I was looking in the “Mother’s Day gifts” section in Etsy.com …..and I found this:
See it HERE
I think I need it. hahahah. I was looking for something for Grams, but I need a tentacle ring! LMAO.
The things I find, Bahahaha.
You guys never cease to amaze me. Thank you for all the messages and E-mails. I will respond, I will. I truly would hug each of you, and I’m not a hugger.
I’m just a hot mess right now. You know, like the kind you see in Walmart. You know what I’m talkin’ about. Kidding. Kinda. Maybe.
It’s been 4 years this April since Oliver jumped off the planet, wow.
I just wanted to let you all know I was still around. Whatever that even means any more. lol
So, while I am here – Photo Dump:
And my personal favorite:
Life has been so horrifying these days. I’ve been officially diagnosed with PTSD. Not that it needed to be official, I’m displaying symptoms so apparent even the mail man is looking at me funny. Not the one that heard the STD convo, unfortunately. That was at Grams house.
I was starting to really think I was psychotic. Really. But both “specialists” assure me this is “normal”, ha. I can’t deal with friends, I can’t look at photos, I can’t handle crowds even if there are vintage items involved. Simple inanimate objects trigger a fight or flight response that is just not rational. I just want to be alone. I feel better when I’m alone. I’m not dealing well with anything. I can’t do the things I love, I don’t even know if I love them any more. The spaces in my brain that used to be filled will endless knowledge are filled with the same file I just cannot delete. It’s like my brain and senses are stuck on an endless loop of emotional terrorism. I live with earbuds flooding my brain with the loudest, most complicated music I can find, in order to keep the file from taking over my head completely.
It’s gotten so bad that I walk for hours on end, blasting music, like some how if I keep moving it will keep the darkness away.
I understood PTSD before, but I really didn’t. I hope none of you ever, ever do.
I want to personally thank each and every one of you that has reached out to me these last weeks. Even you creepers. Thank you. It means more than you know. I will answer each of your messages and comments. I will, when I can.
And to show my love right back, I have something for you.
Name That Crotch!
Usually when I fall on my face, I’m back on my feet just as fast. No beats skipped. Usually, I brush myself off, shake out my hair (Yes, I whip my hair back and forth), scoop up my kid and keep going. I back down to no one, nothing. Nothing.
However, that doesn’t seem to be the case this time. I remember the exact moment I felt my brain unravel. It was like the moment of impact in a fatal car accident. But I wasn’t in a car, I was in my bedroom. From the moment I heard myself say “No way” on Feb 8th, I’ve felt as though I have completely lost my mind.
I keep being told that time will fix it - “You just need time to get back on your feet.” Bitch, I don’t even know where my feet are. Do I even have feet? Can YOU even see my feet at this point? Have they been stolen? They’ve been fucking stolen! Feet, ha. I’ve been down on my face for weeks. Every time I even lift my head, the Universe delivers yet another kick to the gut.
I feel everything and nothing, all at the same time. I’m on auto pilot. What’s worse is I’m pretty sure this auto pilot program was written by a drunken crackhead. I want nothing to do with anyone. Not even people I love. My son being the only exception. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want anything to do with any type of social connections. I’m not capable of handling other people’s emotions, at all. The people I usually run to, I’m hiding from. I just want them all to stay over there. Over there, where I can keep an eye on you, but you can’t get to me. I feel nothing for them. Nothing. I know I love them. I know I do. I just can’t feel it. At all. Seems to be the more I care the thicker the brick wall I’m constructing. I know it’s unfair, I know it’s hurtful, I know it makes no sense to most. But, at the moment it seems to be what I need.. Lest I open my mouth and burn bridges I constructed in love. I feel poisonous. You should hear all the hurtful things I don’t say. I know why my brain is constructing such hurtful sentences. It would only take one or two to get you all to permanently leave me alone. My brain wants you all to go away and never look back. But logic (is it logic? Maybe it’s the fragments of my heart) is what keeps my mouth clamped shut. If I just keep you all over there, I won’t set you all on fire, my brain can’t get to you, and I won’t cause permanent damage to the things I love.
I’ve got two funerals to attend in the next two weeks, and next Tuesday is my first day back to work since the 8th. I can’t even function, but I’ve somehow got to pretend to be normal and not the complete lunatic I now am. Catriona was crazy, and I owned it. I loved it. But I don’t know what this is, I don’t know what I am any more.
You’ve broken my heart, and my head. Smashed them.
I feel like you’re punishing me for something. You are, aren’t you? I’m not sure what I’ve done, or how to repent, but you’re killing me. I feel like you don’t even notice. Do you even care?
You keep dropping me to my face, and gleefully kicking me while I’m down.
Two weeks ago I found myself clutching the phone with my head and shoulder while pulling the lifeless body of the person my son considers to be his other parent from the bed to the floor, for resuscitation. I found myself in the ICU for days; the noises of life support filling my ears.
This week I found myself in a different hospital looking down at one of my closest friends as he showed me how the surgery went. They took his leg to save his life. He’s not a candidate for prosthesis, he’s wheelchair bound, and elderly. And I’m so helpless it’s killing me.
Also this week -I found myself in a room hearing things like “PTSD”, “Time”, “Brave”, and “you should really resume writing”. Resume writing? I don’t know how to resume anything, let alone writing.
That’s just this month. I’m so broken Universe, can you see this? I’m destroyed in places I didn’t even know existed. I don’t even feel human anymore. I feel poisonous.
What have I done to you? How do I fix it?
omg, OMG, O.M.G You will never guess what I stumbled upon, OMG!!!!!!
I was looking for a Pick Punch, and do you know what I found? DO YOU?! I.JUST.CANNOT.EXPLAIN.HOW.EXCITED.I.AM.
and a testicle, and an ovary, and a Mammary gland! I NEED TO HAVE THEM ALL!
I’m almost, almost as excited as when I discovered STDs! ALMOST.
HOW DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT THESES! WHAT THE HELL!? I NEED A TESTICLE! I need a testicle to go with alllll the STDs I will one day have!
GIVE ME A PROSTATE!
I’m off to buy a prostate.
*Edit – And the award for best sentence spoken this month goes to my best friend, who after reading this post said:
“That reminds me i have dropped the ball on giving you an std.”
I’ve been watching Doctor Who for hours. Superbowl, bla!
I’ve avoided FB and Twitter all night - for fear of being Super Balled. Doesn’t sound very pleasant, does it?
While avoiding taking a Ball to the eye, I’ve been tooling around on WordPress. You know what I’ve found? THIS:
Those are the search engine terms from the last few days, for my blog. Bahahahah!
“Are Craiglist Whores Crazy?” hahahah! People actually search for that? REALLY? Gosh, I love people. So, amusing.
“Penis Spam Eat” – Wait, what?!
Man, I need to start blogging about puppies, and cotton candy, or something. LMAO Yeahhhhhhh, we know that’s not going to happen.
Gosh, I’m tired. Ugh.
Good Night my friends, I hope you haven’t gotten Super Balled, too hard.
Can you say the word “Coulrophobia”?
Cuzz I can’t. Nope.
I can read it, I can spell it, I even know what it means! Buttttt I cannot verbalize it with out sounding like I just woke up, still drunk from a hot-mess-of-a-week-long-binge.
If you are unfamiliar with the the word; it’s an extreme fear of Clowns. I can’t tell you the statistics on Coulrophobia (I can tell you that Auto correct doesn’t like the word at all. Maybe it suffers from Coulrophobia?… ), but I can tell you more often than not – people react negativity when faced with even the image of a clown. I should know, my childhood bedroom was completely covered, right down to the bedspread, in clowns. (That bedspread had ruffles, like, A LOT of ruffles, btw. I friggen hated ruffles, but somehow is was totally ok because it was clown themed.) Reactions are fascinating, especially to clowns. More people went running in terror from my childhood bedroom then they do now. hahaha. . and that’s saying something.. Bahahahahah…
Is it just me, or are more people getting rid of more clown stuff, at a faster rate, than they ever used to? I looooove thrift shops, and I have to say I have seen more second hand clown items pop up in shops within the last year, then EVER before. I look for clown stuff…so, yeah, I’d know. Hhahahaha It’s too bad I don’t decorate with clown items as much as I used to. haha.
Side note* - have you ever been writing at your desk, just mindlessly jamming out to a random song, when alllllll of a sudden you realize the lyrics of said song are a grown man purring about “licking a loli pop” annnnnnnnd you come to a FULL stop? No? Well, that just happen to me. haa. I hate when lyrics kill a perfectly good beat.
Clowns are all over these days. The Northampton Clown has a book out (wow), and there’s some gun wielding clown now (I’m not surprised, are you?), and that’s not even the half of it. I confess.. I just can’t get enough. I recently stumbled upon darkclowns.blogspot.com, crazy interesting. All sorts of tid bits that will make you wanna pee your pants (if you suffer from Coulrophobia that is). Ha…..
Oh my stars! I have to interrupt this crazy Clown rambling to tell you that I have been on the phone with my boss for almost 20 mins, and within those 20 mins she has used the phrase “Honey Hole” AT LEASE 7 times, YES I was counting, and OH MY STARS IT HAS TAKEN ALL I HAVE NOT TO BURST INTO LAUGHTER. BAHAHAHAHHAHAHAH! She just said it again! BAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAH! Does she not hear herself?! OMG someone please, PLEASE send this woman a link to Urban Dictionary, STAT! I am trying so, SO hard to keep a straight face and serious tone. BAHAHAHAHAHAH! She Just said it again. IS SHE MESSING WITH ME?! She has got to be messing with me. AHAHAHAHAHA! Holy CRAP BATMAN! She actually just uttered the sentence: “Well, we are all after the Honey Hole” OMG SERIOUSLY?! Is she drunk? She’s got to be drunk! FUCK, AM I DRUNK?! I cannot take it. She is as serious as she could be, just working that into the convo. I have a whole new respect for this chick. “It’s my job to help you find your Honey Hole.” OH, OH wow. No joke, that was just said to me. I have spent this whole convo with my hand clamped firmly over my mouth trying, desperately, not to laugh in her eye. Oh man, I’m so glad that’s over. ahaha wow. Just, wow.
I want to take this time to thank my bladder. Thank you bladder, for being stronger than I give you credit for. I surely would have peed myself, had you been as weak as I tell people you are. For realz. Peed. Myself. In. Laughter. So, thank you blatter for being there for me. I’ll try to treat you better going forward.
I am completely in awe of that convo, and am unable to continue to ramble about Clowns. HAHHA. I cannot even go back and proof read. You will have to just. Deal.