2020

Fucking welcome aboard 2020!

A new year and a fresh start? Yeah… I think new year’s resolutions are complete bull. We should all be trying to resolve our problems the WHOLE damn year, not just the first two weeks of it. However, I am curious to see what I can fucking accomplish in the next 357 days of 2020.

Will I be able to change all the things about myself I dislike? Will I be able to stop wondering what others think about me? Will I be able to stop myself from seeing myself as just a number on a scale? Will I be able to hold strong to my values, even if it lets others down?

Can I be the strongest I’ve ever fucking been? Can I not make the same shitty mistakes that I’ve made over and over again? Can I love others more than I’ve ever loved them? And… Can I truly and honestly love myself?

2020… Let me give you a go.

You Saw Me

What would you do if you saw him right now?

Is what was whispered to me.

Shopping in the next town over, buying more clothes and shit I didn’t need. I saw you there. And you saw me.

The person who tore me down and made me feel broken. You. My predator. My stalker. My nightmares. My fears. My reality. My rapist.

I felt your dirty fucking eyes watching me from the five racks over.

So… I stood taller, walked straighter, built up confidence, laughed at nothing, and looked you in the eye.

You saw me.

Happy. Beautiful. Glowing. Staring you down and hating every fucking part of you. I smiled confidently from ear to ear.

I let you know, in my fiery glare, that you didn’t break me down. You didn’t ruin me. You didn’t smolder my flame.

You saw me. I am here. You sick motherfucker…

And I am stronger than fucking ever.

Drinking Buddies

What makes me do the stupid fucking things I do?

I keep making poor decisions… and then carefully walking on eggshells praying they don’t come back to bite me in the ass. I feel like I’m doing these things to punish myself. Which is pushing myself farther into depression.

I have become somewhat of a professional fuck-up over this last year. I keep telling myself… “Dude… you won’t fucking do this shit again… you learned a valuable life lesson today bitch”. I mean… fuck… I’m 26 and still haven’t seemed to learn anything from my mistakes.

Yup.

Bullshit. Here I am, once again, mentally spiraling into a rabbit hole. Drinking vodka, building a model ship, and watching corny romance movies with my damn cats. BTW… don’t watch “Drinking Buddies” (with the hottie Jake Johnson from New Girls) if you are having sexual tension friend issues in real life. It’s a real fucking bummer at the end.

So, now I need to end the year off on the right foot and fix another mistake. I’ve got umm…. holy balls… only 19 more days to make this fuck-up better.

Well fuck. Here’s to hoping I learned an actual lesson today and that I can fix what I regret! Cheers!

Warmth

I’m going on a trip in January…

I’m going there to see two great guys. One I’ve never met in person, and one is a longtime best friend. Military boys.

I absolutely cannot fucking wait to sit on the beach. It’s only December and I’m already begging for fucking warmth and sun. These snow covered white pines, although beautiful… are slowly dragging me down shitty sadness creek again.

I just want my feet in warm sand, humid air on my body, and the sun hitting my face. I want to be able to just lay there with the ocean in front of me. Only water separating me and the sunset.

I want to sit and breathe the salted ocean air… ponder, think, imagine, and release myself completely.

I. Cannot. Fucking. Wait.

However, I’m not only anxious for warmth and adventure… but to see someone that means a whole damn lot to me. Someone who I miss dearly and thought I’d never be able to see again.

New memories will be made in January, and hopefully the past will be in the past.

Wounds

Everyone has a story to tell.

Everyday as a nurse, I care for someone who has a story to tell. It could be a juicy romance, a historical non-fiction, or a very fucking dark tragedy. However, in every story I hear… there is a wound, a heartbreak, or a trauma.

I’ve met people who have lost limbs in wars, families who have lost children, and those so sick they have given only days to live… and they all have a story to tell based on their own personal tragedy. And even though they may be telling me the damn worst imaginable story (that make me cry in the bathroom afterwards)… majority of the time they are at fucking peace and have accepted their pasts.

I am coming to realize that everything that makes us who we are… are our dark pasts and wounds. Every scar tells a story. Every trauma that we face molds us into the person that we are. It is up to us, me and whoever you are reading this, to make the best out of the traumas we are dealt. We need to be able to grow, learn, and accept our past wounds to become better people. i mean… fuck… the shit that each of us has gone through or is going through is terrible. But…

We only have one life. ONE FUCKING LIFE. So don’t ignore your fucky past, accept it. Make the best out of every fucking day. Live without regrets. Create amazing memories. Love others and yourself.

Honor the fucking traumas that molded your story.

Falling Apart… Together

Maybe things have to fall apart before they come together...

That was my fucking Dove chocolate quote, under its’ shiny little wrapper… conveniently the day after I thought I lost one of my best friends.

I did something stupid this previous summer. I won’t go into all the damn details, but basically… I fucked my best guy friend (8 year long friendship btw) and didn’t know how to stop my emotions afterwards. He left after a few weeks of very consensual sex and it seemed okay. But… then there was the inevitable silence after a month of mixed emotions and confusion.

It had been over two months… and I finally went through ALL the fucking five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I hit acceptance and WHA-BAM. Here he is again.

So now… I have my best guy friend back. There is still that elephant in the room though and I want it fucking out.

However, I don’t want things to fall apart again… Because I don’t know if they will come together again.

Thanks Dove chocolate for your emotional support through this. I fucking appreciate you.

I Am A Hypocrite

Hypocrite. This is a person who gives great fucking advice. They tell people what not to do or how to do something, but can’t or won’t fucking practice what they preach.

I am a fucking hypocrite.

I am a registered nurse. I work on a medical-surgical floor that cares for people of all ages. I take care of patients who are post operative, critically sick, demented, addicted, dying, suffering, and of course… mentally ill.

I have mental health issues. Fucking loads of them if you haven’t already figured it out. I can’t even cope with my own anxiety and depressing thoughts and here I am… providing outstanding fucking care to people that have the same issues as me.

So today, I was watching over a young girl that tried to overdose again. She’s been a repeat offender this year (twice this month alone). She’s beautiful, talented, and loved, but I recognized the deep sadness in her eyes, the blank stare, the flat affect, and the emotionless conversation with everyone around her. I saw everything in her that I have seen in myself.

I knew her. I talked to her and told her I understood, that I had been in that dark place. I tried to get her to open up, but she had already shut down and only wanted to go home. She tried to convince her family, the doctor, and me that she was fine and that she “accidentally” swallowed 66 fucking pills. But I knew what she was going to do if she got discharged back home. She was going to put on an act, wait for the coast to be clear, try ending herself again, and maybe succeed in her next attempt.

So I called the crisis line. I made call after call convincing people she was unstable and needed a specialized psych facility. A full shift later and I fucking did it. I got her detained and ordered to go to a rehab facility for therapy. I might have provided the reality check she needed and the second chance that she deserved.

After my suicide-prevention mission was complete, I drove deep in thought with my music blaring and the window open so my hair could twist in the wind. And I thought to myself… why is it that I go out of my way to help people like me… but I can’t even help myself.

It’s because I’m a fucking hypocrite.

Damaged

I am always smiling, because I’m good at hiding my secrets.

I am always smiling. Always looking happy. I make people laugh. I am wanted to be around. I have so many friends and people that love me. I am seen as a pretty girl with a great sense of humor.

Although, I am damaged. I hide my pains, my anxieties, my fears. I am an actress. My life is like a stage. Sometimes I don’t even recognize myself.

There’s few that truly know me. Few who really fucking get me.

I have secrets. I have a past. I have a darkness in me that has escaped when I’m most vulnerable.

However, I have learned to adapt and cope. I cope by smiling. I cope by making my loved ones laugh. I cope by caring for and healing others. I cope by trying to make a difference in the lives of others.

I am damaged. I am fucked up. I feel pain, anxiety, and fear.

But I keep on smiling.