I’m Not Afraid of Going To Hell. I Already Live There

I have somewhat of a conundrum. I realize that by blogging my personal opinions, day to day life problems and sharing so much of myself that I’m potentially inviting debate and/or criticism.

Debate me all day long, just come at me with your own opinion the right way and I’ll respectfully listen and eventually we might just agree to disagree. Politely.

I have neither the temperament nor the restraint to be “told about myself” in what I deem as an aggressive manner. As a matter of fact it is one of my MAIN BPD triggers.

I know many of you that follow me know that I’m quirky, self deprecating and can find some sort of obscene humor in just about any given situation. Many of you know the funny, tough, cursing, genuine, giant hearted traits that make me…well me. You laugh with me and give me words of support and encouragement when I need them the most.

I know EXACTLY who I am….I don’t need to be “told” who I am or how I should feel. I battle the rage, insecurity and worthlessness of Borderline Personality Disorder every second of every day. The BPD also brings a much darker, much more cruel aspect of my personality front and center when I’m going through a rough patch, or when I feel overwhelmed by life as I currently do.

To those of you who love me and/or read my blog because I’m sincere, raw and absolutely real, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Your comments, advice and encouragement keep me grinding. Even on the days I can barely drag myself into an upright position. Y’all are my family. Perhaps not by blood, but more importantly by choice.

For those who read a blog post or two and think they KNOW me and have the the audacity to tell me why and how I should change, to you I say the biggest and most heartfelt FUCK YOU and the horse you rode in on.

One doesn’t KNOW me by reading a couple of posts or even by comments on other bloggers posts whom I follow. My advice to you fucking fuckfaces that do not like what I have to say or how I say it and just can not help but direct a snide shitty comment my way, is quite simple. Keep scrolling and keep your dicksucker shut. When you get done scrolling, judging and commenting about me or my life, might I suggest taking your keyboard and shoving it straight up your ass. Sideways (just in case you decide to be a cowardly keyboard warrior to someone else) at least it will be in the correct position to type.

If one continues to want to verbally spar with me in an assholey way, I’m sorry. I refuse to engage in a battle of wits with an UNARMED person. That just leaves me with one option. Violence. Something I’m VERY familiar with.

You see if I’m backed into a corner to the point of having to respond with violence, rest assured I’ll bury my foot so far up your ass, you’ll need a root canal to have it removed.

To the rest of my beloved blogging family, happy Monday, Y’all♥️

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50 Shades of Cray In BR

Baton Rouge bridge traffic problems ranked 19th worst in U.S., research institute survey says | State Politics | theadvocate.com
— Read on www.google.com/amp/s/www.theadvocate.com/baton_rouge/news/politics/article_60c9c674-2f0d-11e9-b791-2b73ae48cab7.amp.html

Due to my severe social anxieties I’m pretty much an agoraphobic by nature. I only leave when I absolutely must (doctors appointments, food for the kiddos, etc). I don’t like getting out one fucking bit, but especially as a parent one sometimes MUST.

Yesterday was one of those days. I had an appointment with my Neurosurgeon at 10:30am. The ride from my little rural town right outside of Baton Rouge was mostly interstate and mercifully uneventful at that time of day. As I pulled into the parking lot of the medical complex where all of my specialists are located I noticed hundreds of people. Outside. “What in the fucking fuck,” I muttered to myself as I got parked, grabbed my purse and headed for the building. As I got closer I asked a super sweet, chatty, older African American lady what was going on. She replied with “Lord, child some stupid ass young ‘un done called in a bomb threat.” “To a medical facility?” I asked incredulously. This sent Miss Gladys (as I later learned her name was) into the most hilarious rant about the chirren these days didn’t get dat ass beat nearly enough. That’s why they ALL acted like assholes. I was so caught up in her story and doubled over in fits of giggles, I didn’t even notice or mind the medical complex officials herding us back into the building. I of course sat by Miss Gladys as she was there for Neurology as well. By this time it was 11:20am and those fuckchops at reception told me that I was late for my appointment. You fucking think?!? Perhaps it was because you had 300 of us sick and hurting patients milling about in the hundred degree scorching heat with ninety percent humidity. Want to know what that feels like. Go wet a wool blanket soaking wet, lay it over your entire body including your face and try to breath. I was so enraged I threw a full fledged, stiff armed bug stomping fit. Right there in the check in line. I was sweating, swearing and ranting to such a degree they had to call security to calm me down. I think the two twenty something rent-a-cop’s were a bit intimidated by me because all they did was bring me a glass of cold water, a cool rag for my livid, feverish brow and gave me a few soothing words and hand pats. I shit you not, I got a standing ovation led by my new BFF, Miss Gladys, cheering loudly, ” You tell ’em, baby!”

Good thing she and I were having such a grand ole time because it made the hours pass much more quickly. It was nearly 2:00pm before either of us was seen.

The real fun didn’t start until I finally got on the interstate to head back home.

This is what I drove into. Remember I’m a shithouse rat CRAZY BITCH who had already had an unsettling fucked up day (except for meeting Miss Gladys, with whom I exchanged numbers so we could keep in touch) and as MY luck would have it drove into one of the biggest traffic cluster fucks of all time. People with BPD don’t do well with aggressiveness. In any form, and Baton Rouge drivers are the biggest road assholes on the whole god damn planet and I am their Queen. Queen of the Motor Assholes. The more aggressive other drivers became with me, the more I lost my shit! I mean seriously, I was going fucking beserk. I tried to run a semi-trucker AND two little old ladies off the road in less than half a mile. After two hours of inching along at a snails pace (I could have literally parked my car in the middle of the interstate and walked briskly home and I would’ve gotten home far more quickly than from sitting in that shit). By the time I made it home I was beside myself with rage. When I saw the house (remember I’m an OCD neat freak as well) and saw my fucking house in shambles from teenagers being home for the summer, I briefly contemplated murder but quickly realized that horizontal stripes make my fat ass like doubly wide AND neither black or white is on my color wheel.

Soooooo I did the only thing a raging mother fucker can do without being arrested……I went at my heavy bag in the garage (with my ex-husbands picture secured in a clear pocket I had so thoughtfully attached to it) until I puked. Just another day of 50 shades of CRAY in BR!!!

Trigger. Not Just The Lone Rangers Horse

Well I knew that it was going to happen sooner rather than later. I just didn’t know when. Living with Borderline Personality Disorder, one is ALWAYS waiting for the other shoe to drop. Right on our fucking heads. The good times are amazing, the bad times I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy (well maybe that bitch that fucked my husband six weeks before we were married), I wish that shit squared on that whore. Along with Ebola, SARS, Malaria, Meningitis, Equine Encephalitis, Mad Cow Disease, Chronic Wasting Disease, Swine Flu, Bubonic Plague, HPV, HIV, Chlamydia, Gonorrhea, Syphilis, UTI, Renal Failure, blindness, deafness, muteness, Leprosy, Legionnaires Disease and the absolute worst case of dysentery there ever was. I pray for this vile creature to come down with EVERY single one of them EVERY night. I’m already going to hell for my own shitty past so at this point praying for someone like this slut to suffer so greatly will not impact my immortal soul any more than it’s already impacted. Go big or go home is my motto.

Obviously I’ve triggered. No matter what I trigger over this horrific part of my life ALWAYS gets thrown in for good measure by myself.

I’m not sure if my trigger was the upcoming holidays, having two extra “guests” in our 800 square foot condo, or if it was the fact that my husband was exhausted from work, in a shitty mood and said some (in my opinion) awful shit that Daddy Dearest used to say to me. I completely fucking lost it though. Every single time, I think I’m making progress, that giant shoe drops and shows me who’s boss…..and my boss is BPD.

FML😏😏😏

The Sheeple Apocalypse

As I was channel surfing through what seemed like an obscene amount of cable TV channels (I’m a reader, TV blows), I could not help but notice the horrific number of IQ lowering reality shows. In my opinion, the absolute worst of the worst celebrates some slut who’s only original claim to fame was fucking a semi-celebrity’s wannabe singers brother and videotaping it for posterity and having…….wait for it……her money and fame hungry whore of a mother leak it to the press for publicity. Eeeeeeewwwww much?!? No wonder your husband had his dick chopped off and started wearing your panties, Kris.
As stomach churning as this is, it’s not even the thing that makes the vomit creep up to the tip top of the back of my throat. The thing that makes the vomit come so perilously close to projectiling like pea soup as my head spins ALL 360 degrees around atop my shoulders is that enough mindless, soulless, impressionable minions and brainwashed keyboard soldiers have bought into this shit to keep this family of fancy gutter sluts on television for 15 seasons. Yes, you read that correctly. Now excuse me while I go eat a Tide Pod, smoke some fucking potpourri, snort some bath salt and wait for the Sheeple Apocalypse.

Thank You Australia For Making This Word Socially Acceptable AND Endearing

Because of this random, newly acquired reason, I do believe instead of moving into our brand new home, I will instead head “down under” because, well obviously I take sick perverse pleasure in using profanity and for a WHOLE country of people to accept one of the most socially unacceptable words in the English language as a fucking endearment, is my kind of place!! I’d fit right in with those crazy cunts!!

Of all of the swear words, any use of the word fuck or cunt is at the top of my “sassy” hierarchy. Finding this out just made this the best day EVER!

So to all my lovely “cunts”, Happy Tuesday, mates💕💕💕

Army Ranger dog named Maiko died in Afghanistan saving US Soldiers

Army Ranger dog named Maiko died in Afghanistan saving US soldiers | TheHill
— Read on www.google.com/amp/s/thehill.com/blogs/blog-briefing-room/news/419837-army-ranger-dog-named-maiko-died-in-afghanistan-saving-us?amp

This post is for the bitch that blasted Sully from the Slate.

Read this and please educate your ass before you opine and spread your ignorance about humanity’s best friends.

Leave Sully Alone, You Heartless Bitch

George H.W. Bush’s service dog ‘Sully’ isn’t a Democrat or Republican — It’s doggone crazy to attack him

https://www.foxnews.com/opinion/george-h-w-bushs-service-dog-sully-isnt-a-democrat-or-republican-its-doggone-crazy-to-attack-him

Explore the Fox News apps that are right for you at http://www.foxnews.com/apps-products/index.html.

Fur babies are more loyal, loving, and genuine than most people are. Any dumb bitch that thinks otherwise has no soul and probably doesn’t own a pet because it would sense her evil and bite her a new asshole. What an idiot and heartless snowflake. Nothing is sacred anymore and it pisses me off more than I could EVER verbalize, even with my enormous repertoire of swear words.

7 Things To Lookout For Before Following A Blog

7 Things To Lookout For Before Following A Blog

7 Things To Lookout For Before Following A Blog
— Read on hughsviewsandnews.com/2018/09/20/7-things-to-lookout-for-before-following-a-blog/

Great post! I am following waaaaaaay to many blogs just because they followed me first. I appreciate and am grateful to each and every follower, the thing is, I may not necessarily be interested in certain blog topics. It is nothing personal at all as I’m sure that even if I don’t agree with another bloggers views it does not mean that said blogger is not a lovely person. Following too many people is problematic in regards to the fact that the blogs that I do follow closely because I LOVE their content get lost somewhere in the rest. Thank you again to my precious followers for reading about my crazy, topsy turvy life AND for putting up with my excessive profanity, because well that’s just how I roll.

TTFN my pretties💕💕

50 Shades of Cray

My husband is my anchor and my FP. We have had some very volatile times in the past. Mainly over me being batshit crazy and his one time indiscretion.

I think the root of my problem is that I expect utter perfection from him, my parents, my siblings, my children and my friends (all 2.5 of them) and I on the other hand have set a much lower bar of behavior and attitudes than I expect from them. It pisses them the fuck off but the borderline in me screams IDGAF I’m special. I’m special alright…… especially a bitch, especially obnoxious, especially loud mouthed.

I don’t mean to be like this, I make my own skin crawl half of the time.

It’s so damn difficult, being constantly at war inside. Meds and therapy and psych visits are all fine and good but I’d be willing to sign up for shock therapy or a lobotomy if I knew for a fact it would cure what I have. At least I was pretty once. Now a look in the mirror and see a wild eyed, worthless, bloated (I’ve gained almost 40 pounds on my psychiatry drugs) version of my old self. I look like I ate my twin in the womb. I don’t normally put any stock into things as shallow and vain as looks, weight, gender, color, etc…..but with myself I’m the exact opposite. I’m my own worst critic and it’s silently spiraling me into nothingness. I normally use my humor to cheer myself and others up as best I can, but I’m having a shitty day during a shitty week because of this shitty disorder.

I’m not normally known for pitying myself but I’m giving myself a free pass today. It’s my party and I’ll split if I want to.

Comfortably Numb

My doctor just put me on Vistaril. I took it for the first time last night. It’s 2:00pm where I’m at and I’m still walking around in a daze. I don’t feel bad. I don’t feel good. I don’t feel jack shit if you want to know the truth. Absolutely nothing. I feel like I SHOULD be scared but I don’t feel it. I can’t really determine which is worse……feeling too much or nothing at all. I barely feel human. I could be a fucking autobot for all of the emotion I can muster. I’m pretty sure this sucks just as much as lying in a fetal position because the agony of my emotions has brought me to my knees time and time again. I guess that’s all I have to say because I need both hands to catch the drool hanging off my chin.