Ruined Memories

When you let someone from your past re-enter your life, it can ruin memories that you previously had with them.

The prior short-lived feelings of joy, excitement, and comfort- which you finally considered romanticized history, fond memories forgetting the pain- are pulled out of the box in the closet.

You put them in that container in the cardboard box in the extra closet of the spare bedroom for a reason. They were meant to be a memory; not the future.

Yet here you are, slicing the cardboard and unraveling the packing paper that holds your memories. They were lovingly encased in a timeless glass dome with an intricate knob, airtight sealed over a hand-carved polished oak plaque.

And you know that if you open them, then they will never be the same.

They will be tainted with the nowness and the knowingness that are currently pulsing in the nucleus of your atoms. You can’t un-know what you know. You can’t be anywhere other than right now. But the memories are whispering again. They say things like:

“The way you touch me, with our clothes on.

The way you look at me with those beautiful eyes.

It’s wild how submissive you allow yourself to be around me, because you’re an independent, strong woman.

You’re so interested to know me inside and out.

You make me so vulnerable

I hate showing weakness, but for you, it’s all you want from me. Those are the most intimate parts of me, and you want it all.”

And like the soft, stupid, pliable soul that I am, I listen. I heed. I hope for something that was never meant to be.

I pry the edge loose and peak under the glass.

And the newness and the nowness and the knowingness turns the sparkling, glittering twinkles that were my memories into a heavy cloud of gray dust that fills & coats the room and makes it hard to breath.

And so I open a window.

And wipe my face.

And grab a broom.

And start cleaning up a mess that I never should’ve created.


What’s wrong with me with me that I only want a traumatized partner?

Like if you haven’t been to prison or in active military combat, then I don’t think we can truly connect. I’m drawn to these people without even realizing it.

Why? I don’t fucking know.

My childhood is one that I’m still healing from. I’ve made poor decisions in love. I’m still dealing with the effects of drug addiction and I don’t even use. (thanks Mom) Mental illness runs deep & wild in the family.

I have ADHD, PTSD, general anxiety, depression and loads of codependency tendencies.

But I’m trying so hard to heal.

Why don’t my choices in partners reflect that? 🥺


Even the ones who pretend to be harmless…

Even the ones who claim they have good intentions…

Even the “nice guys”…

Even the ones who say they just wanna be your friend..

Want to tear into you with grimy bare hands like a starving savage ripping into a warm pink centered filet.

Not Dating Anymore

I’m done.

I’ve had enough.

I’m good. (Not at dating; I’m actually the worst at that 🤪)

I have bad taste in men. I have no idea, up close, what a solid, emotionally stable relationship looks like. I’ve never had one. My mother never had one. My grandmother never had one. I’m trying to break all of these generational curses brought on by teen parenthood, drug abuse, poverty, abandonment issues & trauma passed along from my parents.

This is the one I really can’t master. So I’m going to take some time for therapy and self work.

In dating over the last two years, I have had the following experiences:

-The worst sex my whole life. “Sir, your stiff fingers should not be attempting to plunge my cervix. Are you trying to erase my clitoris?!” I legitimately slapped his hand away. He was far too rough and pushy all the way around. Had sex with him as an act of self hate. 0/10 would recommend.…😐

-“Homeboy, are you doing hard drugs in my bathroom?” -October

-“Odinism is your belief system, huh? Never heard of that.” **Google gives history referencing white supremacy & Nazi history. -September

-“Wait, how long were you in prison?” -September

“Wait, how long were you in prison?” -September

-“Wait, how long were you in prison?”-August

(yes, three times in a row with longer sentences/time served each time) 😳🙃

-One guy gave me an unprompted, non-consensual foot massage mid-date.

-Another bought me kegel weights before our first date.

-One guy told me that I look hispanic in some of my pictures. I said thank you. He said it wasn’t a compliment.

-One guy said that he would never actually want to care about me, but he wanted me to “be a fuckdoll for him and his friends to pass around.”

-One guy said that he “hopes that my pig-ass gets pregnant with a half breed.” when I asked if he supports BLM.

-After a date Christmas shopping last year, one guy stole three pairs of socks and a shirt that I bought from Express for my mother.

-Another told ms that I think that i’m smarter and prettier than I actually am.

-Another guy that I was seeing for a couple months told me his kink was for me to ask him to cum in me. He explicitly assured me that he wouldn’t actually do it, he just wanted me to ask. And then he did anyways. 😑

Yeah so I need to take some time for self reflection to make better choices for myself.

Mental ✅: It Is Not Good

My mental health is dangling by a single deteriorating thread.

The holiday blues began just in time.

Work is crazy busy, which is unusual for the season.

My school semester & bachelors degree are finally coming to a close.

My mother’s health is not well and our relationship is newly nonexistent.

My sciatic nerve is pinched and showing no sign of release any time soon.

My house & car are a wreck.

My PTSD has been triggered & keeps me in fight or flight and on the edge of a panic attack at all times.

I’m trying to stay away from men; I deleted all of my dating apps. And they still find me.

Weak and wounded like you’d hope prey would be.

Would they use me or even want me if they knew how often I prayed, too? To not exist in this hard world. Soft souls like mine aren’t made for this.

Or would they even care?

Why should they?

I don’t and so I harness their stupid superficial desires into delicately dosed increments of self harm.

Climbing Out

I have had enough. I just want to get back out and see the sunshine.

Once again, I am finding myself at the bottom of that old familiar cobblestone well in the far corner of my mind.

My eyes have well adjusted to the dark and I am staring at the imprint of myself in dried mud. At least I am no longer lying down with my flesh pressed into the earth. I am upright, if hunched over & just barely.

But this is the hard part.

Once I have decided to rise from the dead, I have to figure out how.

I don’t bring a rope or ladder when I fall into the well; I only get out by clawing my way to the top, sheer willpower.

But I am still tired. It would be so much easier if I were to just lay back down.