Category Archives: internet judgment

I banned myself

I blocked the forum site and Twitter and Facebook from my computer. I have been reading folks Twitter without logging in and I shoulder surf Noah’s FB account.

I need to stop.

It exacerbates my feeling that I don’t belong anywhere and I am not important to anyone’s life.

I’ll see who is still in my life, I guess. Oh! I’m going to go see one of my buddies from junior high this weekend. She’s moving and I’m going to haul my trailer down to her place so she can move all her schtuff in one load. That’ll be fun. I’ll be glad to see her. Things are looking up in her life. She says that being able to buy the car opened the door to super wonderful things.

I feel so grateful I was able to help my dear old friend.

Nosy as shit.

Ok, who is in Michigan? Someone on Michigan is spending *hours* reading. I have no idea who it could be. Hmmmm.

I looooooooooove IP tracking. All but two or three of the IPs that have been to my site hundreds of times or spent many hours reading are named so that I know exactly which buddy it is. But I don’t know who is in Michigan.


Do you know why I’m labeling the IP stuff so fanatically? Because I’ve had so many people post around the internet that they’ve been following me for years because they hate me. I think that’s a weird hobby to have. If you hate someone… stop reading them. Go find a hobby that brings you joy. If you think I suck ignore me.

What does “dating” mean anyway.

I kinda had this epiphany yesterday.

“Hey Noah. Have you passed up chances to play with Beautiful?”

“Not really.”

“Meaning you take them any time they come up.”


“And that’s been happening for eight years. Yeah. You’re dating.”

But not dating in a way that scares the shit out of me and causes me to have panic attacks and freak out. Because it’s very low key.

It was just funny to think about. Because if I’m dating my submissive… I have only had like two more dates with him than Noah has had with Beautiful and I’m definitely dating him.


But I don’t think this idea that Noah isn’t going to date is tenable. It’s a nice idea. But yeah. It’s not going to be uhhh accurate. Right now the person he is dating is comfortable with it being at the whim of my mental health (thank you, thank you, thank you) but that’s a messy thing. I don’t want to be the weather vane controlling everyone’s lives as I go up and down the roller coaster.

Oh fuck everything.

The more honest with ourselves we are about what we are doing the less likely it is to blow up.


Yeah. You just tell yourself whatever the fuck you need to say to get through today. The truth will still be sitting there.


What does dating mean anyway? I used to get so mad at my Owner when he would say he hadn’t dated someone. I was all, “You had a three month period where they were at your house three nights a week. You dated for a brief period.” “Oh but it wasn’t serious dating so it’s not dating.” That conversation made me want to break glass.

Thing is, Beautiful is mostly happy with group dates where they just split off to play for a while and otherwise we are together. I like that. I like that a lot and I’d like to see if anyone could fit into a similar sort of role in my life. If these people want to come hang out with us when I am pregnant and miserable or in the babymoon year…

I wouldn’t be alone this time.

I mean, I’m not going to be alone this time. I have the big kids and Noah works from home. It is going to be different from top to bottom. But the kids aren’t company and… Noah still has to ignore me for a large chunk of the day. That’s fine. I miss talking to more people.

Ironically one of our children said, “We should name the child (Beautiful’s real name) because that is a beautiful name.” I think this person is in our life. Ya’know…

loved working retail. I was good at connecting with people all day long one right after another. Being home is…. hard.

And begging friends for play dates is hard work. Mostly everyone is too busy. Or they only want to get together under some narrow parameters outside the house because they don’t want me in their house so they feel uncomfortable coming to my house. Sigh. I’m totally ok with always hosting. I don’t feel imposed upon. I feel catered to.

I feel really really guilty asking people to drive to me all the time. The road goes both ways and I should offer to reciprocate. But I really don’t want to. So I’m asking people less. Because I’m feeling bad about asking.

What is dating? Dating is an extra layer of “It is ok to inconvenience me as you ask me for something.”

Why do I think things with Beautiful aren’t just casual play partners? Cause when I ask if things will escalate when I’m pregnant and not interested he does that head duck thing where he doesn’t want to admit I’m right.

I guess it is good I haven’t managed to chase off every woman who was interested in Noah. Sigh. I swear I wasn’t trying.

I wonder if ADD meds would help with my urge to self harm. A quick search says it is inconclusive. I’d be happy to give it a go.

I don’t know if I want to continue Abilify. I still am not convinced it is doing enough positive. An inch of improvement isn’t worth it. And the kids say I’m getting crankier.

Ok, here’s some blatant honesty. One reason I have always harshly rejected the label of poly is because I have known some extraordinarily bad parents who happened to be poly. It is more important to me that I nail being a good parent than that I nail any other role. If I’m a bad wife, girlfriend, friend, whatever. I can live with that.

I don’t think I could live with myself if I really believed I was a bad mother. I’m a harsh critic. I work really hard on my behavior for my kids.

I’ve seen people do poly really wrong. I’ve seen it hurt kids a lot. I’m scared of that. I’m really really really scared of that.

I like nonmonogamy. It means that our lives aren’t just sexually exclusive. It doesn’t really make any promises about the size or shape or definition of what anything inside of that means. It can mean a lot of different things and a lot of different levels of friendship and love.

What does love mean anyway?

It means I want Noah to be happy and not depressed. That means that when my body goes completely to shit when I’m pregnant… either I encourage him to see Beautiful more (he slept with a different friend during other pregnancies) or I deal with him getting increasingly depressed. These are the options. We’ve been through this dance. I know what the choices are.

But what about the absolute freaking out I do when he comes home? Meh. Even that is muted when I’m pregnant. I don’t give a shit about much other than how much pain I’m in. Bitch come here and rub my back. And my arms. And my feet. Just don’t stop rubbing till tomorrow, ok?

My shrink said she didn’t know if I could get over my fear of Noah dating in this lifetime. But if it has already been kinda happening for eight years… (I actually have a specific brain hack plan in place for how to deal with moving through some of this fear and we have a phone called scheduled on Friday to find out if we will be able to do it.)

Where is the threat?

What is the threat?

What is there to be afraid of. Other than that he will be too god damn enthusiastic when biting my neck.


When I come out of feeling asleep from the breeding period, I wake up with a vengeance. Noah doesn’t do that. If he falls asleep again… waking up would be hard. He’s going to get very habituated to his depressed habits and that doesn’t suit my lifetime goals.

Where is my enlightened self interest here?

I woke up after 6 hours of sleep, and ended up painting by candle light starting at 3am. I’m tired. But I think well in this kind of tired. I read that is an ADD thing too. Deliberately exhausting yourself before you can focus. If this is a lot of what the problem is… I’m going to be so bitter it hasn’t come up before now.

I’m almost 35 fucking years old. I had problems all the way through school because I was a disruptive little snot. Why didn’t anyone ever suggest this?

Ugh. Anyway.

I’m going to add to the data form for the Stanford folk that I think Eldest Child has it. Both she and I only skip one to two markers per person. Different markers. We both kinda scream it. If you sit and read books about case studies that is. That whole super high needs baby thing? Yeah.

Eldest Child doesn’t look like me but she has a lot of my personality and physical weirdness. A lot of extreme sensitivities and fussiness about needing things to be just so. She gets overwhelmed, but I manage her overwhelm so well that it is practically invisible at this point. I would not want her on medication. She is learning to cope with her body and she’s doing great for the life she has now.

But I bet I could learn some tricks to help both of us.

And you know what? Adding people into our lives will be adding people who might know more about this disorder than I do. People who can help me so that I don’t have to be the expert on everything.

I’d be ok deferring expert status on a whole lot of shit. I don’t need to know everything in the world. Ain’t my job. I have enough jobs. I’m tired.

I’m told it isn’t my job to meet everyone’s needs. Believe me I know. But I still feel like what I have to offer is so very inadequate. I am so high maintenance. What do I offer that is worthy of such effort?


This morning I had a peaceful moment. One of those true, Zen moments of “I am happy and this is where I want to be.” Eldest Child woke up to use the restroom too early. I was awake doing chores, like usual. She asked me if I would climb in bed with her so she could sing me a lullaby. Twinkle Twinkle was the song of choice. Then she spent a while talking to me about why she likes me.

This is kind of a habit I have with the kids. I don’t put them to bed all the time, probably not even half the time these days at home. Maybe a quarter of the time? But we had the road trip and all the years before that of shared bed times. At bed time, what we do is we cuddle up close and spent 15-20 minutes talking about all the reasons we like each other. “You did ____ and I was so impressed with your thoughtfulness. You did ______ and I was shocked to see that you have made that developmental jump. I thought that was a (age inflation) thing and I’m really wow’ed. You said ______ word today and that was surprising because I didn’t know you knew that word!”

We bookend that with waking up to morning snuggles. During morning snuggles we talk about what we need to do today and how the schedule will work.

I can understand why my children insist I’m not an asshole and I just have bad moments. I don’t understand it so much from other people. Sometimes I feel like my children get to have a relationship with someone that no one else even gets to meet.

Sometimes I am capable of seeing myself as kind, giving, and loving.

That doesn’t change the fact that I’m an asshole.

Contradiction is necessary for life. For survival. You can be kind and an asshole.

Why am I so convinced I’m an asshole? Because I lawyer up fast when my contractors give me trouble. Because I find that swearing at men really harshly is one of the best ways to convince strange men I’m not interested in their attention. Because I find that sometimes it is necessary to kick people really hard to get them to let go and I’m willing to do it. Because I’m going to keep talking about why the word whore is eating my brain even though people with sex work careers twitch and feel really upset about it.

Want to hear something wild? Yesterday one of the most famous sex workers of our era gave me permission to use the word whore however I need to in my processing. She says if anyone questions me again I can send them to her.

That is… incredibly validating. Wow. Thanks.

I’m not sure I’m ever going to pull that card. But I may print out that tweet and cut it up small and put it in my wallet next to the permission slip from Noah. Just so that I think about it.

I have permission to look at this however hard I need to in order to get over it. She said so.

I am so fucking weird about permission. I’ve spent my whole life cringing, crying, and hurting myself because I felt that was the only thing I was allowed to do without permission. I need permission to stop. I need permission to feel something else about myself.

Why does that have to be the default? I mean, blame your parents yada yada, why does that have to be my default?

Why do I have to assume, in every moment, that I am the least valuable person present and if someone should die it should be me?

Not that I want to get to the point of wanting to sacrifice other people for myself.

Wait, maybe that is it.

I have never known a white person with really high self esteem who isn’t willing to throw other people under the bus for their own advancement. I have known people of color with high self esteem whom I have never seen sacrifice a friend. I know people of color who are exploitive assholes, too.

I’m trying to think through my white friends… y’all make very self absorbed choices. I do too. I’m not sitting on a high horse. I’m sitting flat on the ground. I’m not high and mighty here. I’m trying to figure out how this works.

I am willing to throw people under a bus if I feel I have to do so in order to be effective.

That’s why I’m an asshole. I need accurate labeling so other people know they have to protect themselves from me.

want to help you. I will try to help you. But if I feel I have to be effective in some area for Reasons…

I’m a selfish piece of shit. That’s why I’m alive. I’m willing to say that Safeway doesn’t matter as much as me, I’m stealing food. I’m willing to say, “Being around people who make choices like x is so problematic to me that I will bug and bug and bug people who make choices like that until they don’t want to know me any more.”

I’m an asshole because I make a lot of assumptions about people and I don’t check my privilege nearly often enough. I’m trying to get better. This is hard.

My life has been kind of hard to adjust to.

I spent my childhood moving like a ghost through different communities. I never stayed long enough to belong. I lived in a lot of neighborhoods where we were the only white family. I grew up feeling like being white was a bad thing. Know why? White people don’t care about their kids very much. That was how I experienced it as a child. I don’t think that is literally true across the board. That was my experience. In white neighborhoods there were always packs of unsupervised children doing horrifyingly inappropriate things. In neighborhoods of color there might be much older teenagers or 20-somethings causing trouble, but the kids were god damn watched.

I was chased out of so many homes for having bad behavior. I was told I was a bad girl dozens, maybe a hundred times.

It’s funny how my memories of these things change and drift. I remember them very differently as my understanding of the situation changes.

When I was 21ish I honestly didn’t remember all those lectures about being bad. I had kinda blocked them out. I knew I was bad but it was a fog hanging over my life. I didn’t have all those disparate voices going through my head.

As a parent watching my children be children (by which I mean breaking rules and fucking up) I hear those people in my head over and over more and more clearly. Oh. That was why they said that.


Now I get it.


I have always felt like I was living in many ages at once. But I feel like my future selves have changed a lot over my life. My ability to perceive who I could be has changed.

These days I can picture having grandchildren who scornfully tell my children that they should be more patient, like Grammie. I will giggle. My children will say, “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT SHE WAS LIKE TO GROW UP WITH.” I will giggle.

Do you have any idea what having that vision in my head means to me? I have the belief that I might be able to arrive at having the kind of experience of being in my body that I want to have. I believe that I might get to the point of being actually regulated and calm.

I have hope for something I was not capable of dreaming up 20 years ago.

It’s amazing what ten years of safety can do for a body. I see it in myself. I see it in my children. That is something that home schooling does for me that isn’t necessary for almost anyone else I know.

I require this specific time to be set aside in my adult life where the entire point of my day is to model how to have big emotions, get them under control, deal with them appropriately when they come up, and then keep working.

Not suppressing. Not denying. Not minimizing. Not avoiding until it comes crashing down on you at some inappropriate time in the future. Your feelings matter. They live in you and they serve a purpose. If you ignore them in the moment you will pay a price later. There are times and places where emotional displays are not appropriate, but get that stuff out as fast as possible so it doesn’t become a poison.

I am grateful every day for the life I am leading right now.

I have the safety, the money, the access to care providers, and the education to do something about the trauma in my body.

That is magical. This should be available to everyone who has experienced trauma. We would be a better world.

People deserve to be seen in context and understood. Most people who seem “crazy” to you wouldn’t seem so crazy if you knew more about their story. I tell my children all the time, “Weird just means you aren’t used to it yet; eventually it is just normal.”

My mom used to say, “The only norma people are the ones you don’t know very well.”

One of my neighbors is stepping up the offer of maternal-nature-friendship. I have mixed feelings about this. On one hand, Thank You Oh Universe, You Sure Do Like To Hear My Calls, Don’t You?

On the other hand… I’m scared of blowing up what we currently have if she finds out more about me. I’m not exactly the uhhhh conservative type and she is quite shy, scared, and sheltered. I don’t want to hurt her. She will need a lot of boundaries around the kinds of things she can handle hearing and I’m not sure how to find those boundaries without fucking up pretty badly. Once you say something it can never be unsaid.

We have a really solid, positive relationship. Losing it would be brutal. This feels really tricky. Our families are fairly strongly connected at the level we have now. I feel really like this is a big risk. Much bigger than telling all the strangers on the internet about my raunchy sex life and habit of beating people up for fun.

I’m kinda weird.

My superego is fucking developed at this point, ok? I’m growing up.

I’m an asshole and she is not. She wants to mother me. What will she do when she finds out I have approximately 500 x’s as much life experience as her?

There is a thing I think about. When I was in the bdsm community I was really serious about learning all I could as fast as I could. I played a lot with a lot of people. Basically I spent more time on bdsm than I spent on my college education, which I was pursuing simultaneously. Much Much Much more time on bdsm.

I was a serious slut and it was really fun and I have no regrets. I learned what I wanted to learn from that experience. I’m shocked at how often I find ways to apply the lessons I’ve learned, not in ways you’d expect.

I had more life experience at 25 than many people have at 50. It isn’t hyperbole, it is simple fact. I say yes to almost anything that comes up. I know very diverse people in many communities. I’m a moody bastard with a short attention span.

I’ve done a lot of things. It is something I notice when I meet new people these days. I sound like a lying braggart. Nope. I got receipts. I did all that. Why? Because I never felt like I had a better choice than to do what I was doing so I did it all in. As soon as something stops feeling like the best choice in the moment I break down, fall into a deep depression. Go home. Hurt myself until I figure out that the boundaries required in that community are not things I can maintain long-term. Then I heal. Then I try again.

It goes faster and faster as I age and get boundaries carved out of granite. It is harder to change them. I am less tolerant of my internal, “I need to conform by doing x in this environment” sensor and I just flee.

I have a home now. I have less reason to tolerate your bullshit rules. Wanna know why I know they are bullshit rules? Cause this ain’t my first rodeo. Don’t worry, I think the rules in my house are bullshit too. They are all weird and arbitrary. They are made to suit the moods of whichever asshole in the vicinity is loudest.

I know.

I used to know a man who liked to say, “I’m the only psycho in this relationship” or maybe he said he was the only one who gets to be crazy? I may be misremembering. I’ll cop to that.

I need to be the biggest asshole in the space I’m in. So Noah is an asshole, but I know that I’m much more likely to be the one to bulldoze than him.

It works for us. Picture a heart emoji here, but I have technically banned them so this will have to do.

He doesn’t think I’m an asshole. That’s part of why this works. I think we are both assholes and I’m just a bigger one. But he’s all mellow and tolerant so it works out. Do you however you need to, ok?

I’m going to be kinda passive aggressive here and say: if you are one of Noah’s friends… this is a great time to ask him to go out some time. He needs to talk. To more people than just me right now cause life is like that sometimes.

I can’t fill his tank as much as he needs me to right now. Because I’m dealing with the remodel and and and. His job is kinda hard.

I need to go beat the shit out of people. I don’t know what he needs. But right now, he’s wilting like a flower and that’s a serious bummer. I don’t know what it is that is missing right now, but clearly all the right nutrients aren’t in place.

This is the kind of micromanaging, paying attention that I want in my life. It is why I appreciate the people who have stuck with me and really got to know me so much. Because I’m more pushy like this by the year. Because people do it more with me. It’s a careful balance. How much controlling and influencing other people should we do?

I really don’t know where those boundaries ought to be. I’m not pulling up Noah’s email account and making plans for him. That’s over the line.

Where is the line?

Everyone is different. I want you to get to be who you need to be. I want to figure out who I need to be and I want to just do the shit out of it.

This feels like baby steps towards self love, doesn’t it? This morning feels good. I have to say that these piles of tile are inspiring. I may be jaunting off to get more sparkly tiles today. I’m really excited about the snow wall. I want to build that first because I have so much white and it would be nice to get it mostly used up and out of the way so I see how much I need to still buy in terms of tile for the rest of the bathroom. I really can’t tell yet.

It depends on how high up the walls I want to go, right? We’ll see!

Youngest child’s half bathroom is spring. Other half bathroom is summer. The bathing room is going to have autumn and winter. I can’t wait to look at the sparkly snow while I take baths in candle light at night. That will be so beautiful.

I’m serious my friends, if you want to come take a bath… let me know.

I’m thinking hard about how I want to make the tree of life that will climb up the wall over the bath tub. I need to look at more pictures. That will probably be that last bit I design because much of it might be painted, I haven’t decided.

I know that “traditionally speaking” you want flat walls. I’m not going to have flat walls with perfectly level tile. It’s going to be pretty rough and it will be on purpose and structured and artistic. I think it will work.

Oh please God let this work cause this puppy is going to be expensive if I fuck up.

Go big or go home, bitch.

Oh goodness what did I get myself into?!

Have I told you that the floor will have a stone path lined with green tiles to look like grass?


If only the roof weren’t uhm, being tricky. We are still negotiating. I’m blathering on Twitter but I won’t rehash it here. Just… gotta keep walking on. I’m trying to not be angry. At this point all of the guys in the company have apologized for making decisions without me when clearly they made the wrong choice at a critical juncture. I had preferences and they didn’t ask. Even though I’ve told them over and over and over I want to be asked.

Ok. Trying to move on. Have to get this shit finished. If it’s beautiful… I will still write positive reviews with caveats about how I had to be fierce in advocating for myself.

I made it very clear that from here on out the crew was not to dump their lunch garbage all over and leave it here for weeks. Saw blades are all over the ground and that’s not cool. My lawyer was at this meeting. I should stop talking about it for all kinds of reasons.

I wanted to write something down here for documenting purposes. Instead, I hit cut’n’paste and sent it to my lawyer.

That seems smart just now.

Past self, you picked this woman out based on proximity and hope. Well done!

Today will be a good day, I think. I hope. I believe. Oh yeah, a friend asked if she could come over to dinner. I should tell Noah. Ha. Surprise. We have six people coming over for dinner.

Roll with it. Life flows like that. If people ask to come over for dinner the next night and I have no plans…. I’m weak. I have no willpower for that kind of rejection. Because you hit my sweet spot. Basically no output of energy and lots of input of attention. Yeah, you can do that. Sounds awesome. I have to cook anyway. Don’t worry. I always have enough food around.

You never know who might be coming to dinner.



Tonight I woke up a little weird. I was doing some processing on Twitter. I got a few DMs from someone telling me I have to “just stop the whore thing because you are hurting me because I was a whore”. My response was, “I don’t know you. I don’t know your story. I’m not talking about you. I’m working through my stuff. If it hurts you, opt out. Don’t tell me to stop.” So I got a block. That seems appropriate.

I’m not mad at being blocked. That is the right choice. If I bother you… block me. Yes I have problematic behaviors. Yes, talking about the “whore” thing is hard and tricky. But I’m not talking about you. I go to lengths to make it clear I’m working through an emotional existential thing and I’m not talking about sex work or sex workers. I’m talking about my issues and associations and history with the word whore.

If you tell me I can’t process… you are saying I can’t get over it. You don’t want me to get over it. You want me to be silent. I don’t owe you that. If someone I was very close to needed to ask me for boundaries, that would be different.

If I defaulted to silence on every topic that might upset a stranger I should just wire my lips shut and be done with it.

I give trigger warnings because I know these topics really upset people. Hell, they upset me. But I can’t pretend this isn’t happening to make you more comfortable at the expense of myself.

I don’t owe you that.

Literally, my Twitter bio is a long trigger warning. That’s all it does. “I talk about upsetting stuff like _____.”

Given that my father called me a whore so many times… I have stuff to work out there. Even if other people have different stuff to work out. I’m not trying to tromp on your issues. I’m trying to work through my head. If that is a problem for you, opt out.

Don’t tell me to stop doing the work. I really need to do this work.

She came back to tell me that I am a SWERF then blocked me again.

I’m pretty clear that what is going on here is not all about me. There are layers here. I don’t want to erase the experience of sex workers. I don’t want to eliminate their rights. I think sex workers are people who have jobs. I think I was abused and I’m trying to rewire my brain and that requires me to talk about the ways I was abused.

I don’t think that other people who identify as whores are bad. I think that I have an association because of my father that I need to change.

I don’t know how to do that in silence.

A new normal

Well since I blocked IP addresses and referrer sites I’m no longer having panic attacks about the number of hits my blog is getting. Want to know something funny? The number has climbed. I just don’t know where it is coming from. I used to average 40-80 hits/day fairly consistently. That’s been true a long time–like, years.

Now over 200 hits a day is rather common. But I don’t have a trail directly from me to people mocking me.

I’m cool with this. I can live with lots of people coming around. Just don’t… directly leave a trail to being mean, ok? Then we can all live and let live and it’s all good.

I hired a contracting company. I scheduled gardening stuff. I did an hour of clean up/weeding yesterday and I felt so happy about how my yard is coming along. I really have created a magnificent experience in this tiny little yard.

Oh! I had the most exciting thing happen this morning!!!!


I woke up to this really strong mental picture. Of a giant drawer that is almost entirely empty, but rattling around on the bottom… there was one spoon!!!!!

I haven’t woken up to having a spoon in my drawer in a long time. I’ve been dealing with very painful deficit for a while here.

But this morning I woke up with a spoon. It isn’t enough for what I’m going to do today. I’m going into deficit already.


That means I’m generating more than I’m burning for the first time in a long time.


That hasn’t been true in months.

My tolerance for pot is way lower than it was. In the past two days I’ve been using 10%-20% of what I was using a week ago and I feel about as high as a kite. Which… is a little mixed. I haven’t been high in a long time.

I’m one of those highly functional heavy users most of the time. I lost a little of that. It’s a hilarious mixed bag.

It is going to be a truly exciting day. I have a different doctor appointment this morning. Then I get to do a little bit of gardening. Then a little bit of writing. Then I get to go to tile stores and ask for the leftovers from boxes. Then I get to have dinner with some of my former students. Some of the ones who build me up and make me feel like clearly I am an important person in their lives because they have made great effort to keep me present.

I am really hopeful about the possibility of today being a good day.

It’s a brand new day.

In the past week I have learned how to block IP addresses and referrer sites. I think this will increase my enjoyment of having this blog.

I’m feeling petty, proud, and like I could go get a job in tech tomorrow. Ok, not really. But in a year or two of training because crap this shit isn’t complicated if you read documentation.

Then we get into the fact that most tech folk suck at documentation. Maybe I couldn’t go into tech.

Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to anyway. But I’m very happy I can now say, “You do not get to tell me how to raise my children. Buhbye.”

That’s all it takes.

Thank you Jer’maine. I appreciate that your response to me ranting and being pissed off is to say, “Do you want me to go away.”

You acted like I was a person.

That is literally all I want. I’m ok with people reading. I’m not ok with people reading so that they can go off and mock me. I have enough damn problems without that crap.

I really really really really really appreciate you talking to me, Jer’maine.

I don’t need to be everyone’s best friend. I am not interested in being held up as something to mock.

I’m not going to password protect my entries. I could, yes. But I meet a lot of interesting people this way. I connect with other trauma survivors. Long term, I’m going to find incest survivors partially this way. Nope, I’m not locking it down.

But sometimes I will waste my time yelling at assholes. Because I like to waste time, apparently.

You don’t get it.

I have a sister who would probably like to put me 6′ under if she could do it without going to jail. I have a brother who hates me and told me it is all my fault his children don’t get to have a family.

But by all means tell your friends to come lookie loo here. The anonymous drop ins do wonders for my emotional self regulation.

I’ve been reloading my stats page about every five minutes today. Every five minutes it jumps hits. Often 5-10 hits. So I’m getting a hit a minute today.

That scares me so bad I’m going to go vomit now.


Yup. Puked.

Unmedicated means extra anger.

Whoever you raging cuntrags from hell are who are bopping from one proxy site to another…

I wish a lot of bad things on you. I hope you get gangrene. I hope you get to sit there and watch your body putrefy and have insects and pests in your body eating you alive.

Why? Because when someone says, “Stop doing what you are doing” you say, “Ok I’ll go through a different rude, unwanted door!”

Y’all aren’t much better than rapists. Not really. Consent is on a spectrum. You were asked to go away. Are you doing it? Nope. Because you believe that what you want is more important than what other people want.

What else do you think only your opinion matters on? Who else in your life do you ignore their boundaries? Your friends? Your kids? Your partner?

I would believe absolutely any bad thing I hear about you. Why? Because you have no respect and no boundaries and that means you are capable of anything.

Just like all the other monsters.

I am having a really shitty day. And you decide that it’s awesome to come be amused.

Fuck you with a fucking chain saw you disgusting piece of shit.

I write to share this with Noah. To share with my children in the future why I am so difficult to live with. To share with my friends so that interacting with me is easier.

I don’t god damn write so that you sociopathic disgusting bastards can watch a train wreck.

You disrespectful, nasty, pathetic people. You have nothing better to do? What, your mommy didn’t love you either? Nor your father? That’s why you have no boundaries?

I don’t have sympathy you whining asswipes. I wasn’t loved either. I don’t keep coming back around when someone tells me to go away.

That right there, that makes me better than you. Not anything else about my behavior or personality or parenting.

At least I can fucking take a hint and walk away when someone says to my face they want me to leave.

You aren’t even that respectful. Or is it that you are fucking stupid?

I’m really angry today. I could be ranting about how unfair it is that I have a crack in my ceiling. That’s the day I’m having.

Instead I’m watching my stats page spike with disrespectful cuntrags who deserve a lot of pain.

My brother died in a fire. It hurt him terribly badly. He died slowly and in agony.

I’d be ok with that happening to you.

Stale mate

So folks I don’t know are clearly still here. But, the disrespectful referrer sites are gone. So y’all are hitting google.

I can live with that. I don’t have to like it. I can live with it.

This is totally a day when I would hide in my room and cry all day about how I am a terrible person who should die. I’m so glad to have all of you here to make sure I know that I’m a freak show to be watched for entertainment.


If you have the balls to link to my journal from your facebook page, have the balls to tell me who the hell you are.

Or stop sending your friends to me. I’m not happy with the influx of hits today. If you aren’t here in a nice way, could you go away?

I write for people who have kindness in their soul. If you can’t be bothered to say hi before you send this many people to my sandbox I don’t think you have a lot of kindness.

Let me tell you something about the internet.

When you use “do not link” so that it isn’t obvious where you are coming from… it’s still obvious that assholes are dropping by.

Just so you know.

Do you know what the difference is between mean and bullying? Bullying would be coming to my sandbox to tell me off. Y’all ain’t doing that.

You have my sincere gratitude and appreciation for that. This is really fucking mild in the world of being disapproved of. I see that and I am grateful.

Being mean is showing up so you can come up with reasons to go back to your own sandbox and cackle.

You know what? I think everyone is mean sometimes.

But I’m really really really grateful that I’m not being bullied. I’m really not. It’s ok for people to not approve of me and to talk about that.

It’s ok.

I just don’t need to read it.