.

In the light of day..
My every flaw is put up on display.
Shame surrounds me like a thick quilt.
Embarrassment trails my every move,
Never allowing me to forget my guilt.

In the light of day..
Every sin of mine is plain to see.
Rays of light point out every single one.
Disgust filled eyes follow me always.
Finding me no matter where I try to run.

In the darkness of night..
Courage is a dear friend of mine.
Happiness surrounds me like a halo.
Here, pain and fear can't find me.
Bravery is the only emotion I know.

In the darkness of night..
Flaws no longer cause me shame.
Proudly I show them for all to see.
Here, they don't make me different.
They simply make me unique.

In the darkness of night..
Sins don't make up the person I am.
They are but scars from battles lost and won.
Here, in the night, I'm safe and I'm free.
Here, I will never again have to run."

  When I showed that to her, she hugged me. She understood it like no one else could. 

  I still struggle with depression, though I have a better understanding of it now. I cope with it better now. 



  I share my story in the hopes it will help someone else share theirs. If it seems you have no one to listen, remember I always will. 

Sunday, August 10, 2014

Sunday Confessions: Sex

  I have been waiting a while to write about this. Sex... 

  I won't lie, I enjoy sex. But that hasn't always been the case. It took me until I was in my 30's to realize sex was even enjoyable. 

  I used to honestly think something was wrong with me because I just couldn't get "into it".  I couldn't get excited. Couldn't get turned on. I sincerely hope that isn't TMI. 

  I guess it took meeting the right person who I "clicked" with. Or better yet, someone that knew what the hell he was doing. 

Now, sex inspires poetry. So I'm going to bore you with one I wrote. Here it is, it's titled "Beautiful Climax". 

"His hands are on my body 
My skin is scorching hot 
I run my fingers through his hair 
And beg him not to stop 

He softly kisses my wet lips 
Making  his way to my neck 
My heart starts to race 
Wondering where he'll go next

His breath is hot and fevered 
My body arches close 
I wrap my legs around his waist 
I want him and he knows 

He pulls my arms above my head 
Puts his hand around my wrists 
He leans his head down to my ear 
And whispers that I am his 

I answer with yes..yes..yes.. 
Take me now my love, please 
He kisses my aching breasts 
And settles between my knees 

Then he makes love to me 
With his hands, his mouth, his lips
His head is between my thighs 
His hands are gripping my hips 

I am in agony and I love it 
I don't want him to ever stop 
Once I reach the beautiful climax 
He lays down and pulls me on top

We make magic together 
It's amazing how he turns me on
I collapse in his arms exhausted 
And together  we greet the dawn" 

That pretty much says how I feel about sex. Sex is awesome. May I even say, it's Spock-tacular? 


Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Inside My Pain: Part 2

  The decision to move in with my father at the age of 12, was my own. My mom had 8 children all together , including me. We struggled every day. Many times we went without electric, running water and even food. She did her best. I can not even imagine how hard it was for her. School was hell. It was literally like a living hell. I was tortured. Although I was a great student, I still dreaded school every day. I was picked on relentlessly. Other kids took for granted things I wish I had. Even simple things like deodorant and clean clothes.   

  My father had only his wife and their child. When he suddenly showed up out of the blue and showed an interest in me, I saw a way out. I hate myself for being such a greedy, selfish child and abandoning my mom and siblings for what I thought would be a better life. But I was desperate. I thought my father loved me... Many people ask why I didn't tell someone or go back to my mom. The answer: I was ashamed. I felt it was what I deserved after choosing my father over a mom who had loved me, protected me and took care of me all of my life. That is the thought process of a 12 year old child. My mom only knew my father drank on occasion. She had no idea he was a monster. Here is part 2 of Inside My Pain.... 


My step mother was jealous of me. 

Now, I didn't realize that at the time. There is just no way a child's mind could comprehend or understand that. 

She viewed me as competition for my father's love and womanly affection. I see that now. As an adult, I'm able to grasp things I just never could as a young girl. 

She knew things I didn't and never even tried to protect me from what was to come. She could've. She just didn't care about me enough to do it. I wasn't her child. I was the spawn of another woman and her demonic husband. 

She wanted me gone. She gloried in my pain and suffering. She would come to me and discuss my father as if I were a grown woman. Telling me things that would forever scar my young mind. 

My father didn't view me as his daughter. To him, I was a conquest. A prize to be broken and conquered. One that would be won at any cost. Even the cost of my childhood. The cost of my innocence. The cost of my trust. The cost of my faith in men. 

And it was a price I alone would have to pay for the rest of my life. 

My tears and pain never once stopped my father from abusing me. Even when I attempted to take my own life at the age of 14, he convinced everyone that I was "messed up in the head". As I recovered in the hospital, my father never once visited me. My teacher from school did. The night I came home, he slapped me and raped me. 
He would always promise me that if I didn't tell, he'd take me back to my mom.. And I believed him. When I realized he had no intention of returning me, he told me my mom wouldn't want me because I was a nasty whore. 

It took me nearly four years of unimaginable abuse at the hands of my father before I finally confided in my teacher that my father was raping me. 

She alerted authorities and I was whisked away by my loving uncle, back to the arms of my mom. Who welcomed me back home without any hesitation. 

For many years, I was terrified I'd somehow end up being an evil monster like my father. I didn't want to be him. I couldn't be him. I wanted to be better. I couldn't allow his abuse to turn me into a person like him. So I didn't. I share my story because I hope it will help others. Maybe even you... 

Monday, August 4, 2014

Inside My Pain

My father divorced my mother when she was 5 months pregnant with me. I only saw him a few times throughout my young life. At the age of 12, I went to live with him, my step mother and their 1 year old daughter. 

After only being there a few days, 
I realized he was an abusive drunk. I was not even permitted to eat when I was hungry, and would get hit when I did. I was allowed to eat when he told me I could. 

Keep in mind, I was a straight A student in school. Honor roll, Beta Club, Honor Society, all that. The worst thing I ever did was leave my light on at night after falling asleep reading a book. But my father always found a reason to beat me. It was if he took delight, even pleasure, in it. 

I remember being held against the wall, my feet dangling off the ground, by his hand around my neck. Why? Because I had not washed the dishes well enough. I still vividly recall the horrid smell of his breath as he told me he couldn't stand the sight of me. 

I found no love from my step mother, either. She couldn't bear to even be in the same room with me. I began to despise myself. I couldn't understand why they hated me so much. It had to be because I was a horrible child. I would soon learn why they hated me. I will save that for another blog post. Another glimpse inside my pain...

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Sunday Confessions: Hope

  Hope. There have been moments in my life that I've had no hope at all. I just wanted to give up and throw in the towel. Life sucked. I didn't see it ever getting any better. 

  It felt like I was in a boxing match with life and it was beating the shit out of me. I kept waiting for the referee to ring the bell to stop the fight before life finally killed me, but the ref was no where to be found. 

  I wanted to lay there and just take the beating, since I had no hope of things ever changing. I didn't believe I deserved any better than what I was getting. 

  Maybe I had talked smack about life before the match and he heard about it. Maybe he was pissed at me for being ungrateful for the chances he'd given me in the past. Maybe he decided that this time, he was either going to beat some sense into me, or kill me trying. 

  Maybe this time, he was going to bring me to my knees and make me see that things could only go up from here. 

  I was at my lowest. I wanted to die. I waited for life to take the final blow. I was ready. I closed my eyes and prepared myself. All hope was lost. I had nothing to keep fighting for. I braced myself for the punch. 

  But he didn't do it. He leaned down and kissed my forehead and whispered "Don't give up..keep fighting..there's still hope left."  

  I left the ring bruised and battered. I could barely stand. I could hardly function. I walked outside and felt the sun shining on my face. The warm, soothing sun. Oh, how I had missed that sun. 

  Suddenly, I could feel my heart beating again. I could feel it trying to put the shattered pieces back together. 

 Maybe there was hope left for me after all.