Bitch, please go fuck yourself with a cactus.
When I left my most recent ex, I had initially decided that I wasn't going to waste another moment speaking of, or even thinking about his worthless ass, and just be the better person. After healing from his triflin' bullshit, I think it's only fair that people should know what sort of monster opened my eyes to just how shitty people can be and why I have the "Fuck you" mentality when it comes to men. So, here you go...
Our little love story started a ways back and in the beginning it was everything I was looking for. He was adventurous and fun. I loved the way he looked at me and how his face would light up when he saw me. You know, the typical lovey-dovey shit. Then things got weird. He started snooping through my phone and Facebook, reading my emails and rummaging through my shit. I had nothing to hide, I'm an honest partner. I'm not the jealous type, so at first I just laughed it off, but then he decided he needed to start dictating who I was friends with, and who I was talking to. Uhhh, no... Naturally, I got annoyed and a little pissed that he was being so distrustful, so I went through his shit, too. I found a few little things, but he had excuses for all of them, and to be honest, what's the point of worrying about it? If a dude wants to step out on me, I will show him the way. I'm secure enough to know how badass of a woman I am and if you won't appreciate me, guess what? There's plenty of dicks out there just chomping at the bit and waiting for you to fuck up, in hopes that they can have a shot at this ass. Holla!
Anyways, at the start, he had told me about this whore he used to date that was so obsessed with him she had tattooed the day they met on her arm. He said she just wouldn't leave him alone. She would call and text him all the time and "randomly" pop in at places he would be. He claimed that he had asked her to stop because we were together, and blah, blah, blah. I dealt with her calls and antics for about 5 months before I was ready to snap the tramp's neck. She wasn't taking the hint and I had told him many times he needed to handle the situation, or I would. One evening she text him when he was with me, so I called her from his phone and nicely told her to fuck off. She was being pathetic and needed to move on. Hahahaha, joke was on me. Secretly, they were still fucking, and I was so naive I didn't see it. He wasn't telling her to leave him alone, he was having his backburner bitch for an afternoon snack and then bringing his dirty dick home to me every night so I could wash his crusty underwear, tainted with her rotten pussy remnants. I can't even begin to tell you how DISGUSTED I feel. Of course, I knew none of this, and for two years I put up with his mind-fucking, all the while wondering where I was failing and why I couldn't make him happy. Hindsight is a motherfucker. To think, our relationship could have been so much better if I had just kept a dick on dial all along. If I had known that he felt it was justifiable behavior to text "I miss you" and talk horribly about your partner to someone always at your beck and call, then go fuck them at leisure, don't you think I'd have been a little more cheery? I'd have been riding all sorts of dicks. Fucking jerk.
I finally packed up my car and left his repulsive ass the night we were supposed to celebrate our second anniversary. That was the BEST thing I have ever done for myself. Liberated at last! I got myself a house and tried to live as though he was dead. I blocked his calls and texts through my phone company and on all social media. I was determined to move on.
It worked for a few weeks, but he's a persistent dude and after countless emails and drive-by attempts I gave in and talked to him. It started again. This time it was different, though. I wasn't emotionally into him like I'd been before. I just wanted to bang him and get my own gratification. To be honest, new dick can be scary when you're fresh out of a relationship that tears you down, so he became my backburner bitch. Keep in mind, I still didn't know he had been screwing the horse-faced trollop all along. Fast forward a few weeks, and I caught him up in some lies and that's when I knew. To be truthful, I always knew, I felt it. It's one thing to suspect, but when you have confirmation, it will crush you. This whole time he had been begging me to take him back, he was lying through his teeth. He had moved her in the weekend after I moved out. He had even taken her to Thanksgiving dinner after I declined his invite. It's funny really, because she and I swapped roles. She now had the pleasure of washing my juices off of his clothes and got to deal with his constant negativity. I just got dicked down at my leisure and could send him on his way. In reality, he was now cheating on her, with me. That's some serious Jerry Springer shit, and I'm just not down with that.
I'd call you a cunt, but let's be honest, you don't have the depth or the warmth.
The inevitable finally happened recently, and I had the pleasure of seeing the two of them together for the first time at a place he and I shared a good chunk of our time. I can honestly say, the moment I saw them, I felt nothing negative. No sadness. No anger. No jealousy. I felt good. Damn good. The look that came across her face did nothing more than make me smile and put a little more pep in my step while holding my head high. I watched as sheer panic flooded that ratchet face. Ohhhh Skankenstein, I'd be worried about my man too, if I were you, because when you begin your relationship as the other woman, you will never be the only woman. True talk.
She must have made a stink about my presence, because dipshit eventually came up to me and said some crap about it being awkward and yadda, yadda. Dickface was obviously just feeling guilty because he got caught up. Just a few days ago he was trying to get me to go looking for morels with him and go to dinner, while telling me he just uses her for her money and to help fix up his shack. He feared I would tell her that he still refers to me as "his woman" and tells me that he plans to marry me when I finally stop being so angry and stubborn. Hysterical, right?! I don't even want to be your friend, so what makes you think I'd ever want to marry you? Obviously homeboy is not only a narcissist, but also delusional. I'm not going to tell her a damn thing, she can figure it out on her own. I prefer to just sit back and chuckle.
Please understand this:
I will never willingly stoop to the level Skankenstein did and be someone's backburner bitch or side chick. I have self respect and dignity. It's not my fault he believes we have some "magical soulmate" shit between us and he "can't live without me in his life". I'm not sorry that my insides feel better than hers and he has to tenderize his meat to the naughty pics he has of me on his phone to feel satisfied. I'm a better woman in every fucking aspect, so I'm not surprised when he tells me these things. Those lines may have worked on a pathetic, lesser woman, but not this gal. Maneaters don't share, honey. We get our fill and then we upgrade and let what comes around, go around. I genuinely hope he knocks her ugly ass up and they have the dumbest, most hideous offspring imaginable. That would be the absolute best Karma I could hope for.
Thanks for not aborting me, egg donor.
Since Mother's day was this week, I feel it's only appropriate to give a shout-out to my mother, although she will probably never read this. I haven't spoken to her in well over two years, and most likely that streak will only continue. I cut her out of my life because she's a train wreck and sometimes in life you just have to let go of toxic people. I will always love her, but she's just too fucked up as a person to have a relationship with.
Come take a trip down memory lane with me...
My parents met in juvenile when they were 16 and 17. Match made in Hell. They were married the next year, and I was born a few months later. To say my mom wasn't ready to be a parent is an understatement. She was young, and she loved to party. I spent the majority of my time with my grannies and aunts while my parents continued to get fucked up and wreak havoc on the world. Once, mom was so high leaving K-Mart she apparently forgot that she had a 4 month old baby and left me in a shopping cart in the parking lot and went off to her party. Mom of the millennium!
My folks fought a lot, and from what I know, my dad was a bit of an asshole. They were split up by my 3rd birthday, and I just bounced back and forth between whomever had time for me. I went weeks without seeing either of them and when I did see my mom, she was too wrapped up in her own shit to really be a mother. I was like that little baby bird in the Dr. Suess book asking everyone "Are you my mother?" Luckily, my aunt never minded being my mama and I will forever be grateful of her love and generosity.
The summer after I turned four, I remember sitting on my grandma's couch and my aunt answering the phone and immediately looking at me as tears streamed down her cheeks. I knew it was something terrible before she even said a word. My cousin had found my dad in his bedroom, with his brains splattered across the walls. He was 22, and strung out on all sorts of dope. He was a coward. When my mom found out, I can only imagine it broke her heart. She loved my dad and I could always see the heartache in her eyes when I would ask her about him as I grew up. He fucked her up and she was never the same.
My grandma had custody of me when all this took place, and my mom was shacked up with the dude that is now her current husband. We'll call him "Craig". She had made it clear she didn't have time for me, that is until she realized that my grandma was getting social security money for me from my dad's passing. Cash money, muthafucka! She fought with my granny until she eventually gave in, and I ended up moving in with my mom and her abusive boyfriend.
Mom worked at Wendy's for a while, and then a dry cleaners. Craig didn't hold a job, he just smoked a lot of pot and sold dope. Way to pick a fucking winner, mom. This little charade lasted about a year before my mom started getting reported for child abuse and neglect. She hadn't even enrolled me in kindergarten when I was supposed to start school. I just stayed at home alone eating ketchup and sugar packets while my mom worked and her dipshit went out and partied. Social workers came and inspected our trailer, and found that I was malnourished and neglected, so the state took me away and put me in foster homes.
I did the foster home thing for almost two years, and in the meantime my mom was supposed to be getting her shit together. She earned her custody back and I got to move back into the trailer. She really fooled them! She was still partying and getting high. Craig was regularly beating her ass, so that was a fun, new element for me to learn. I would hear him punching her and slamming her head into the walls and I would scream and cry for him to stop and try to get in between them. He didn't like that, so then I got my ass beat too. My behavior also earned a lock on the outside of my bedroom door, so the majority of my days I was locked in unless he was gone or I had a bathroom break. Life was fucking tough, I'm not going to lie. I was unbearably shy, and always felt like everyone knew how fucked up my home life was. I was in first grade, and completely humiliated when my mom would pick me up from school with a fresh wallop on her cheek or a fat lip. I knew it was going to be another night of sliding my empty dinner plate under my bedroom door and holding my pee until my bedtime bathroom break.
The week of Christmas in 1991 I recall them having a couple over, and they all got coked out and wasted. Mom and her boyfriend got into a fight and he started smacking her around in front of their company. The other guy tried to defend my mom and Craig pulled a gun on him and made them leave. I then listened to my mom getting her ribs broken, and her face punched in for hours. He finally passed out and she came to me a bloody, beaten mess, and just cried as she held me. I remember waking to hearing him yelling again, and my mom crying some more. I watched as he threw her down in the hallway in front of my bedroom door and kicked her in her ribs and vagina until she bled. He had kicked her so hard, so many times, that he broke her pelvis and pubic bones. Her face was so swollen and bruised she was unrecognizable. After he satisfied his rage, he got high and left. I thought my mom was going to die right there on the floor. I panicked and ran to a neighbor's house and she called 911. We went to the hospital and mom pressed charges. On Christmas eve, we left most of our belongings behind, and secretly moved in with my grandma. I thought life was going to get easier.
Mom got us a place a few months later, right next door to my aunt. Mom dated a few guys, and some of them were nice enough to buy me a Barbie occasionally. Craig found out where we had moved, and got a job a block down the street from us and started putting his charms on. Of course. she took him back and he moved right in. He was nicer than he had been, at first, and he would pretend to give a shit about what I had to say. Once he won me over, he became the same dick he'd always been. He started slapping her around and got her hooked on meth. I decided It would be a good idea to just pack a bag, and run away. So, that's exactly what I did one Friday after school. I ran miles and miles all the way to one of my old foster homes. I repeated this behavior many times, perhaps in hopes of it actually making a difference. As a teen, my state juvenile file classified me as a high risk for being a runaway. Well, no shit!
Years passed, and we eventually moved into a bigger house and they both seemed happier. They fought less, and they even started making enough money selling drugs that my mom didn't have to work anymore. Livin' the dream! That dream came to a crashing halt one March evening a couple weeks after my 13th birthday. The ATF and SWAT kicked in our front door, and busted my parents for a growing operation and meth lab. I was getting ready for a slumber party. Instead, I got to sit in the backseat of a squad car as all of our things were being rummaged through and Carlton Houston from Channel 9 reported the most recent meth lab bust on the 10:00 news. Needless to say, the Monday following was the most embarrassing day of school in all of 6th grade.
After a few months, we moved to a new town, and I started at a new school. I made new friends and tried hard to hide just how fucked up my life was from them. I never had bothered with that task before, everyone already knew. Craig went to jail for a bit, and mom went nuts from going through withdrawals and my grandpa passing from Cancer. We fought constantly and I began to understand how pathetic she really was as a woman. I had lost respect for her and had really begun to resent her. When Craig got out of jail, he started drinking Wild Turkey heavily to cope with his withdrawals, and he'd get mean. They did their dance like they'd always done, and she'd just take his shit. When he'd get done smacking her around, she'd be pissed off, and take it out on me. I never so badly wanted to kill two people in my life, as I did then. It was a sick cycle.
At 14 I ended up back in foster homes because my friends had finally seen me come to school fucked up one too many times, so they went to the school counselor and principal. I spent a week in Juvenile while the state decided what to do with me, and I ended up moving back in with my original foster parents from my childhood. That lasted almost a year, before my mom had convinced me to come back home, she was going to leave him and it was all going to get better. She would buy me cigarettes and let me drink beer. She was cool now. Liar, liar, pants on fire!
It was a few months before we were just getting into full on fist fights again. The final straw was when all three of us got into a full on ass-kicking contest in the front yard for of all the neighbors to see. So fucking white trash... After he fucked me up, my mom made an attempt to whoop me too, and that's the only time I can ever remember hitting my mother in the face. I ran to a friend's house, and called the police. The cops came and picked me up, and took me back home to "talk it out". When we arrived, all of my clothes were in trash bags in the yard. My mother told me verbatim, "Before he took off, he told me that it was either you or him, and I can't lose him again, so I hope you can find a place to go."
I was 16 years old, and out on my ass.
I moved in with my boyfriend and got a full time job. I got emancipated from my mother, and I juggled work and school as best as I could. The scholarship program I was in got to be too much and I was stressed out so I started making bad choices and getting into trouble at school. I ended up getting suspended the week of finals my sophomore year, and got zeros on all of my finals. That caused my GPA to go down so far that I would be kicked out of my program, so I just didn't care anymore. I lost my temper with the principal, and ended up getting expelled. I got my GED through the community college and decided to just get a better full time job.
Throughout the years, I have had a strained relationship with my mother, and after having children of my own, I really tried to maintain and strengthen our bond. She quit doing meth and put forth some effort at being a grandma, so I let her in our lives a little bit at a time. She still was not dependable, but she tried. I won't go into all the details of why I finally cut ties, because some shit just should remain private, but she did enough throughout the years that I finally just had to shut her, and all of my family like her out. I had to rise above them and realize that until someone is ready to change their life and help themselves, there's not a thing you can do to help them. Last I knew, she and her abusive hubby are both unemployed, and selling dope to make rent. I feel sadness for her.
That's some heavy shit, huh?
To be honest, I don't know what really inclined me to share some of these life experiences with you. It has been a hard journey, and I have learned a lot along the way. I never thought I would be a single mom, and I constantly fear that any day I may become like my mother. I could write a novel with the things I haven't shared, and even though statistically I should probably be way more fucked up than I am, I'm far from perfect. I just wake up every single morning and choose to be thankful, and humble. I bust my ass, and I choose to try to be happy. I hope that the next time you're feeling like your road is too tough, you can think about me and the struggles I endure and find strength. Life is too short to live it unhappily.
Have a great Monday, motherfuckers. <3
