addiction

Not Now, nor, forevermore

It makes me mad that I have to watch my back when I walk out my back door to let my dog go pee.

Seriously….I don’t think you know the struggle.

It’s like this everywhere I move.

Now…one might say, “Well, Athena, don’t you think since it happens everywhere you move, that it is possible that YOU ARE THE PROBLEM?

Yeah….I get that.

But the problem is, they do shit FIRST, and so my actions are a fucking REACTION.

And yes…I do realize that neither the black neighbors, nor the white ones, were expecting the reaction they received from their own actions…

NEVERTHELESS….

I put up with way too much shit as a youngster, to take any now.

So fuck them all.

I am the sweetest, most forgiving, loving ASS MEAN BITCH YOU WILL EVER WISH YOU NEVER MET.

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An Excercise In Realness

When I woke up, this morning, I can’t lie, I was scared to look at my WordPress account.  It literally took me 2 hours to look.  There were no likes, except from a good friend of mine.

People are so disappointing to me.

I am disappointing to me.

If there is nothing else I get from this blog, it is the opportunity to EXCERCISE REALNESS.

I guess we all just want the “realness” that Reality TV provides….

Seriously??

I was upset yesterday, over a plethora of things of which I wouldn’t write.  I only wanted to write about my anger.

I hate being the bitch who whines about how horrible her life is and how all she wants to do is die.  I refuse to be the bitch who has to preface my post with  ASTERISK  CAUSE  I AM TALKING ABOUT ALL SHIT SUICIDAL.

I ain’t her….but those who are her, get TONS OF LIKES AND ALL THAT “FEELING SORRY FOR YOU CRAP”….I know, because I am the first to like all of those kinds of posts, BECAUSE I RELATE TO THEM.

am i truly that hard to relate?

When I go writing about my real feelings, I  will,  inevitably, always make that shit rhyme, and then instead of someone hearing my real shit that’s going on, they get a nice little poem, because I am still incapable of writing about the REAL SHIT that distresses me.

But last night I got balls to the wall DRUNK.

And honestly…I really do believe I said a bunch of the same shit other people want to say, but won’t because even if they’re drunk….they can’t.

People are the biggest stumbling  block in my life….if only they weren’t.

I would be fucking President….or at least mayor.

Ok…this IS FUNNY…I’m your trap queen

You GOTTA know you reading a BORDERLINE BITCH’S BLOG, when she tries to push away her own followers…

OMG…I am fucking sick.

Therapist?

Low

Oh my God, I hate being low, when I was younger I stayed doing blow, so I didn’t even know that reason I stayed on “GO” was a subconscious attempt at not being low.

I always stayed high with wings that would fly down though the pits of hell then back up to the sky and I remember asking, “why?” because being high all the time still made me cry (but only on the inside)

Now years have passed and though sometimes I ask I really do pass on the hard drugs.

I just drink the liquor, and my body is getting sicker but thing is…this week, I didn’t even drink and I’m still fucking low and I still want to go and I don’t want to leave my bed so yes, I do know, that I am sick in the head.

Will this ever end?  When did it begin?  When I lost my mom the first time?  Or when it happened again?

 

Red Rover

I posted this one a year ago…I suppose I’ve made a modicum of progress since then…

Athena's Wicked Owl

Just my normal fucking chaos, that’s all it really is…Like a Nathan’s fucking hot dog with some mustard and some jizz.  I got a mean ass voice all in my fucking head…telling me go fuck myself, you really should be dead….I’m in the ring and fighting that bitch sounding so much like myself and I’m sick of hearing her voice that bitch is fucking with my health…If only she could do something productive with herself….i HATE THAT BITCH; I FUCKING HATE HER TAKE HER OUT OF ME…I swear to Christ she needs to go cause I can hardly fucking breathe.  I’m almost fucking 40 and there’s been no damn reprieve; this demon spawn has stole my soul just like a fucking thief.

I know God fucking hears me and he’s been listening my whole life…watching and he’s laughing as I struggle being (wife)…a mother, a sister and a fucking goddamn…

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At the risk of sounding crazy

At the risk of sounding crazy…

Ok, before I can even go any further I have to implore my mind to find the reason why my mouth should utter such a sentence as, ‘at the risk of sounding crazy’.    I suppose my prefrontal cortex hasn’t been completely disposed.  There’s still a few soldiers up there trying hold down the fort, which is the metaphorical analogy of the physical reality of a filter that I have never really possessed, completely, or which came broke.

So, does that make me crazy?

I don’t know…I have hung out with my share of full-fledged schizophrenics and mostly always enjoyed the hell out of their company, but never did I hear them verbalize their worry of the possibility that they may be crazy.

Have you?

Now I went off track and I don’t even want to write anymore about what I intended to write.

 

 

 

 

I am a fallen angel.

I quit jobs, too

I will be the first to admit that I have an extremely difficult time navigating interpersonal relationships.  I do not have many, I never have.

I have no family that I speak to, even though if I hocked a loogie hard enough, I could probably land the ball of mucous in the yard where I grew up, at the home of “my parents”, who raised me.

I cut them off.

I cut people off.

It’s not hard for me.

I have had to do it to two of my own children.  Not, at all, because I wanted to, but because I had no choice.  Emotions and feelings can beat the crap out of me, like no person ever has, physically.

Don’t go presuming shit concerning the aforementioned admission, because you don’t know the background.  To judge me for an admission I made without me giving you the background is ignorant at best and hateful at worst.

And no, I ain’t giving no background about that right now cause that’s not what this entry concerns.

The point I would like to make is this:  If you are one of the very few I have an interpersonal relationship with, then I need COMMUNICATION.  There is NO RELATIONSHIP that is functional without honest communication.

This shit has become a job.

I quit those, too.

 

 

 

So I write….4/20-4/21 Random

4/20/16

I feel stagnant today.  I want to create something but nothing is coming but some random thoughts so, if you’re interested, here they are:

There is a cardinal that keeps flying past me, I wonder who it is from beyond telling me, “hello”.

I was very angry yesterday about deleting my Instagram account.  I lost several pictures and videos that I will never get back, plus, what’s the point in taking selfies, anymore?

None.

I am not angry anymore.  I have no feeling about it anymore.

That didn’t take long.

I’m good at making feelings disappear.  Maybe that’s why I tattooed ‘ABRAHADABRA’ on my arm, myself.  I did a pretty good job on that tattoo, especially since it was my first one.

4/21/16

More random thoughts until some rhymes spill out of my face.

This is the most satanic week of the year, according to Illuminati conspiracy theorists…I tend to agree with them on this, given historical records about horrible ass shit that has happened during the days of April 19-30, down through the annals of time.

If a relationship constantly feels like work, what does that mean?

Jesus came to visit me yesterday, it was a pretty cool meeting….not as cool as the time He came in the flesh, last year, a night I haven’t written about yet because there are almost no words in any language to describe that night.  No matter how I re-tell it, I never can do it justice.  I can say this, though, Jesus is one cool ass dude to chill with….he’s nothing but love.  He really has no condemnation or judgement in him, not that I saw or felt, and my instinct was to worship him…but that part got weird because he used this kid Mike Fresh’s body, and Mike Fresh was young and arrogant….and that gets on my nerves…but I can assure you, it doesn’t get on JC’s nerves.

 

 

 

 

Happy Birthday, Stepdad

My God, you’re old now…what?  Like 76?  Literally…cause you were born in 1940.  I bet you still look like you’re in your fifties, though, just like your mom.

I never liked you..I didn’t really like your mom, either.

Your soul stank, I could smell it at 3 years old.

Five Dull Knives

You see, there’s been a breach and it’s hard to reach that place inside of me that holds the trust that once was gained but now is hard to see…it’s not that I don’t love you because very much, I do, it’s just that I’ve come to understand that truth is hard for you.

I have really tried my honest best to teach  you and all the rest, the lessons I have learned through this awful, grueling test, this test we call our lives…I know the truth is hard to tell but lies are worse than knives.

Even the dullest knife plunged into my skin is not a thing to imagine but I would rather five dull knives in my chest before one more lie from you again.