shameless begging

There are a few plug-ins for wordpress I want so badly to make my blog look more dope and then maybe I’ll want to write more, and believe me, y’all really do want me to write more…about my real shit…cause then you’ll be reading and then you’ll be like, “OH MY GAWD, THIS GIRL IS ME!”

No shit.

If you want to venmo me a donation I would not be opposed….in fact, I’d be dancing I’d be so happy.

sarahsue42  is my venmo name.




It is 3:48 a.m. on a weekend morning.  I’m not sure if it’s Sunday or Monday but it doesn’t really matter because every day is Sunday or MOnday to me.

For the past couple of months I have been in a stupendous depression.  I am not really sure what caused it but I suppose about two or three variables that could be involved.

Me and him have not spoken all week.  I’m sure to hear it told to one of his buddies out of his own mouth it would sound like chinese to me.  None of it would be intelligible, that is  unless I spoke Mandarin or Cantonese….and you never know, one of those is on my bucket list.

I had my first sip of drink in over a week earlier this evening.  I say “this evening” but I think the sip which was granted to me as a full-fledged DRINK was poured after midnight.

I ain’t drunk.

I ain’t buzzed.


it’s 4:10 a.m. now.

I am not mad about being ignored.  I never was.  I did nothing to be ignored.  The only thing I did was ask my partner of 6 years some questions about some weird shit on his bank statement and he made it into a whole thing so he could ignore me, I suppose.

I turned 42 this past Monday.  I have had a pretty strong feeling for several years that life is going to change at 42.  My birthday is 4-2.  If you google forty-two, here’s what you find:  PURE BADDASSERY You’ll also find THIS.

I’ve been so depressed since Christmas I haven’t cared much for hygiene, but on my birthday, since I was being ignored anyway, I took the first selfies I’ve taken in a hundred years.

Wanna see?  I’m gonna show you anyway because clearly I’m sober.


Black Tea

Sunlight is good but I ain’t seeing much I am rarely outside or doing anything such as hanging with friends cause I’ve lost most of them, I only talk to a few and little time do I spend outside of this camper I’m living in…I feel myself dying and I finally started crying…I didn’t cry for a while during this exile but some tears came today and I turned them away because they make my face stay in an ugly display of swollen eyes and cheeks and I get no relief from the acid rain pouring with overwhelming grief…and I hate how the grief is absorbing all of me andI hate that my blogs show only black tea which permeates my soul so frequently.I want to be happy, I want to be free of this depression so thick that my eyes cannot see anything good inside of me or in this place that I’m in and I hate going to sleep just to wake up being in the same place…I hardly ever go put makeup on my face cause there’s none to impress with all my distress…no one wants near such a fucking hot mess…and lately I wonder if I’ll ever be from under this thick dark black cloud, my burial shroud, which screams at me loud and it sounds like a crowd of monsters and demons and those of just treason without any rhyme and without any reason…I’m doing no pleasing in this horrible season which has lasted for years and stripped all my gears and made me the joke of all of my peers while they laugh and do cheers…I think many are glad to see me so sad and that makes me mad and makes me wish that I had died long before it got so damn bad.


I am down right now but it’s only temporary…

There is obviously a lesson here that needs to be learned and it’s taking so long that I’m becoming concerned…I usually learn my lessons pretty damn quick but I’m still stuck in this prison and the warden’s a dick…which made me think as I sat down to pee…maybe this lesson ain’t for me.

Trapped, Lord

Lord, I know oftentimes throughout my strife I have been less of a human and more like wildlife and I know so many times I’ve screamed and I’ve cried begging you to help me just one more last time…always admitting I crossed the damn line and always promising I’ll do no more crime if you’ll please reach me your hand and help me to climb out of this hole and wash off the grime and you never have failed with your harsh, sweet sublime to do what I asked when I had neither dollar nor dime…but GUESS WHAT, YAH? I’M BACK IN THE LINE.
I sit yet again, in a slovenly pen which is now and has always been the manifestation of my mind.

I do declare it’s a mess in there and I just do not know where I put that spare. It’s lost amongst the animal hair and dirty underwear and a few shares of stale food that I never ate because I swear, I’m never hungry and I got no clean plate.

Listen, please God, I need you real bad cause the knot in my stomach which is made out of sad is metastasizing fast like a Kardashian fad and if it keeps up it’s spreading I just might really go mad.

I have begun to notice that each time I ask the time I must wait is longer than last. I’m not sure why that is, but I need your help fast. I am quite certain, cause I’ve heard in the past that the harder life gets and the more overcast and the more I’m harassed and more put on blast, the more steadfast my heart stands on the wall it’s tiredly amassed.

I do not believe that’s the lesson I need to acquire the manna my soul needs to feed. I was put here to hurt and put here to bleed. Pain is the best teacher I need to help find that one seed of mustard it takes to succeed…and success in this life is not guaranteed and when it comes to evolving I would rather concede to wholly agree: humility and love are the Divine Decree.