Papa, Can You Hear Me

I recently found myself watching reruns of the show ‘Tough Love’ on VH1. I had nothing better to do and it was on, so I figured why not. For those of you who haven’t seen the show or haven’t even heard of it, in short he show is basically about this renowned match-maker who takes in a group of troubled women and teaches them about what it means to truly be in a healthy relationship. Or something like that.

Each episode they have an overall lesson that will hopefully help the women participating in both their love life and I’d assume everyday life. In the episode I watched it was about reconciling with your father. The host had each girl write out a letter to their father, or father figure, to express any unresolved feelings and to talk about how they felt about their relationship with their father and how it affects their current love life.

Since I have a horrible track record with commitment, I figured I’d write my own father a letter.

“Dear John,

Let me start out by saying how horrible it makes me feel that I have to start this letter off that way. I wish I could write ‘dear dad or daddy’. Even father would have felt better, but I can’t do that. I can’t and won’t call you those names. You are John, and that’s all you will ever be.

To me a father is someone who loves you unconditionally, who puts your best interest ahead of his regardless of how it will affect him, someone who supports you, someone who’s more than willing to remember everything there is to know about you, someone who see’s your flaws but still is more than proud to point you out in a crowd to the person standing next to him, someone who without a second doubt would put his reputation and life on the line for you. You never did those things. I’ve never once felt that you loved me. I was never your priority. You never came to any event or show I ever participated in. You don’t know or even care to know anything about me. You see my flaws and sadly that’s all. You would rather die than even motion in my direction in public. You weren’t even there when I was born, in fact, I’m pretty sure you were off in the hospital cafeteria getting food.

I hate the fact that I’ve have never seen you sober. I hate that I had to look at holes and dents in our walls because of you. I hate that every night I laid awake listening to you yell at my mom. I hate that you blamed me for the family finical problems. I hate that I’m such a disappointment and disgrace to you when I’ve done nothing but what you’ve told me to do. I hate that I’ve had to call the police on you more than once. I hate that I’ve had to leave my own home because I was scared to be there. I hate that I can’t talk to you without stuttering because I’m terrified of what you might do. I hate that I never was able to turn to you when I was afraid. I hate that I don’t know how I should and shouldn’t let a man treat me. I hate that I can’t even find it within my heart to hate you. I hate that I am just like you. 

Why don’t you know my full name? Why don’t you know my birthday? Why don’t you know how old I am? Why don’t you know that I’ve had the same favorite color since I was a baby? Why don’t you know what grade I’m in? Why don’t you know my dog’s name? Why don’t you know anything about me? Why don’t you care? 

I should be used to it now though, you never cared. You never wanted me.You never tried to understand me. You never showed me how to be strong and brave. You never showed me right from wrong. You never took the time to look at me. All that ever mattered to you was your drug induced high.

I don’t know how to love or be loved. I let people that shouldn’t matter walk all over me and use me. I treat people that do care and want to be close to me like shit and I don’t listen to them or respect them or even let them in. I tell myself that I’m not doing anything wrong because that’s how you treated me, that’s how you let me be treated, that’s how you treated mom and because you were my ‘dad’ that it was right and okay to act that way. 

It’s not.

It’s not right to treat me like I wasn’t important. It’s not right for me to treat others like they’re not important. It’s not right for you to have walked all over me. It’s not right anyone to walk over me. It’s not right for me to let them. It’s not right that you blamed me for costing us money for medical bills because that left us with less money for your drugs. It’s not right that I am a loss of money for mine. It’s not right that you don’t know who I am. It’s not right that I don’t know who I am.

It would be easier to blame you for everything and for who I have become. You played a large part in my development as a person and sadly over the 16 years I spent living with you I picked up your traits and habits and even bits and pieces of your personality. I want to blame it all on you. Be done with it and move on. But I’m responsible too. I’m responsible for seeing how you treated me and letting myself treat others that way, even though I knew very well how it felt. 

In some ways, me acting this way, living this life, it’s still giving you some hold on me. A hold I’ve never been able to escape. But not anymore. I’m not going to let myself become you. I’m not going to let anyone treat me the way you did, and I’m not going to treat anyone the way you did. Not anymore.

It wasn’t easy being a little girl scared in her own home, but I’m not a little girl anymore. Yes, I will always have the scars you left on my heart and I will always have to deal with the demons you helped create in my past. But I can’t carry it with my any longer if I want to move on and grow. 

So this is goodbye. Goodbye to all you were and all you weren’t. Goodbye to all you said and all you should have said. Goodbye to all the missed opportunities. Goodbye to what never was.”


Put Your Big Girl Panties On Now

Now I’m not one to judge. I mean, yes I do judge, we all do, but I try my damnedest to not be a judgmental and insensitive bitch.  Your live is your life and you do what you have to do and so on and so forth and power to you. I get that. I mean my blog title is fucking ‘Perception Is Reality’ because it is! Your perception is your reality and whatever you’re going through is real to you and no one can judge you on that because they’re not, nor have they ever been and nor will they ever be you. What you feel is all you baby and it might be a lot or a little but if it’s real to you, it’s real. Case closed.

But this is my space and fuck, I’m just so hot right now.

I’m not rich, I have no sugar daddy, no deceased relative has left me a lump some of money that get’s my by on the day to day; so as you can so rightfully assume, I have to work for a living. I’ve worked since I was 14. I started at a church, working in the after care program helping take care of the children and cleaning up after them. I made 3.something$ an hour and I did that for about two almost three years. I went through a personal family issue and most of my time was spent in a court room and I wasn’t able to work. Once that was all settled my high school graduation has passed, I had moved into a new town and once again I started working. I was a hostess at a restaurant about 30 hours a week on top of going to school 40 hours a week. After 10 months of schooling, I graduated and got my barbering license and went to work full time as an assistant manager of a lingerie store where I worked almost 50 hours while I looked for a job at a salon, where I currently work now. Do I love working? Not always, but I love my job and even when I hate my job I still do it. I put my big girl panties on and do my fucking job.

Like I said, your perception is your reality and it can be hard to focus when bad things are happening, but I fully believe in separating your personal life from your career. Especially when you only work 20 hours a week, there is no need for you to take off three mother fucking weeks off of work to ‘deal with a personal issue’. No, just no.

When I was 14 years old and needed money and had to take two buses to get to a job that paid me almost nothing, I still went to work and did my damn job. When my scalp was bleeding from a chemical burn, I popped some heavy duty pain killed and did my damn job. When I had to put my dog down of 14 years, I still came to work and did my damn job. When my boyfriend of two years, whom I lived with, broke up with me over the phone, guess what? I still came to work and did my damn job. Aside from the year I wasn’t able to work due to being in a court room almost every few days, I’ve gotten my shit together and gone to work regardless.

To me work is an escape. Being that I keep my personal life and career separated  when I am at work I’m safe. Whatever is going on at home I know that in those hours I work, I don’t have to think about it, deal with it or stress over it. Work keeps my mind busy and more importantly it physically takes me away from whatever negative situation is going on at home. Out of sight, out of mind. I like that and I know that not everyone is like me. Not everyone can separate the two and enjoys working when something is bothering them.

I just… eugh. I work with this woman. She’s 24 going on 25 and recently has been calling out of work with very vague reasons as to why she can’t come in. Something with her family, okay, understandable. Well, understandable the first time you do it. Maybe even the second, but for over a month straight? Then, she just is a no call no show for not one but two days in a row. The end of a day three rolls around, still no word and so my manager goes to file a police report on her missing employee and BAM suddenly she’s back with this story about how she’s ‘been going through some stuff and kept it all locked up and had a mental breakdown but she’s fine now’. Fine, but still needs time off of work to get herself together. How much time off work? Three weeks. Three full weeks off of work. Bitch you only work 20hours a week to begin with, why the hell do you need three mother fucking weeks off to ‘gather yourself’ when you’re already fine and telling people you’re okay.

No. No. No. This is not okay. I’m just so fucking irritated that not only does she get off without a write up for being a no call no show two days in a row, but she gets her desired time off and our manager decides to just give everyone else extra hours to cover our upset coworkers much needed mental health month.

I mean, I can’t stress this enough, but I get that whatever she’s going through must be hard for her. My heart and thoughts go out to her and I hope she is okay. I can’t however get passed the fact that she acts this way, gets off scott fucking free, all the while refusing to tell us, her fellow coworkers, whats going on other than ‘it’s personal’ as she goes around telling other people that she’s fine. She’s 24 almost 25. I’m not even 21 yet and I wouldn’t dare pull that kind of shit with anyone ever no matter what was going on. If something is so serious that you need almost a month off of work, you can best be sure I’ll be telling you why my ass needs to stay home and take care of whatever it may be.

From what I hear though, she’s been spotted out shopping having a grand old time with her friends acting as if nothing in the world was wrong. I may have to work for a living, bu I damn sure hope that you have a sugar daddy or dead relative somewhere supporting your needed time off. Because if I remember correctly before you started having all these ‘issues’ you were complaining about not working enough and needing more money to pay all your bills.




Chivalry is Dead. So is Humanity

Since when did holding open a door for another person, saying words and phrases like ‘please’, ‘thank you’, ‘no ma’am/sir’ and ‘you’re welcome’, hell even making eye contact when having a conversation with someone just fall from the face of the planet? It baffles me how socially un-groomed society is today. That being said, I can’t sit here and talk about how things were ‘back in my day’ as I’m only at that wonderfully ripe age of 20 gong on 21, however, I feel it it more appropriate to say I’m 20 going on 45.

I was raised on a farm and brought up with good wholesome values. I truly understand the value of a dollar and how it feels to work hard and earn not only your money but whatever else you get in life. I was far from being born or even raised with a silver spoon in my mouth and even in my teenage years nothing was handed to me. As I said, I was raised on a farm. Up before sunrise, working hard to keep yourself afloat. Dessert was taken away if you weren’t just down right sugary sweet polite to everyone you crossed paths with and if we got the tv to work it was a good day.

It wasn’t always fun and it sure wasn’t easy, but I walked away with so much more respect for those older than me and those in a position above mine and so much more self-respect than I ever would have imagined.

I see kids, people my age and even people older than I am, who just don’t seem to get it. To me they’re nothing but rude, spoiled and un-grateful sad sacks who will surely have a hard time once reality decided to pay them a visit. Oh and a visit that will be. See, I work in a place where I see all types of people. From spoiled girls and boys who get upset when they don’t have cell phone service for a minute and roll their eyes when they’re parents don’t give them what they want when they want it, to older men and women who appreciate the small things we do and say. That being said, I do come across teenagers and such who are very respectful and the elderly who are just down right pains in my side, but that is a rare occasion.

I feel like, with all the advances in technology and the way we’re living now, people forget how to be, well people. Holding open a door, saying ‘thank you’, giving up your seat on a bus from someone struggling, whatever is may be isn’t socially required anymore. Conversations, special moments, simple things, they’re almost all done via phones/computers/tablets these days (not saying phones/computers/tablets are bad, because I adore mine to the moon and back). All I’m saying is I feel like it’s okay for people to get away without being sociable and it upsets me.

Where are the days when you would be excited to get the mail? The days where you actually wrote out a letter to someone or even called them on the phone to talk rather than just text? The days where you played outside till the street lights came on instead of going to the mall or sitting around watching tv or surfing the web? Where did home made family dinners go? Putting good test grades on the refrigerator door? The white picket fence?

I truly feel like some days I was just born into thee wrong time period. My boyfriend adores my ideals, I mean what man wouldn’t want a woman who cleans and cooks for him while working full time to support herself and ask for almost nothing but good quality time together and sexual favors in return. We just work so well together, he likes working on his cars all evening after work and I like watching him and having causal conversation with cool drinks. He likes sitting around in the kitchen telling me about his day or what interests him while I cook and clean and at the end of the day we like sitting in bed together to watch a movie or just snuggle before bed (sex thrown in there almost every hour or so, because we are like rabbits). And it’s not that we don’t enjoy the technological luxuries of today, and nothing about this post is saying I hate what technology has become. All I’m saying is we don’t rely on it to keep us happy and entertained.

Now that I look back, I’m not even sure this makes any kind of sense. It’s late, I’ve had a long day, someone is snoring and my sleep aide medication has been kicking in for the last hour or so, but I just felt like I couldn’t sleep without posting something to vent my frustrations.



Hello World!

Hello and welcome to my little home away from home here on the wonderful World Wide Web. I created this blog especially for my thoughts and feelings and honestly whatever else crosses my mind throughout the day. I am not here to please or impress anyone, so if what I post or say offends you I offer my apologies now. If my apology is not enough, I kindly remind you that there is in fact an x-button in the top right corner of the screen and you are more than welcome to click it whenever you please. Trust me; I will not be offended if you leave.

Moving on, I figured that my first real post here should be an ‘About Me’ type post, however I have come to realize that I don’t know anything about myself in a sense, and in all fairness I cannot sit here and type out a few short paragraphs and expect you to know anything about me either.

I find that as each day passes I am learning more and more about who I have become and who I want to become and until my little self-finding journey, as it may so lovingly be called, comes to an end neither you nor I will really know who it is I truly am, hence this blog.

However, while I may not have discovered all there is to know about me, what I do know for certain I can list for you. That way, you have some idea as to who I currently am and possibly even an idea as to who I want to become out of all this. I’m not sure if any of this will come out right, but I can try. So here it goes:

  1. I’m an on and off again vegan. My goal is to be able to fully commit to a vegan lifestyle, but being that I am young and impressionable I find myself eating some form of dairy two to three times a week. In all honesty, I really shouldn’t be finding myself eating any dairy at all because I am allergic but what can you do? On a side note, while I do often slip up when it comes to dairy, I have not had meat in over 3 years. I plan to keep it that way.
  2. 15% of people are left-handed, I happen to fall into that category. Now I’m personally not up-to-date on all the exciting facts about being left-handed, but from what I can gather we are more likely to become alcoholics, we were once with an identical twin (then according to theory the right-handed twin failed to fully develop leaving just us), we are more likely to be geniuses and according to some studies we are to live on average nine years fewer than our right-handed friends. Now I don’t know if any of that is true, but I will be sure to keep you updated. Promise.
  3. I like sex. In fact, I crave it. My brain is hardwired to that of a teenage boy. I like it fast, rough and dirty. Bruise me, mark me, make me hurt and I will forever be grateful. It’s weird though, as my appearance isn’t that of one who is all about riding that kink-train right on home, and when I do tell people ‘hey, I like being spanked and taken advantage of (all consensual) blahblahblah’ people laugh or assume I’m joking. I’m not.  It’s rude. I don’t laugh at your sexual preferences, don’t laugh at mine. Luckily for me, I have recently found a wonderful man who is very happy to appease that side of me.
  4. My life is ruled by a pill bottle. A nicely labeled and tightly sealed pill bottle full of lorazepam. Since 16, I ahve suffered from high levels of anxiety and panic attacks. Nothing outlandish happened in my life to cause this, I just woke up one day and there it was. Like Peter Pan’s shadow, following me around and causing trouble. I’ve been on many different medications and have tried everything under the sun my doctor wants to recommend to me, alas nothing has worked well enough to where I feel comfortable with more than two people around. One day maybe, but until that day I shall numb that pain and hope my bottle never runs dry.
  5. While I believe in true love, I think that society has love completely sugar coated these days. We have confused love for lust. People don’t truly take the time to access what is being shown to them and often find themselves hurt in the end because what they thought was love ended up being a pretty lie. To me, it is not what is in the movies or books or poems, it doesn’t matter if you buy gifts and show PDA. It doesn’t matter if you make all of their dreams come true and it certainly does not matter if you give someone your heart (because these days giving someone your heart holds no value). What makes love love is what you are willing to put into your actions and whether or not you are genuinely trying to earn love (and often undying acceptance) or if you’re just trying to buy it till you are ready to move on to the next. It is about proving that you honestly care about another person and that you are more than willing do anything for them as long as at the end of the day that person still wants to look at you and you alone. Unfortunately, even with all this love still cannot be put into words, not by me or by anyone. Love is something you need to feel for yourself and for a while I thought I knew what it felt like, but sadly I don’t. Looking back, now I’m unsure if my views on love count but there they are, somewhat.
  6. I genuinely appreciate the small and simple things in both relationships and more importantly life. If you can remember my favorite color, how I take my drink orders, the way I like to just walk around and enjoy either silence or light conversation, and all the other small quarks about me I will be forever grateful and thankful.

With all that has, and hasn’t been said, I hope this starts off a wonderful journey.