I Knew It!! We All Start Life As Assholes!

The basics of making babies seem simple. You need sperm, an egg, and a womb to incubate in. Combine those, and a baby starts to grow. However, most people don’t know what develops first in the womb as far as the baby’s growth. Does it start with a brain? A heart? What organs come …
— Read on m.ranker.com/list/order-body-parts-grow-in-fetuses/laura-allan

There it is. In black and white. We all start our lives as assholes. I just never personally evolved past this stage of development.

Don’t feel bad for me though, I have a plethora of company. As a matter of fact, as far as I can tell, the last two generations have been filled with a LOT of assholes that never developed past this stage.

Just remember kids, you can stick a flower up your asshole but you still can’t call it a vase😊

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This Bitch Here

Ocasio-Cortez allegedly screamed at border agents during recent trip to southern border: report

https://www.foxnews.com/politics/alexandria-ocasio-cortez-border-agents-southern-border

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

I don’t care what end of the political spectrum you are on, unless you’re a pussified, snowflake, baby back bee-yotch, this asshole is a drama full, lying, hysterical, shit stirring she-devil!! Someone needs to choke slam this cunt! Even the other three shit starters, Congresspersons Booker, Omar and Tlaib have even slowed their assy rolls just the tiniest bit. Not AOC though. She’s not happy unless she’s making a god damn mockery of her elected office. I sometimes wonder what in the fuck kind of sheeple voted for this twat waffle?!?!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, probably many more times….what in the fucking fuck?!?

It’s the Sheeple Apocalypse!!

Jesus Christ, Jack Sprat and Jason Bourne

I was flat on my back after my spinal tap. The arrogant young doctor insisted I stay in that same position for the next five hours so I did not develop a colossal headache. Right about that time I realized I had to use the restroom and it was going to be a deuce.

So of course when the doctor asked if I had any questions, noticing he was at least 15 years younger than me, HAD to have been straight out of med school, and my puckered asshole had to have a better bedside manner than this douche, I decided wickedly to rattle his chain a bit.

I replied with what do I do if I have to drop the “Browns” off at the “Super Bowl, homie”? His fucking eyes almost popped out of his head, he sneered at me and said, “I beg your pardon? Also the name is Dr. Browning and I am NOT your homie, I’m your doctor!”

Oh hell to the NAW!!! I, by this point was so pissed off I responded scathingly with, “I don’t care if you are Jesus Christ, Jack Sprat or Jason Bourne, mother fucker, NO one is talking to me like that, so unless you want me to take an enormous shit right here on these super luxurious sheets that the fuckers up in the Accounting department charge me $300 a night for, someone best help me upright and get me to a toilet. Fucking STAT!”

I got help to the toilet in time, Dr. Browning passed my case off to a colleague, because he refused to step back in my room because I had also previously told him if he even thought about trying to come back in that I would crap in my hand and fling my own shit at him.

Moral of this story?

Don’t fuck with The Bella when she’s got a deuce prairie dogging her asshole😂😂😂😂😂

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!!!

Anastasia’s Revenge: Veritas & Aequitas

Veritas and Aequitas Is Latin For:

Truth and Justice. It is a motto that stands for personal honor and truth in actions and in justice, regardless of the circumstances.

Various people have told me that I am an attractive forty seven year old woman that looks much younger than my years. To be honest when people associate me with the word attractive it literally makes me squirm because when I look in the mirror, that is NOT what I see. As far as my “attractiveness” goes if that is in fact what one might think the only thing I can think of to say is that I was just blessed with really good genes.

If you really want to know someone, look at their hands. That’s where their story lies.

My hands absolutely do not look like an “attractive woman” (my BPD refuses to let me agree with this word) in fact I’m cringing as I type it.

In truth I am Anastasia and her story is not fiction. It’s my story. There was a time that I was ashamed of it….but now I OWN it. Love her or hate her, she is I, although I was a victim for so very long, I never labeled myself as that. The thought never crossed my mind. Anastasia was, is and will always be a fighter. I will ALWAYS fight the good fight. I will ALWAYS err on the side of righteousness. I will always root and fight for the underdogs, the downtrodden and the victims for I was all of these things at some point in my life.

Look at my hands, I did not lie down and cower and take it. I fought back. I fought until I couldn’t physically rise up again to fight some more. I fought with all of the anger, hurt, betrayal, humiliation and sadness bottled up inside me. I could always hear dear old “Mickey” urging me on from my corner. I have fought back from drug addiction, homelessness and hunger. I have fought back from psychological, emotional and physical abuse. I have fought this monster inside of me (Borderline Personality Disorder) and for the most part have won that battle too. This mental illness is incurable, it is wildly erratic and one of the hardest mental illnesses to get control of short of a psyche ward. The suicide rates of Borderlines compared to all of the other mental illnesses in the Psychiatrists “little” Merck Manual combined are off the charts. I fight that bitch with every ounce of willpower and intestinal fortitude I have, every single hour of every single day. That being said, in my own way that gives me the W, one day at a time.

I don’t make excuses for it.

I don’t blame others for it.

I don’t lie, manipulate or connive to toy with peoples emotions “because my disorder made me do it.”

I fight this ugly beast and the horror of my past because although I may be little, I am mighty. I am fierce. I am fucking Sparta.

I fight because I love too much sometimes. I fight FOR the ones I love, even when they refuse to fight for themselves. All my heart knows how to do is fight for what and whom I love and love what and whom I’m fighting for.

Anastasia will never break. She’s got far too much fight in her because she KNOWS, it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog that gets you through this Borderline life.

It’s Easy To Be Extraordinary In A Society That Encourages Mediocrity

Participation medals, high schools not having Valedictorians because it makes others “feel bad” about themselves, the ACT test adding extra criteria in the scoring process so more “diverse” people will be accepted into college. Are they fucking serious?!?? My son worked so hard in high school in Advanced Placement Courses that he was a sophomore in College by the time he graduated high school and was also given a full Presidental Scholarship to at least five different colleges and was also Valedictorian of his class. I wish those snowflake fuckfaces would have tried to take that hard earned honor from my baby.

Do you know why he excelled academically? Because he worked his fucking ass off and put his social life on the back burner. Even in high school he knew that being a social media hot shot would NOT pay his bills in the future. He has worked towards his dream of being a doctor since 1st grade. He made straight A’s his entire school career and graduated at the top of his class in pre-med Summa Cum Laude this May, all the while being the president of his fraternity, President of the entire Greek Council, worked THREE jobs and still graduated with honors. He was obviously accepted into med school, just got his first year class schedule and is finally realizing his dream. Not by having extra points on his ACT which he made a 35 on (36 is a perfect score) BECAUSE he was focused, ambitious and worked hard for 16 years to get there.

Mediocrity is celebrated and promoted by all of these Progressive Lawmakers and whiny snowflakes that want something for nothing. Even good grades and automatic college admission, but can some one PLEASE tell me how by progress you mean making everyone the same, like oatmeal or like we say in the South, “grits y’all “.

Now most of this whole generation think that they are hot shit on a silver platter, but someone (I totally volunteer) to burst their stupid mediocre bubble and let them know that they are only cold turds on a paper plate.

Exceptional and Extraordinary MEANS going above and beyond you fucking jackasses. In this world their are Winners and their are losers, snowflakes. So suck it up buttercups, get the fuck over yourselves and put forth some effort!!

I Hear Banjos

Has the whole fucking world gone mad?!?

Racism, Sexism, Sadism, Homophobia, mass murders, genocide, Necrophilia……the political mud slinging has turned into politicians slinging their own shit….we are fighting other countries, we are fighting amongst ourselves!! Has EVERYONE forgotten that we are but one race??? The HUMAN fucking race! Climate change, an errant asteroid strike or Alien life is not going to destroy us. We are doing a mighty fine job of that shit ourselves!! Much more quickly than any of the above ever could.

I’ve studied many, many different religions and ethnicities and at the very core of each and EVERY belief system, they are the same. Love your God, whomever that may be and be kind, generous and do right by your “neighbor”! None of these religions say only do so if your neighbor looks, acts or worships the exact same way as you. WTF is the matter with most of society?!? Try a little love instead of hate. Empathy instead of judgement. Acceptance instead of fear. I’m no great mind or brilliant philosopher, yet I understand this with crystal clarity. If others can not do the same, I suggest we start paddling faster….I hear banjos!

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.

Accountability Is Now An Obscenity

Today it just dawned on me that during this generation of Black, White, Brown, Yellow, Red, Gay and Straight Lives Matter, that the above mentioned racial and sexual undertone of such slogans are absolutely not the problem at all. As ALL lives matter. Period. EVEN the lives of unborn babies who did not start as eggs and ask to be fertilized by sperm in the womb. It was the (in most not all cases) choice of two consenting adults to have sex and forego any necessary precautions as to not create a life that either could not be afforded or just basically not wanted. Therein lies the realization that I’ve come to. Whether it’s being “harassed” by the police WHILE perpetuating a crime, deciding one does not want the baby that they’ve been carrying inside their bodies for six to even nine months (late term abortions) or extremists and radicals of every race, gender, faith, ethnicity or sexual orientation: the way society views things has far less to do with any of the above mentioned things and EVERYTHING to do with the fact that NO ONE seems to understand the absolute NEED and RESPONSIBILITY to take accountability for their actions. Above and beyond all of these things, including political affiliations or whether one is pro-life or pro-choice lies the fact that finger pointing and deflection of responsibility is the common denominator and root of most all of the problems facing humanity today. The BIGGEST problem of all is the lack of HUMANITY. We all bleed red. We all lay side by side in the nursery when we are born and lie side by side in the grave once this life’s journey is over. It is the kind of person you are and what you do in between the two that define whether mankind is going to succeed or descend into utter and total chaos. Between the maternity ward and the grave try being a good example, a kind neighbor a generous soul to those less fortunate. Be an asset to humanity not a problem. Stop putting fucking hashtags on everything and sit back and watch how much better our nation and our world can truly be.

When Borderline Personality Disorder Is a Game of Tug of War

Push and pull. It’s like the children’s game tug of war. A rope being pulled in both directions and at any time it could go one way or another. Unfortunately it’s not a game, it’s my illness. BPD.

The words themselves fill your mind with uncertainty. Visualize standing at a border somewhere with one foot on either side, knowing that at the drop of a dime you could be pulled either way.

Attachment. The need to have it, incessant. The need to keep it afar, innate. Something that seems to come so naturally to others yet feels unattainable. There are no 50 shades of grey. It is black and white. You either form an attachment or you don’t. You are either behind our walls or on the outside. There is no middle ground.

Abandonment. The fear of it as intense as being set on fire. Whether consciously or not, we pull people in because we don’t want to be alone and with the next breath we  push you away. We try to leave you before you can leave us. It is the only control we feel we have, and somehow we’ve convinced ourselves it will hurt less this way. We so desperately need to feel attached to someone who loves and cares for us, yet the fear of losing them, in itself, is the thing that stops us from obtaining it.

Triggers. They range from sights and scents to noises and words. Subconsciously or otherwise, they pull us back to a place where we feel unsafe. Those emotions flood us like a tidal wave, our minds full of anxiety and fear, our bodies suddenly tense. Rationally we know at that exact moment we are safe, but our mind is no longer in the present moment. It has regressed to a time of trauma, hurt and pain. Our reactions can be extreme and inappropriate, sometimes echoing our destructive patterns of the past.

Relationships. I have difficulty maintaining them, whether you are family, friends or one time co-workers. I love you, I need you, I pull you close and hold on tight, and with the snap of the fingers, I don’t need you and I push you away. I might delete your emails and texts. We react in a way you can not comprehend, simply because you do not have this illness. The fingers snap again and we are back to loving you and needing you.

BPD is an invisible illness. We do not choose this any more than someone chooses to become physically ill. I lash out when I shouldn’t. I react unsuitably to situations or comments that would not affect you. Sometimes I know why, other times the reason is still trapped in the darkness of my mind, not yet ready to come into the light. I’ll pull you in like I’m reeling in a fish from the river, and in an instant I’ll push you away, casting an empty line back into the water. I walk on eggshells. I’m so eager to please you and earn your acceptance because that is what my childhood taught me.

My illness did not come out of the blue. I did not just wake up one day suddenly full of anxiety, pain and emptiness. This has built up over years or perhaps decades, and is a result of one or numerous traumatic incidents that occurred throughout my childhood and my entire life. I cope the best I know how. Whether there is a physical scar or not, the emotional wounds that were inflicted during my developmental years have left me with a battle to fight. I struggle to quiet the voice in my head that replays the negative thoughts that were ingrained in me.

The best thing you can do for me is to remain. Simply put, don’t leave. We hope you will at least be at the same park, while we are riding the roller coaster that is BPD.

Love Through the Eyes of Borderline Personality Disorder

I’ve only been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) for a couple of years now, but I’ve known that the way I see love is very different than most for quite a while. Love and feelings are something I’ve struggled with since childhood. I feel everything strongly, give completely, love extremely. When I say I love someone, I have strong feelings. I often admire them, respect them, enjoy spending time with them and see them as so much more than I see myself. I’d risk and even sacrifice myself for the people I love and their happiness. I’d do anything, move Heaven and Earth if needed, to help out the people I love. To me, that’s what love is: unconditional companionship, care and admiration. It’s that feeling of uncontrollable smiles when you see those people happy, or indescribable pain and sadness when you see them cry. It isn’t physical attraction or sexual interest: that’s lust and completely different to me. It isn’t just blood — love knows no boundaries.
I am learning these are common struggles for people with my history and diagnosis. I think these difficulties are why I struggle with boundaries and often do or say things that don’t make sense to most people in relation to my friendships and relationships. These struggles also lead to negative responses like jealousy, rage, disappointment, rejection and heartache. I wanted to share what love looks like for me.

I love extremely

People may say I got to extreme lengths to show my love. I crave physical touch, so I hug often. I desire validation and dedication, so I frequently say, “I love you” when talking to those I love. I give gifts for anything and nothing. I will message or call my friends almost daily just to let them know I care or to check on them. Some might say I smother, and some get uncomfortable when they mistake my version of love for something else (like romantic interest). I just feel with such intensity that I sometimes cannot control my feelings or keep them inside. I also don’t understand boundaries or ambiguity, so sometimes I mistake the gestures or actions of others for love and end up caring much more for someone than they care about me.

I love unconditionally

Another part of my love deals with being ignorant of flaws. I fear abandonment and failure, so often I am willing to look past what others may consider to be unhealthy or undesirable behaviors or habits. I find myself willingly accepting giving more than I get, taking mistreatment or abuse and just letting others walk all over me. The benefit of this is that I always feel empathy and can forgive, but the negative is I have low self-worth and sometimes don’t even see there is an issue with the friendship.

I love through jealousy

Because I love with such intensity, I often find myself getting jealous. I become upset or angry when I see a picture of some of my friends on social media hanging out without even asking me or I question when I see my husband has a text message from a female co-worker. I may express this jealousy outwardly to the people I love with aggression or sadness. Usually this outward expression of jealousy serves two main purposes: to try to “prove my love” to the person and to try to manipulate the person into giving me attention.

I love through heartache

Unfortunately, a common problem for me is that I find myself in a position where relationships and/or friendships become broken and end quite frequently. I struggle to let go, I try to live in the past and I spend lots of time being heartbroken over the loss of a friendship. I’ll continue to listen to songs that remind me of the person, look at pictures of them and even sometimes try to contact them even after the friendship has ended. Even through the pain, I still love the person and can’t stop. Some may say this helps in some way, but often it leaves me hurt as I watch people move on in life without me, sometimes it leads to damaging things even further because I don’t understand boundaries or confusing signals.

I am learning through my therapy that there are flaws in my view and understanding of love. I am not saying this rationalizes or justifies my actions, but it does help me make sense of my feelings. I’m learning how to regulate my emotions, maintain healthier relationships with defined boundaries and live in the present moment. I’m hoping with time that I can continue to be passionate and love, but avoid undesirable traits that cause the instability and heartache. Isn’t that what everyone wants? To love and be loved without pain or suffering?

Bedlam, BPD and Me

It’s easy for people with Borderline Personality Disorder to feel like they are the victims of a very cruel curse. This personality disorder is often characterized by an intense fear of abandonment, unstable relationships, and impulsive behavior that ultimately drives people away. BPD makes me lash out, allowing some of the cruelest things to tumble from my mouth, and believe me, there are only so many times loved ones will forgive a lack of control. This is what it’s like to live with this horrific disorder which many uneducated on the subject suspect is “all in our minds”.

It is hard to offer a simple medical definition of BPD, but I’ve heard it brilliantly summed up as chronic irrationality. Think severe mood swings, impulsivity, instability, and a whole lot of explosive anger.

People with BPD may project symptoms that seem similar to other personality disorders, it is often confused with bipolar, depression, schizophrenia or anxiety disorders:

Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is a serious mental disorder marked by a pattern of ongoing instability in moods, behavior, self-image, and functioning. These experiences often result in impulsive actions and unstable relationships. A person with BPD may experience intense episodes of anger, depression, and anxiety that may last from only a few hours to days.

BPD sufferers may experience extreme mood swings and can display uncertainty about who they are. As a result, their interests and feelings about any recent event can change rapidly.

According to NIMH, symptoms include:

  • Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment
  • A pattern of intense and unstable relationships with family, friends, and loved ones, often swinging from extreme closeness and love (idealization) to extreme dislike or anger (devaluation)
  • Distorted and unstable self-image or sense of self
  • Impulsive and often dangerous behaviors, such as spending sprees, unsafe sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, and binge eating
  • Recurring suicidal behaviors or threats or self-harming behavior, such as cutting
  • Intense and highly changeable moods, with each episode lasting from a few hours to a few days
  • Chronic feelings of emptiness
  • Inappropriate, intense anger or problems controlling anger
  • Having stress-related paranoid thoughts
  • Having severe dissociative symptoms, such as feeling cut off from oneself, observing oneself from outside the body, or losing touch with reality.

Ordinary events may trigger these symptoms. For example persons with BPD may feel angry and distressed over minor separations, such as vacations, trips, or sudden changes of plans, from people to whom they feel close. Research shows that people with this disorder may see anger in an emotionally neutral face and have a stronger reaction to words with negative meanings than people who do not have the disorder.

I personally think it’s this erratic oscillation that makes BPD so hard to communicate, particularly to those who are close. Because on the surface, it looks like I’m just being ornery. Like all mental illness, it’s best treated with patience and empathy, unfortunately, like depression or hypomania, it places the onus on people who are not necessarily in a position to help or understand, no matter how much they may care for you. In a relationship, BPD can leave both parties feeling isolated, angry and misunderstood.

Borderline Personality Disorder sends you into spirals of self-doubt and hatred. It makes you feel like a tangled slinky, forever bumping inelegantly down a flight of stairs. You know something within you is twisted, and even once you’re told what, you are left wondering why and more importantly HOW to deal with it.

Just living or being around someone with this personality disorder can be extremely difficult and exhausting. It especially brings out my mean streak, something that both terrifies and shocks me. I’ve always had an eloquently devilish way with words, particularly profane ones, and BPD is like I have Terminator vision that highlights the chinks in EVERYONES armor, unlike my mania, which tends to make me charismatic and for the most part, a pleasure to be around. A BPD ‘turn’ or ‘moment’ morphs me into the meanest, most evil, crudest version of myself.

Due to the impulsiveness associated with people who suffer from BPD, they tend to change jobs frequently and also abruptly cut ties to people with whom they are extremely close. We sufferers have intense and sudden mood changes, and we have severe difficulty regulating our emotions. Unintentionally, we tend to blame others when we make a mistake, which makes it seem to the ones that we care about the most that we are being manipulative and cruel.

BPD can make life feel unbearable most days. Ones “good days” seem so few and far between. I call it a mirage illness, as it makes you feel like someone with no fingerprints. No face. No identity. Onlookers may be tricked into viewing you as boldly transformative, in reality, you are someone with absolute zero sense of self.

It is very hard for those with BPD to have successful and healthy relationships and stable confidence levels. Our version of ‘logical thinking’ is more often than not, overthinking. We have a very hard time distinguishing between real issues or imaginary issues. BPD is considered to be one of the more serious mental disorders, as it causes a great deal of suffering and has one of the highest risks for suicide of all mental health patients.

This is a lifelong battle that over the last couple of years I have prepared myself to fight.

I will never be cured of BPD, but I believe my disorder does not own me. This is my life, and I know it can be beautiful.

From the inside.

Peeing, Vagina Costumes and My Right To Bear Arms

I know I’m waaayyy out of line in my A-Z Challenge. I tried and I failed miserably at keeping up. Doing things on a “schedule” has never been a very strong personality trait of mine. On the other hand I’ve realized and accepted that I’m a flawed human being and I’m cool with that.

Aaahhh, P, not the letter. The urine variety. I recently noticed when some of you have me doubled over in fits of giggles with your posts and/or comments, I tell you I think I pee’d a little, I AM NOT speaking metaphorically.

I realized just how many times a day I say this and what normally causes it (for the record I change clothes in the event something like this happens. I don’t walk around pissy all day). The main causes seem to be laughing, sneezing, coughing, straining to hard when I yell FUUUCCCCKKK at the top of my lungs, hiccuping and God Forbid, I have Poot Wars: Legion of Doom with my teenagers (yes I’m the coolest mom EVER, although my kiddos would surely debate that) I might as well put on fucking Stage 47 Pampers Waddlers. If I’m straining that hard there’s DEFINITELY going to be pee involved.

This morning as I was mulling this over in my crazy mind, I had a revelation of sorts. That we woman, as a gender have so many more indignities (natural and otherwise) inflicted on our persons during the course of our lifetimes than our male counterparts.

There is menstruation, the blossoming of bosoms, Pap smears, annual gynecological visits, childbirth (hence the peeing).

Men try pushing something the same weight as a small bowling ball out of anywhere south of your belly button. Unmedicated. Then we can compare war stories.

After child bearing and rearing years comes the annual mammograms (bro’s stick your twig and berries between two flat plates and squeeze just a little to have a tiny inkling of what that’s like), because these people are not just putting a ladies breast in between those plates, those cruel fuckers are pulling back fat around front and everything.

Then comes the peeing every time you make a move and then the mother of ALL indignities, Menopause. Just because women of a certain age normally speak of this in hushed tones amongst ourselves does not mean it is to be taken lightly. Actually we huddle together and speak of it quietly because menopause is Lucifer, Māra or Iblis depending on ones beliefs. We do not want to bring this evil thing up from the fiery depths by speaking its name too loudly.

Hot flashes?!?! If you ever want to know what being roasted alive on a funeral pyre or spending at least 10-60 minutes in actual hell feels like, have one of these. Simply put, hot flashes are the devil. So by my age us women are having annual intrusions in our lady bits, boob squashings and hot flashes. If that is not enough indignities, around this time in life most women have to start having colonoscopies as well and if you are a gentleman that’s 40ish or older you are probably at least familiar with this one. So next time one of you guys is feeling icky about some “medical” procedure, just reread this blog post.

I should think that having another man softly cradling your balls and telling you to cough every so often for a physical or an after 40 occasional lubed, gloved finger gently inserted into your butthole qualifies you guys to bitch about ANYTHING ever again.

Disclaimer:

This excludes any of you fellows with legitimate medical complications or chronic health issues. I’m speaking in generalities about Mr. Everyday Joe (the ones that generally do the MOST bitching about anything medically related).

I’m not some raving, lunatic feminist as I’ve never marched in Washington, DC dressed as a giant vagina. As a matter of fact I thought that was the most idiotic shit I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Just think of the outcry if men wore hats with balls and a penis sticking off the top of them to protest something. Jesus Christ, it would be complete and utter anarchy.

Before any raving, lunatic feminists or anyone else that does not like my opinion try to attack me or mine by surrounding my home and trying to scare me by acting like a bunch of assholes let me warn you, if you are in my yard I will drop every one of you like a sack of of shit with my LTL “beanbag ammo” (don’t let the cute name fool you, anything coming out of a 12 gauge shotgun at 205 mph will make you rethink your position, quick, fast and in a hurry). For any slow learners that actually have the audacity and ignorance to break in and actually make it inside my home, it’s open season on you fuckers. My newest baby is a Smith & Wesson Model 500 X-frame revolver. For those of you that are unfamiliar with firearms this is one badass MoFo for one badass bitch that got knocked asshole over elbows the first few times at the range but has become quite accurate since. This gun is not for the faint of heart. I’m a southern girl from a long, long line of military and Law Enforcement Officers. I’ve been familiar with and shooting firearms since I was 10 years old. I’m an expert marksman and a FIRM believer in my 2nd Amendment rights as a US Citizen. So in closing for any nutjobs out there….PLEASE, PLEASE Come at me, bro!!

I apologize for straying so far from my original blog topic, but as I was voicing my opinion about the vagina costumes, I started thinking about all of the elected officials being run out of public establishments or having their homes surrounded (Tucker Carlson, with his wife and children inside) by ignorant assholes that think that there can be only one opinion. Theirs.

Hence the anger and tirade. I can assure you that no one is running my ass out of anywhere for having a fucking opinion. Corner me and my fight or flight instinct kicks in and since I weigh entirely too much to take flight, that’s ass if anyone actually makes an unauthorized entry INTO my dwelling intent on harming my family or myself.

*rant over*

Happy Thursday Y’all♥️

The BPD Monster

Those who fight ANY kind of mental illness deserve a medal. My particular form of mental illness is Borderline Personality Disorder. It is up there with the mother of all CRAZIES! It has destroyed friendships, relationships; with my children, my family and essentially my whole life.

If it were not for this wretched beast that lies coiled up inside of me where my soul is supposed to be, I could have been so much more. Done so much more. Saved so much more. I listen to my doctor. I take my correct meds. Read everything I can get my hands on in regards to it, but NOTHING, helps.

Are there truly such things as lost causes? If so I AM ONE. As I type this blog post, my vision keeps blurring at the notion of how calm and peaceful my life could have been if I were not one of the Chosen ones to spend a lifetime of suffering grievous wounds that no one can even see.

Fuck You Cancer!!

My oldest, dearest friend, Debbie is fighting Stage IV Urothelial Cancer. I’m so fucking angry. Like DEFCON-5 enraged that someone as amazing, gentle, sweet, hilarious, generous and beautiful could be struck down with this God awful piece of shit disease. I have lost family members to the big C, and it was excruciating to watch Cancer sucks the very soul out of their pain ravaged, frail bodies. By the time that they were mercifully called HOME to much deserved Glory, I was literally on my knees praying and begging for their for suffering to end. My bestie and I are the same age, both with precious brand new grandbabies whom I naively assumed that we’d watch grow up as we grew older. Fucking TOGETHER. I think part of the reason I’m so angry is because her illness is making me face my own immortality and that scares the fuck out of me and makes me want to put my psychiatrist on speed dial because the mere notion of watching someone I’ve loved as a sister since we were thirteen years old suffer so unrelentingly has my BPD on red alert as it endlessly screeches “DISASSOCIATE,” in my mind, but I will not. No matter what. I will have her back exactly as I have had it for the past 29 years.

The worthless, self serving, dog and pony show of a god damn government and literal American hating Congress needs to stop worrying about what Melania wears, what President Cheeto Tan says or what AOC and her nutjob “posse” thinks and fund the FDA with an enormous budget so that diseases like cancer, cystic fibrosis, ALS, Alzheimers, Autism, MS, Lupus, Diabetes, Heart Disease, COPD, Fibro, PTSD, Schizophrenia, Bi-Polar and Manic Depression can be eradicated. I wish this with every fiber of my being. It won’t EVER happen though because Big Pharma has Washington in its very wealthy, very deep pockets.

FDA Person #1: Hey I know tens of millions of people are dying of above mentioned diseases every single day. That’s so tragic.

FDA Person #2: Yes, it really is sad. Hey, how far along are you on that new medicine that gives 95 year old men powerful erections?!?!

What in the fucking fuck?

The following is a text conversation between my heart, Debbie, and myself.

FUCK YOU CANCER!!

A Growing American Crisis: Who Will Care for the Baby Boomers?


amp.timeinc.net/time/5529152/elderly-caregiving-baby-boomers-unpaid-caregivers-crisis

If you are currently middle aged and still lucky enough to have your now elderly parents and loved ones and are watching them reluctantly wander into their golden years but aren’t a hundred percent sure what they are so concerned about, read this article that explains exactly why.

Not only are the statistics in this article spot on, they are also terrifying. I’ve been teasing my parents for years because although they are upper middle class, they are two of the most frugal, tight fisted people I’ve ever seen. Perhaps they have been concerned about this looming crisis for years and I’m only just seeing it on the horizon. When I read this article, I was absolutely flabbergasted at the turnover rate of low wage caregivers. I shouldn’t be surprised. My husband works at a long term care facility and he reinforced what I read about the turnover rate of minimum wage caretakers.

As for the government kicking the can down the road. What a fucking shocker!! Everyone in Washington sits idly by finger popping their assholes on Capitol Hill until things that could have been planned for and handled turn into a crisis of such proportions that there is very little that can be done.

Well Senators and Congresspeople here’s an idea: all of that money you want to spend on Medicaid for all, free tuition, free cell phones, free housing, etc., take three quarters of it and dedicate half to Veterans, law enforcement and teachers and the other half to providing for our new senior population that always took care of us.

You assholes would rather give EVERYTHING away for free. Stop giving food stamps and welfare to young able bodied younger people who can work but just won’t. Put some restrictions on that shit. Random drug tests for recipients would be a nice start. Also after ones 8th child with no income, no employment and no desire to be employed, benefits should be slashed if not stopped. So many people are allowed to abuse the system that the ones that truly need the help fall through the cracks and get fucked, fucked, fucked.

Unlike what the dipshits in Washington may think and want to convince Americans is a wonderful idea, uber taxing high incomes, or even taxing the middle class at the current tax rate would not be necessary if the hundreds of thousands of lazy, good for nothing, shiftless fucks would actually go to work and could also be taxed, the problem would almost fix itself within a generation or two.

I’m 47 years old and for the most part, except for that one assault charge in my twenties (but he deserved it) have been a tax paying, law abiding citizen. I’m sick and so tired of getting the short end of the stick because I try to do what’s right and the people that NEVER do what’s right are rewarded for it. It makes me so angry I want to go bitch slap a random millennial, with their give me, give me, give me, shitty attitudes and expectations.

It seems like society is headed for an everyone for themselves crisis to me.

Go ahead sheeple. Trust the government.

Vietnam Veterans: America’s Unappreciated Heroes

I’ve recently been advised by a couple of my dearest followers in my blogging family to write more things that are controversial or things that I’m passionate about. Mainly because I have strong opinions and because of that I write with raw, genuine emotion. One controversial thing that I am passionate about is the Vietnam War and it’s impact on veterans like my father. Who has by Gods grace reached what should be his golden years. My father is a disabled veteran with severe undiagnosed PTSD. Men of that generation tended to be macho men who seldom went to a doctor for anything much less something of a psychological nature.

The first time I realized that my Dad “wasn’t right” I was eleven years old and was awoke by my fathers bloodcurdling screams of “Get down, get down goddamn it!” As I sat up in my bed terrified and half awake I was unsure of whether I was still sleeping and having a nightmare or if this particular nightmare was one of a more literal sense. I soon realized that this nightmare was all too real as I heard my mother say, “Wade, get off of me honey, it was just a bad dream. We are at home in our bedroom. Safe,” then her voice faded off to just soft soothing words and sounds. Many years later as an adult my mother confided in me that Daddy had thrown her on the floor and covered her body with his many times in his first decade home from Vietnam. She said the first year or two were the worst when this same scenario happened at least every couple of days due to my fathers night terrors of still being in combat under enemy fire.

The United States government failed to make good on its promises to those who served in this War. It failed them in every way imaginable. Available GI benefits for those returning home from Vietnam were nearly nonexistent. As if having your government send you off to a war that wasn’t ours then cruelly turn it’s back on the lucky ones who came home outside of a body bag was not enough of a slap in the face to the soldiers who fought and died for our country. More insult was heaped onto injury by prospective employers, as the time came for said veterans to integrate back into society by obtaining civilian employment and were met with thinly veiled disgust.

These young returning soldiers were not looking for a ticker tape parade or a hand out. They were only looking for basic human support and help in readjusting to civilian life after this extremely brutal and long war.

The Vietnam War claimed the lives of more than 58,000 American service members and wounded more than 150,000 more.

My dad upon his return was spit on, jumped by a mob of angry anti-war protesters and was the object of ridicule and disdain. Why? Because he loved his country unconditionally and would have done anything to keep her safe and free. That included taking extra classes in high school so that he could graduate a year early. At barely seventeen years old and having to have his mothers consent enlisted to go to a foreign land to fight the good fight for a cause that wasn’t America’s fight to begin with.

It is now almost fifty years later. My once strapping, strong manly father is a shell of his former self. He is VA determined 100% disabled because he has gone blind. There are thousands more veterans of this particular war with the exact same issues as my father. The government is finally, just recently admitting that his blindness and a multitude of other health related problems of he and his fellow veterans were due to American forces spraying the dense jungles of Cambodia with Agent Orange to kill the vegetation with no thought to all of the troops on the ground being covered with it. If you don’t know what Agent Orange is, look it up. Today’s equivalent would be spraying yourself from head to toe with Round-Up weed killer on a regular basis for an extended period of time.

I can not even imagine in my worst nightmares, and I’ve had some doozies, what these soldiers endured, not only abroad but also the atrocities that they suffered at the actions and the hateful words of ungrateful, ignorant, piece of shit human beings upon their return.

Today I see far too many parallels between the anti-war hippies of that era and the far left, radical millennials of today. We have raised yet another generation of violent, ungrateful, self centered assholes. I say we, because it is mainly my generation that raised them. Although my two children are of millennial age, neither of them have a millennial bone in their bodies. I’d like to think it was because they were raised with discipline, integrity and being able to realize when they were wrong or perhaps wronged another in any way to take accountability for their actions. Children like mine, through fate who were born into this shitty generation are the exception. I am extremely lucky and certainly blessed that I was able to raise such empathetic, loving, independent thinking, young adults as my beautiful daughter and son are.

To all of our remaining Vietnam Veterans and their families, although words seem completely insignificant in relation to what each of you endured, from the bottom of my heart thank you.

I’d also like to apologize on behalf of a nation that did not give a shit about you. I’m so very sorry for your treatment by the same fucked up government that sent you there and the citizens who did not appreciate your many sacrifices. Ones that the United States Federal Government wrote the check out for and made all of you pay for it with your sanity, limbs and 58,000 service members who paid the ultimate price with their lives. Lady Liberty weeps for you, and so do I.

We’re All Going To Hell and Our Elected Officials Are Driving The Bus

As I’ve watched this dog and pony shitshow of a federal government shutdown, I’ve had a sudden epiphany. I don’t know why I could not see this clearly before as I am well versed on politics and have voted in every national, state and local race since I turned eighteen years old. I suppose it’s because the older generation (i.e. my parents) have had my psyche held hostage to the false assumption that EVERYTHING that is wrong in government is the opposite parties fault. I’m actually a bit embarrassed that it took me this long, and have had to have this much therapy to think for myself.

None of these politicians have the well being and best interests of Joe/Jane American concerning them. What is concerning them are the mega-pac super donors and big spenders on their campaigns and THEIR special interests. It’s nauseating. I am unapologetically a Trump voter. I can not continue to say supporter because he’s just as bad as the rest of them. The main reason I voted for him was because the status quo was obviously not working anymore so I thought that perhaps some radical change would be the answer. Granted the POTUS is a misogynistic, homophobic, pussy grabbing animal….but hell, who am I to judge. Besides Bill Clinton got sucked off IN the Oval Office and bricked all over Monica’s fancy blue dress, so what’s a paid off porn star and a little pussy grabbing among consenting adults?!?

I digress, though. He, as it turns out is just as smarmy and full of shit as all of the rest of those self serving asshats. We’re all going to hell and the Cheeto colored fuck, Lying Hilary, Nancy P. and that simpering cocksucker Chuck are driving the bus!!

Yoga Pants: A Blessing or a Curse

Ahhhhh, the almighty yoga pants. What can I say, I’ve owned and worn hundreds of different pairs in hundreds of different sizes. I like to think of them as my pajama clothes, because most of the time my Fibromyalgia won’t allow any other material to get near my skin. EVERYONE loves a pair of yoga pants, therein lies the problem….as my dear old Gran used to say, “Just because it comes in your size doesn’t mean you should wear it.” Boy was that woman on fleek about that subject.

I’ve been small, I’ve been large and every size in between, and the most difficult decision a woman will ever have to make is deciding that her yoga pants are just NOT flattering anymore and that the time has come to move on to sweatpants.

Now I know you young hot bodied thangs think for the most part that yoga pants are God’s gift to mankind, but let me let you in on a little secret, sisters, camel toes are not flattering on anyone. Ever. Period.

For Pete’s sake will someone feed that thing, it’s so hungry it’s eating her yoga pants!!

Thank you my pretties for listening to my rant for the day😂

TTFN💕💕💕💕

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.