adhd

My Beautiful Shoulders

I know you didn’t ask…but this is how I feel:

I feel beat down.  I feel like every time I think I have gotten ahead, life grabs me by the neck and yanks me back behind everyone else.  I feel like I am always utterly truthful with everyone I know and the sentiment is rarely returned, especially when it’s wanted and needed the most.  I feel like I know I love you but I don’t know how to proceed at this point because anything going forward from here will be an act of will on my part to be the bigger person.  I feel tired of being the bigger person.  I feel tired of being the smaller person.  I feel tired of being a person.

I feel tired of being thrown under the bus.  I feel tired of always being “do or die” when it seems to me I’m always left for dead. I’m tired of feeling betrayed, hurt, lied to, abused, taken advantage of, and called out of my name.

I am sick to death of being slandered and jumped and having the cops called on me.

I am sick to death of always having to look over my shoulder.  I have good shoulders….I shouldn’t have to always fucking look over them….maybe that’s how I know how beautiful they are.

I feel like saying “FUCK YOU” to the Golden Rule, thermodynamics, Karma, the Law of Sewing and Reaping OR WHATEVER ANYONE WANTS TO CALL IT.

I feel like telling a small list of people that this is exactly how “going postal” happens.

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(tears)

Pray this novena 9 times for 9 days. This is a miracle prayer which never fails.Novena To
St. JudeMost holy Apostle, St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus,  the Church honors and invokes you universally, as the patron of difficult  cases, of things almost despaired of, Pray for me, I am so helpless and alone.
Intercede with God for me that He bring visible and speedy help where help is  almost despaired of. Come to my assistance in this great need that I may receive  the consolation and help of heaven in all my necessities, tribulations, and  sufferings, particularly –
being so confused…not knowing where to go, feeling like I have no home because I don’t…scared to live but scared to die….being hated by people who hate solely on hatred fueled by jealousy…why they are jealous, I will never know….losing my one true love….not being able to trust….attracting those whom my subconscious knows will lie to me, cheat on me and fuck me over….bless my babies….let them know if I cant do this anymore and I go to always be strong and do for themselves AND NEVER FORGET YAH and always, always, ALWAYS KNOW HOW MUCH MOMMY LOVES EACH AND EVERY ONE OF MY FIVE.
– and that I may praise  God with you and all the saints forever. I promise, O Blessed St. Jude, to be  ever mindful of this great favor granted me by God and to always honor you as  my special and powerful patron, and to gratefully encourage devotion to you.
Amen

Just Wondering

Is it that I became lonely or was I always lonely and didn’t realize it? I also wonder if it is that I prefer being lonely but won’t say that out loud because that’s a really emo thing to say….

chickenegg

Am I staying up all night getting in fights going to jail losing my job because I am off of my meds or am I off of my meds so I can stay up all night getting in fights going to jail losing my job?

Cause You Are

I keep losing at 8-ball pool but i keep playing anyway I’m listening to Tool cause this sunny day was a rainy day I gotta lotta thoughts i wanna say but my demons and angels keep getting in the way  that sounded like shit and i just want to quit bullshitting around at this night’s last sip no it’s really not the last sip of the ship that is going down flaming while i do a backflip i just lied again because I can’t do a gymnastic i took lessons one time and i loved that shit but dad thought it not so fantastic he told me i would end my life by breaking my neck a mop he gave me told me to sweep up his deck….i love being punny because i think that  its funny and i love to laugh in my belly when things are smelly and putrid and rotting and the whole thing that i call my world is twisting and turning and i know im a girl or a woman i suppose i love to cover my face in panty hose and pretend im a rob ya and rape ya and say that i got ya cause you suck balls and i don’t like you but i want you to love me and think that I’m awesome as gold wait til you see how my life will unfold, so far it’s been bad with some sprinkles of good when Im doing the things they say that i should but when the words in their mouth don’t match the words in their motions it causes my heart to feel some emotion and the emotion is anger cause that’s the one i’m best at I can cuss you up one side then this side and that and sound like my old favorite doctor who is doctor suess many times in my life dr suess has been my muse especially right now tool still playing in my ear and all that I hear is vicarious  so near but I’m not queer cause you are.

An Angry? Borderline In 107 Words

I don’t care.  I don’t care…i don’t care

i don’t care….no, bruh, i really don’t fucking care, I don’t give a fuck, fuck off, lol, fuck you, i dont care, it doesnt matter, i’m fine, i’m a’ight, fuck me, fuck yourself,, fml, fml, i want to die, i wish i would die, i hate you, fuck you, eat shit and die, i love you so fucking much, why didn’t you come?, why don’t you love me?  what the fuck did I do to you?  You’re a fucking sociopath  I hate my life fuck i don’t care that didn’t hurt

go fuck yourself

leave me alone

I love Kanye West and I am racist now

It is my overwhelming desire always…the one that sits at the bottom of my gut…to write.  Writing intimidates me, though and I won’t do it.  I am not easily intimidated, either, I must say.

Last night my 19-year old daughter and I were jumped by several black women and a couple black dudes at my home. The attacks came from the neighbors across the street.

I live in a predominantly black neighborhood.  I mean, it’s slightly mixed with some white, but mostly the whites are old folks who (I ASSume) lived here before the black folks moved into the neighborhood.

I really have never been racist.  Not even when the racist cards were stacked against me.

I was raised in South Louisiana.   I went all the way through school living in one of the most notoriously racist parishes.  I do believe Livingston Parish is, at least, one of the homes of the KKK.

Where I’m from, it’s completely normal when white folks are around other white folks to hear, more than occasionally, the word nigger in everyday conversation.  Maybe not as much with people like teachers, and such, but I shit you not, a few years ago I walked into the refreshment room at one of the biggest churches in my hometown and one guy was at the coffee pot telling another guy a nigger joke and not even telling him in a hushed voice.  I immediately turned around and walked out of that room, sans refreshment.  It really bummed me out. I quit going entirely to that church not too long after that, not so much for the racist joke I heard, but for their Armenian theology and infiltration of hypocrites.  Blah.  That’s so boring.

At the risk of being called by some of my hometown people, a nigger lover, I will re-iterate that for some reason that existed in me before I was me, there was born a color-blindness in me that defied all logic, given my upbringing.  I will give credit where it’s due and say that my step-mother completely forbade the use of the word “nigger” by either myself or my little sister.  She did not say it, herself, nor did her parents.  My dad said  “nigger” in at least half of every sentence I ever heard that man utter, until I quit talking to both he and step-mom in 2011.  I’m sure he still says it, though.

He hates black folks.

I remember in about 1983, I went for an outing to the mall with my step-mom.  She must have either been feeling particularly loving toward me, or was trying to get me into trouble, but she bought me a tan-colored t-shirt with Michael Jackson silk-screened on it.  It was that picture where MJ is laying on his side with his jerry curl and white sports jacket.  I was so excited about that shirt!!!  We got home and I put it on to show my dad.  I was 7 and oblivious, really, and was really confused when my dad became super-angry at me and started screaming at me in his scary mean dad way.  He made me take the shirt off and I was told he burned it.  That’s all I remember about that.

The second time I was raped, it was by a black guy.  I never told anyone, though.  I talk about it now but not telling it like it’s a big deal, but more like just saying it because it’s part of my story.  I never told anyone about the first time I was raped and how a white guy did it, either.  I don’t really see how color is an issue, except if I wanna garner sympathy from whites saying that a black dude raped me, but since I didn’t tell anyone I wasn’t getting sympathy and sympathy is the fucking last thing I want, anyway.

(Praise, Accolades and Book Deals Are Fine)

I thought the sentence I just wrote was funny because the first sentence of this train wreck was that I was unable to write.

Maybe I was using reverse psychology on myself.  I can’t stand to be unable to do a thing as long as the thing I am doing is within reason.

After last night, I feel like I’m a racist now  and it feels weird.  It’s an idea that is completely bipolar to me now.  Pardon the pun that’s not really a pun because I’m not really bipolar.  I guess I’m getting jaded.  It really does get hard, especially when I feel pretty strong racism from many members of the black community with whom paths cross with mine, here lately.

I love Kanye West.

ONOMATOPEIA

i don’t know why I always feel

when the truth comes out and I must reveal

my innermost feelings I keep concealed

I must make them rhyme to seal the deal

Maybe it is that it’s easiest to say

the hardest words in a poetic way

Onomatopeia turns black and white to grey

and maybe it’ll make you stay around to play

and if you did, I’d push you away

My subconscience mind is who I obey.

Optimist

I have so much I could write about but no laptop to type, and I am sticking to that excuse.

My mood is far beyond depressed,  which always means I need to get it out of me in some sort of prose.

Everything is coming apart again.

The ground never remains level beneath my feet.  However,  I really do try (at least in my head before I go to bed) to be the ” forever optimist”.  And the more unstable things become,  the more epiphanies of God I am granted witness.

So that’s pretty cool.

It’s unfortunate that I forget most of them.