fuck you

Ok, so I went slightly off last night and now I am feeling terribly judged and I’ve been thinking about this all day and have wanted to post an apology, but I’m not.  I am who I am because of the people who made me.  NO, I am not passing the buck, it is what it FUCKING IS…. So, this is a SHOUT-OUT to all you parents out there.  I’m about to give you some tips on HOW NOT TO RAISE YOUR CHILDREN.

From all looks and appearances, disregarding smells and the look of the hosue I grew up in, I was a normal kid.

That sentence made absolutely no sense because I was never a normal kid.

I was born to an alcoholic mother and a father who could have been second-in-command to Adolf Hitler.

I never met my mother until I was six years old.  By that time, my father had basically founded his own belief in me that my mother was the spawn of Satan, though, he never said that, actually, because I don’t believe my father believes in Satan or God, because I believe my father believes he is God.

My dad took me from my mom when I was 18 months old and I didn’t see her again until I was 6 going on 7 and I didn’t know her….talk about fucking awkward.

I remember the day my dad and my step-mom, picked me up from the private school I was attending in the first grade, gifting me with RUBY RED SLIPPERS, just like Dorothy, from the “Wizard of Oz”, and telling me they went to court that day and that soon I would have to go to “Sue’s”.

From the moment I met my own mother I felt awkward.

My step-mother forced me to call her, “mom”, and that made everything even more awkward.
Like, when my mom finally got her visitation rights and picked me up and I had no fucking idea what to call her and what to call the woman who forced me to call her “mom”, when conversing with my MOM.

OMFG.

I’m going to sum this up now in a few short sentences.

My paternal grandmother lived with us and hated my step-mom as much as I did.

I loved my MIMI, more than life, itself.

My biggest fear was losing my Mimi, the only anchor holding me to reality.
Mimi’s room was in the back of our house and every time my step mom would do something completely fucked-up, I would run to mimi’s room and she would tickle my back and tell me, “I know, baby, Penni,, is A BITCH…but we don’t want to make waves”.

Mimi would tell me I was beautiful, but if my step-mother was in the kitchen, cooking her usual dinner of a HAMBURGER PATTY, NO SEASONING, AND A PILE OF MINUTE RICE, AND A SPOONFUL OF GODDAMN PINTO BEANS, and would hear Mimi tell me I was beautiful, as soon as I would feel better, leaving Mimi’s room, PENNI, WOULD BE SURE TO TELL ME, “SARAH, YOU ARE NOT BEAUTIFUL.  YOU ARE A CUTE GIRL, BUT YOU ARE NOT BEAUTIFUL AND YOU NEVER WILL BE.”

 

so…..I got issues….so does everyone.  My main goal in life is to inspire the lonely, left-out, BEAUTIFUL KIDS LIKE ME…AND LET THEM KNOW THEY ARE FUCKING AWESOME….no matter what adult FUCKING PIECES OF SHIT tell them.

 

I’m

 

 

 

 

 

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