News source.

I’ve been staying away from my Facebook feed for a few weeks now. There are just way too many posts about Trump and Republicans and North Korea and racists and the environment and homophobes and natural disasters and shootings and lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Every visit to my Facebook feed left me…

I glued some shit!

There’s glitter EVERYWHERE!! Sign says (woo) “Stay away, fools” ‘Cause love rules at the Love Shack Well, it’s set way back in the middle of a field Just a funky old shack and I gotta get back Glitter on the mattress Glitter on the highway Glitter on the front porch Glitter on the highway I…

Depression: 50 things to do and the desire to do none of them.

I think this may be the thing most people who don’t suffer from depression find really hard to understand about people who do suffer from it. I love colouring. I love beading. I love playing World of Warcraft. I love photography. I love walking around in nature. I love going out for a latte. I…

Damned whoremones!

That’s right! I said WHOREmones. Just be thankful I didn’t say WHOREMOANS! Now that that’s settled, let’s get to the heart of the matter: whoremones. Whoremones: A newly discovered female hormone that serves a very specific function in the female brain; to make aforementioned female feel fat, ugly, useless, fat, stupid, fat, bloated, dumb and…

Dear Jeans letter.

Dear Jeans, I won’t beat around the bush; I am breaking up with you. Let’s face it, you and my ass have simply grown apart. And although I admit that my ass did most of aforementioned growing, I still think you could have at least tried to meet me halfway. Instead you just ooze off…

Taking my voice back, piece by piece.

PTSD is stealing my voice… And I am letting it. I’m not blaming myself; not exactly. Taking my voice back is a huge task. Doable. But enormous and daunting. When the flashbacks start, it’s hard enough to try to talk yourself into believing that you are safe and away from the traumatic event. But when…

Brain dump.

I now present: Shit that came out of my brain and found its way into my “writing brainstorming” document on Google Drive that I have suddenly decided to share with you because it’s my fucking blog and I’ll post what I damn well please, bitch! And here I am, holding myself hostage to the imagined…

I wanna pet you, not fuck you!

(trigger warning: child abuse) Have you ever fallen head over heels in “I have no idea what to call this intense love that has no sexual overtone” with someone? Ever wanted to hug them and squeeze them and hold them and call them George? Have you ever wanted to stroke someone’s cheek, look deeply into…

Don’t tell me how I feel.

You’re wrong. But you’re louder than me, so you win, but you’re still wrong. If I tell you that you hurt me, you don’t get to decide whether or not I am right. You don’t get to decide what hurts me and what doesn’t. And you don’t get to decide the level of hurt I…

Why do I keep doing this to myself?

I’m still letting other people’s opinions control how I communicate and what I say. How long is it going to take before I truly set myself free and just write for ME? How long is it going to take before I stop censoring myself and just speak my truth, in my own words and stop…

Blocked. Locked. Fucked.

I wanna write. And I know that it should be easy; Just. Fucking. Write. Fact is that it’s hard to concentrate on writing when the inner demons are shouting at you that you are annoying and that people are tired of hearing talk about your horrible past and your painful present. It’s hard to be…

Just looking into your eyes…

…I can tell you have the legs of a writer. I have a yeast infection. Yes. I said yeast infection. I started this blog entry with a funny line to lull you into a false sense of comfort so I could tell you there is fungi growing in my vagina. I’m tired and I feel…