O Happy Day

Look who’s happy. And can you guess why? No, because I haven’t been blogging. I’ve been so busy, and focused lately. Last month’s goal was to take it easy, one day at a time. And I did, and I wish I could keep doing that forever. But, I  consciously know I am truly a mental baby, but its been waaay overdue for me to make some growth in progress. And I did! I don’t drink more than a beer at work. I work almost 4 days a week or until i reach my acceptable financial goal. (Honestly if you can’t triple a day job in less hours, get a day job). I also went to driving school, and received my license without displaying my boobs in a tight low cut top. (Seriously I wore a hoodie). Though I probably passed because I’m a hottie. Lol jokes.. Anyway, the biggest reason why I’m happy is I learned something new at church (next post). And the next biggest reason is me and Pancho are moving! The freedom to be naked all day, and take 4hr baths will soon be in effect.

Moving day this weekend, haven’t told anyone yet. Not even the douchebag we are leasing the room out of the duplex now. He will find out when our shit is gone. He pays the rent two weeks late anyway. I’m not a tidy person but as a woman the bathroom and kitchen are my sanctuary. Not that I keep either place holy, but you get what I mean. And he’s always leaving a mess in the kitchen everywhere for dayssss! You’d think it was a huge 3 day frat party every weekend, and then find out its just a 50 yr. old alcoholic Mexican addicted to Rock n Roll. I’ve seen prostitutes welcomed. And cucarachas as well. I don’t do roaches. Yes, I’m from the District of Columbia but I was raised in Maryland. Roaches only exist in school cafeterias.


I’m still with my boyfriend so this will be the first Christmas in five years that i won’t be at work or be alone. Not that being alone is a terrible thing. Being alone taught me to love myself or at least try. Every night I think to myself how blessed I am. Even when it seems like I’m not loving myself, I’m loving life. I’m writing down plans for tomorrow, next week, next month, and even five months away!

Don’t know if its the weather, but ambition is burning inside of me to do more. So I’m taking advantage of it while I can, while passion still exist. I got my first credit card this month! Hoorah for me! Now I can rent a car til I can afford my dream Range Rover. Un día, un día. I’ve been trying to obtain my license for two years. So laugh if you want but this was not any easy task. I hit a parked car the day before my test. (And yes the owner of that vehicle was informed and paid for the invisible damages).

In a few weeks, I will kidnap my boyfriend to see my place of serenity. (Kidnap because I’m driving ha ha). I’m kind of nervous because some parts of Florida are like my “spot.” Everyone has a place they go to get away from everything and everyone. There’s never a time when my mind is not thinking except at the beach. Its like my thoughts are crashed by every incoming tide. Instead of becoming frustrated, I stare at the waves, grip a fistful of sand squeeze and repeat. And repeat until my thoughts are only the sound the next wave brings. The ripples changing the rhythm of the my mood. From summertime sadness to an overall peace to loving God’s creations to gratefulness in living another day I had earlier wanted to curse. O happy day please come again tomorrow. Goodnight



Tranquila. Breathe. Smile. Smh

I try to avoid looking people in the eye when I’m on the streets. They think if you look them in the eye, even for a mere second you want to tell them how your day went, or want to talk about the weather, and other nonchalant blabber. But today I don’t feel like being polite, or playing nice. A car slowly pulls up next to me. “You too pretty not to smile,” somebody from the car says. I didn’t respond or look over. The car drove off.


Too pretty not to smile? What the fuck does that mean. I felt like yelling, “bitch pay me!” Then maybe I’ll smile.

I feel like I’m just existing. And that’s nothing to smile about. I’m going back to work this month. That’s nothing to smile about either. But I need the “just in case” money. Just in case I’m not happy. Pancho makes me happy but there’s always a part of me that says I’m strong, and I take care of myself, and that’s the way it’s supposed to be. I don’t think I would run from my boyfriend but I know I’m a runner. When things don’t change right away you just run, and things automatically change. And right now I want a whole lot of changes and I don’t have a a lot of patience. He knows it too.

I know I can calm down if I just get to the beach again. The nights are getting cool here like Atlanta in the winter. I don’t do good in the winter. Last winter depression kept me out of work and I was stuck in Atlanta til New Year’s. I wanted to hang myself, literally. I ended up just choking myself every thirty seconds.

My boyfriend and my nurse think going to Western Physic. is where I really need to go but I’m scared they will never let me out. Plus I’m not crazy. And don’t laugh. I’m just like everybody else. Sure, I’m having a hard time just like anyone else. I’m tired like anybody else. Unlike everybody else, I just don’t grab a beer after work. Or look on the bright side. I just don’t get high to numb how I really feel. I see reality and I half blame my mother, I scream at God, I cry to myself, and I mock my boyfriend every time he says tranquila. Tranquila. Tranquila my ass! . That’s the difference between me and everybody else. I know what I see, and life sucks. And it will be a daily fight to stop it from sucking.  And that’s the future for me because I know myself.  I’m not crazy. I just need to get to the beach.

Time wasted on smiles and frowns

If I can’t “save” nobody,  nobody can save me. I give up. This battle only has one end. Everyone bites the dust. Don’t dress me up.  Don’t waste any flowers. Just check a few times to make sure I’m really gone, then throw me in the ground. I don’t need a tombstone with my name on it. I never understood how someone’s name could be meaningful without a definition. Names seem like a way to take credit from the Creator. We should be named by our actions. My actions are spontaneous. I’m unpredictable to myself. I should have been named Chaos.


Sighs* I am chaos..so is the world beneath the weave extensions.
I’ve been brave. I’ve been strong.  I’ve smiled. I’ve frowned. I’ve cryed and cried. Sometimes there’s a why, most times not so often. I’ve laughed. And boy, did I scream. I know fear. I know love. I know what it’s not. I know hate. I know when it’s evilest form. I used to hate this fight. But now I don’t. Because at the end of the day, it’s the same as yours. “It’s all about smiles and frowns. That’s all you have.”

And time. So much fucking time! All this damn time, everyone’s in your face cooing, waiting for you to speak and you keep on smiling and frowning. You speak, then are told to hush. Time to learn when to speak.  So you question everything and everyone until you are scorned. After over 13 school years, you find out some answers take years to find. So you spend a pretty penny in a college education, just to find out “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know!” Does anyone calculate the cost, I mean time, Never mind- because time builds character. Character that people will treat as a weakness. So overtime you try to conjure a facade to protect yourself from worthless pieces of shit. Then you eagerly take that mask off when you fall in love, and just as quickly heartbreak has you face covered in despair. In love, out of love. In love, out of love. Repeat. Til you take time to love and “find yourself.” Then you find out your feelings run you in circles. And in time, ambition runs you farther. So you spend time focusing on your future. Maybe alone. Maybe with someone you met when you “found” yourself. Then you live your life smiling and frowning until you die. Thee end. I hate to break it to you but if you cut all the bull crap, you done just smiled and frowned your whole damn life! This philosophy was brought to you in part my psychotic brain and “Training Day.” If you thought this post was a waste of time, good. Stop reading.


I’m serious. (Extra spaces Serious.)

Leave my page with your fucking happy ass.

But hey, if your smiling like I know my nurse is, who is somewhere in a clinic taking a break from people like me, reading this right now. You know this is more than a blog. You know this post just saved my life. Well, whadda-you-know, I just saved my life.  🙂

If I Was Drugged I Still Hate Myself

I’m annoyed to have to write this, but it’s part of my story and it’s the truth. The truth should instantly change people. But it doesn’t. Time always shows the proof of that. The truth has reeled in my head time and time again, and I won’t do it to myself today. Today is a new day. I’m tired of being a victim, and today I will not be subjected to my mind. So I will state the truth plainly to not arouse my mind.


Three or so weeks ago, I was heavily intoxicated working in the club, I felt and spoke of things getting a little  blurry. My customer goes to the bar. My memory is blurry, he is telling someone he wants a champagne room with me. He moves quickly to the lobby. I remember this because my customers usually walk behind me. And there was a tiny step by the bar, and I was angry he didn’t take my hand. My thoughts were floating question marks. Why does he want to do a room? Why is he checking which room he wants? Doesn’t he know how this is going to end? My mind answered back, it’s a room, take the money. None of the cameras work anyway. You’re in control. Let him be disappointed a second time.

I remember the first time we did a room. It was close to a year ago.He was in the lobby. VIP came to me to let me know he was ready to do a room. I remember wondering why he hadn’t told me himself. We sit across from each other. He says “I want in.” He continues about how he has money and for me to name  the price. I say I have no price. It’s not my thing. I don’t have sex. Unconcerned he questions whether someone did something to me, and that someone is going to get it sooner or later. “I want in. I’m not going to wait forever.” I repeat myself. The room is over in ten minutes. The VIP guy is even surprised and says so. He responds, “We skipped to the good part.”

Currently my chest is starting to hurt, but I’ve prolonged writing this so I’m going to skip to the facts.

my clothes came off
he ordered two shots, two club sodas
I am in a position where his weight is over me on the couch
he chokes me
he starts saying some dominatrix shit
he kissed me
I bite his cheek hard
he’s mad he goes to the bathroom saying I don’t think this is going to work.
These events are floating, I am floating and I’m feeling like- something is not right
I go to the bathroom, lean over the toilet.
Somehow my room is over. VIP gives me blue money while I’m still in the room.

My customer requests more time, I say I have to go to the dressing room. Something is not right. But I make it to the dressing room. Im in the bathroom stall. Then my face feels the coolness of the bathroom floor. I hear voices. Then I’m out.


Four hours later, I’m still in the dressing room. I regain some consciousness and then I’m throwing up, til I’m repeatedly dry heaving, crying over and over. Stating over and over that “something is not right. I think I was drugged.” An angel is telling me “Yes, I know. You aren’t yourself today. It’s okay.” I keep crying and tell that angel to go back downstairs and make her money. She smiles because she hears me returning. Then she eventually leaves. I think about what wasn’t right. Sure I had a few drinks but the part that was off was I had felt no emotion. No emotion when I was kissed, or even choked. My bite didn’t hold anger it was a response. I couldn’t move my arms. All I had was my mouth. I get dressed and call a cab. I save my fears, and anger, and sadness for my shower. My boyfriend bathes me as I sit in the bathtub crying while the shower ran. Soup nor water would stay in my stomach all morning. I had panic attacks every day throughout the day for a week. It was annoying, because I didn’t want to look crazy losing my head in public. So I stopped leaving the house. My boyfriend stayed home with me for more than a week.

I would like to say I’m getting better. I would like to say I quit drinking. I like to say I quit my job. Truth is, I’m laying in bed at 2p.m. not washed, eating Papa John’s, waiting for my boyfriend to get off so I can get up, cook, watch a movie, have a beer, and do it again tomorrow.

I’ve been to work once since the incident. Why go back? I’m scared of having nothing again. No purpose. No money. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It’s like a light should be coming on that stripping is a small chapter in my life. But I keep trying to make it longer, or worth it. And now seeing the end is like seeing the end of pricetag dreams. That day should have been a wake-up call, not a death notice. Yet I keep seeing myself die in this room every day. Though this is easiest way emotions can be balanced and my mind can be at peace. It is what it is. I can’t change how everything is affecting me. Only time can do that. And only time will tell.

Alcohol + Reality= Emotional Drowning


I gave my best, it wasn’t enough
You get upset, we argue too much
We made a mess of what used to be love.
So why do I care, I care at all, at all, at all, at all

Going nowhere fast. We’ve reached the climax.
Were together now we’re undone.
Won’t commit so we choose to run away.
Do we separate?
Don’t wanna give in so we both gave up.
Can’t take it back. It’s too late.
We’ve reached the climax, climax.

The deepest Usher lyrics drown me…

Drugs? Wrong Answer.

I blog when I’m alone, and to no surprise I’m alone again. It’s been awhile but it is a familiar place. A place I used to find security in my own world. Now I find my head disturbing. The silence annoying, and thoughts that carry no weight of emotion, just a general sadness, what the hell…


I started taking citalopram over a week ago. It’s hard to sleep, especially when you have to keep running to the bathroom for “the runs.” So I took off of work, let my body adjust to the new medication. I started eating pizza and foods to make me constipated, since the medicine wanted to act like a laxative. 

Everything was fine until three days ago, I felt more alert in paranoia especially at night. I kept thinking about the windows in the kitchen. Everyday our neighbor open them and every night I close them out of privacy. Now I don’t even want to walk past them at all.

I’m losing energy, I don’t even dance two hours a day anymore for the fun of it. I haven’t got out of bed today and it’s 7:04pm. Since I haven’t been to work, I’ve been saddened at the fact I can’t shop online, and have to envy pretty things on Instagram.


My companion cut his arm up pretty bad last week and stayed home watching movies with me. We’d leave out for 3 hours to get food or more movies, unknowingly til yesterday. Yesterday I felt depression hit me right in the face. I wanted to be alone and let it swallow me in. Fighting takes too much effort sometimes. Let it run its course and it might give you a break to inhale and when it does, get back up. I’ve been inhaling all day, and I’ve only got up to pee. I’ve got my four necessities beside me: Cookies,  lip gloss, water, phone. I shoved two Sandies cookies down my throat this morning. I haven’t ate all day, not because I’m not hungry, but because I just don’t feel like it. The mind is a powerful thing. I didn’t fail, the drug did. My mind tries to convince me that I have failed, when I really just begun. And tomorrow, I will try again.

Who the Fuck Cares

I moved in with my companion shortly after my return from Jersey. It wasn’t planned. For a city so unpopular, the whole city of Pittsburgh would be booked almost every few days for concert this or festival that. Hotel hopping can not be done here. I tried to stay at the Days Inn on the weekdays and the Holiday Inn on the weekends. I paid every morning and had my favorite rooms. But when an event was going on, even the $300 hotels were booked.


One weekend with my new companion turned into a 3 months stay. It was rough at first. I am so bossy, selfish and bitter in the mornings not even a Snickers could fix me. And I’ve tried! My afternoon starts with a fourLoko and a Black n Mild lest I’m at work, then I start with shots. Anyway, this in-between time before I become a drunken nuisance which seems to always be the result, this in-between time I am me from 2009. I am 18 again. My best friend is from Brooklyn, NY. Everyone thinks I act 12, I’m stupid and I’m high. But I’m just “green,” a virgin with a 3.8 GPA whose hypermania makes her emotions extremely intense. I’m bubbly, spontaneous, and ready to awaken every man old at heart to remember their youth. Remember the innocence, freedom and carelessness. You pray the feeling is contagious. Even if you never had that childhood, in this moment you escape into what some call “false sense of reality” but what I call happiness.  O it’s so so insane, when I’m up there I fill like I just
want to stay forever. So I take another sip or a shot. Another sip, another shot. Another slow sip, another suddenly angry shot. And whether I like it or not, I’m leaving that space.

My eyes are closed, I try to focus on the music. Focus on the music and stay there. Then at some point I do what I’m afraid to do. I look around and remember where I’m at. I’m not in Vera Wang gown, I’m in a stripper dress. I can’t wear this dress anywhere else. These people are not my friends, they will not remember me. We are all in our own bubble of joy. If we remember one another, it won’t be for anything “great.”  Why am I always fighting to be remembered. Wherever I’m at when I open my eyes, its all the same. The truth screams harshly, I can’t live like this. I’m screaming now. I’m worth more than this. Bastard wouldn’t tip me because I didn’t kiss him. I hate this shit. It will never be enough money. I want to live by the beach. Nobody cares. Nobody ever does. The same speech over and over. Only now I’m in front of my companion, who was just moments ago laying in bed at 3:30 a.m. and is now silently smoking a cigarette on the edge of the bed. He’s probably wondering how can she be so beautiful and yet so ugly? How can she be so full of life, yet so quick to dead everything? I used to ask myself these questions but who the fuck cares. I am who I am and this is apart of me. I can’t be mad over what I can’t change.


But he can. And one night, he did. He cut my speech short, and screamed himself, “What’s wrong with you. You used to be confident. All you care about is money. You still made alot of money. I’m tired of this shit.  You need help!” He never yells or gets short with me. I think I was more hurt that at his face when he said I needed help, whatever it was, the next day I went to see the nurse.

I never like the words LOVE because people treat them like just words. But, I’m touched that my companion, really loves me more than I love myself. It’s scary.  Now when I give my speeches, and I get to the part No one cares, we look at each other, laugh at how we know I’m having a bipolar moment, laugh at how we both know its not true. Not anymore. The day I saw the nurse, I brought home a cake. I didn’t say, I love you. I didn’t say, I’m sorry. Without speaking, in more ways than one, he knew I cared.