When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Gets Stronger

sunrise

So I had to do it. I lost over 300 followers in the process, but it had to be done. I was sick of being censored and having stalkers on my blog. I don’t know what the future will hold, but I urge my fellow WordPressians DO NOT give out your blog information to anyone! It will result in so much heartache and of course, headaches. But, I will not let it deter me from writing.

My journey of love, life and crazy online adventures can still be seen through here, on this blog. Sometimes in life you have to start over. Try again. I will miss my old blog. For those of you reading, this was me: Love With a Dark Heart in Chains – Shattered Wish Some of you may know me, some may not, but I was tired of all the nonsense. The current men in my life were just reading my blog, leaving comments and just giving me grief. I don’t know what made me share it with them, or why I felt that I thought that such a private medium should be shared at all. I was tired of cryptic comments and condescending words being left for me to read after each post. Enough was enough already. But to you readers, you wonderful readers, that followed me through all my adventures, the highs and lows of bipolar, and just the overall mess of my life, I thank you.

So here’s to a new beginning. I have to attempt to move on with my life and move past this all. I am wondering if I should pick up a drink again. That may not be wise as I am trying to stick to my sobriety. I just wish things were easier, ya know? But sometimes when you’re pushed, you have to just let it tip you over and start again. I will miss my followers, but I have started from scratch before, and I will do it again.

Man, bipolar life doesn’t get any easier does it? Well any life for that matter.

I hope I find some of you again.

Stay tuned.

 

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Making Love Through Art and Music

art and music

What happens when two artists coalesce? Magic. What happens when two artists fall in love? Fire. I can’t describe what happened tonight as it is a series of events that shook me to the core. I said goodbye to the “Quiet Man” not too long ago, as he broke my heart and would forever be the “bad boy” I painted him out to be. I have my reservations about him, and I swore I would stay away from our usual “hangout.”

But he saw me tonight. My wit, my humor, my sass, and oh my delicious lips gave me away. Instantly, he knew he had to make his move. Immediately sparks flew and things heated up. “I owe you an explanation,” he said. Carefully, trying not to trip on my own words the mere shock that he was speaking to me, I say, “what it is it then.” He takes his time and chooses his next words carefully. “I was afraid, you went deep with me, I needed a way out, I used any excuse, it was unfair and I am sorry, I don’t expect you to forgive me. The truth is, I fell in love with you. Head over heels, and I couldn’t stop myself because I was hurt before, if you turn me away I understand.”

I took a moment to compose myself. He had seen me over the past few weeks, just lurking in the background, not saying much but letting my presence be known. I gave him his space. I don’t even know what I was doing there, but when I went there I knew he would be there and I just couldn’t help myself. I loved this man a long time. Since even before the first night we made love. I fall in love way too easily, and the men I have met over the past few months have been diligent in dancing on my heart-strings.

But the artist that the “Quiet Man” is, is just magic. He described the moon to me and showed me how it was tonight. With the first ice crystals in the air, there was a ring around it that made it remarkable. Like nothing you had ever seen. As we sat there and as we admired the moon, we spoke about my art and all the architecture he likes to design. He even let me hear a music piece he had worked on after we had parted ways weeks ago. “Whispering” it was called, and there was a melancholy tone to it, almost like a broken heart.

Two artists, on a crisp October night who came together again and stayed up with each other into the early hours of the morning like we used to not too long ago. “I cried for you. I never kneel or bow to any man, but the night you left me, I was on my knees for you drenched in tears.” “That is no place for a Goddess” His goddess, that’s what I am. This man tormented himself back and forth for the past two weeks, while I had moved on in my own version of Hell. With my mom being in the hospital, and me feeling like a slut to these men I tried to replace him with, nothing has been right since he left. I thought I had come out of it when the Literary showed up, but like so many young men his age, they are nothing but empty promises.

I will stroke my brush on his skin, he will play his notes on my body. We will create, we will fornicate. I think this one might actually stick this time, but I have said that so many times before. The only difference is between him and the other men? This one told me he loved me. He didn’t even fuck me tonight, so there was no “agenda” behind it, like there almost always is. It was just pure emotion.

Just one artist to another, making love through art and music.

Let’s see what comes of this one.

Stay tuned.

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Hangover, and Waking up into Life

hangover

What do your hangovers feel like? Constant pain in the head, a slight bit of disorientation? I had my first drink in a while last night and I mixed it with my medication. Not the smartest of moves, but what is done is done. Seroquel always gives me a hangover, but to top it off with a “booze” hangover, I couldn’t feel more awful than I do now. I guess the question you are all asking is “Why do you do it?”

When you’re sitting in a restaurant alone, like you always do, when you realize that a former friend of yours snuck out so that you wouldn’t see her and your life feels like utter shit, yeah, fuck it, you want a drink. I want one because I realize how alone I am, I want one because my life is not going anywhere, and I want one because I just want the indescribable pain to stop.

Being bipolar is unbelievably difficult, and anyone who throws around the term has no idea of what kind of hell we actually go through. It’s a crippling feeling, where you don’t feel emotion and you want too so bad, or you feel too much emotion and you just want it to stop. I am at the point where I want to FEEL again. I want to FEEL emotion so fucking badly that I drank almost a whole bottle of wine.

This mood stabilizer I am on is doing its job. Almost too well, I would have to say. It completely numbed me out, and after taking it with alcohol I feel like utter shit. (Never take your meds with alcohol, I was really bad for doing that).  How will I ever go back to work in this condition? Will I fail again, like I have countless times? Is this crippling disease going to drive me straight in the grave?

I wish I could pray, and find my connection with God. I am such a spiritual person and I feel it being stifled by medication. I want to throw them all away, but I know I would end up back in the hospital. When I get on my knees and put my hands together and close my eyes, I feel nothing, almost like an absolute fool for trying. God has left me and I have lost my spiritual voice.

If you’re out there anyone, please say a prayer for me so that I can hear His voice once more.

Tonight is Friday night. People will be getting together, having a drink, and enjoying themselves after a long hard work week. It’s amazing how disconnected I feel from all of that. It’s amazing how disconnected I feel from life.

I had my hangover and I woke up to life. I woke up to a life that is devoid of any joy and feeling. I woke up to a life where people, places and things are so far away, they might as well not exist, or better yet, I might as well not exist.

I don’t know, all it takes its Faith, and mine is hanging on by a thread.

We shall see.

Stay tuned.

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When You Know It’s Time To Move On

Time passing

As I sat in the ER waiting room with my sister two nights ago, waiting to hear about my mom, I realized how much I have lost in this life. Time. Something we take for granted. My sister spoke to me about Time in her life. She has none. Working 12 hour shifts almost 60 hours a week, she doesn’t have time to be a regular 25 year-old. She is bouncing between guys, hoping that one would stick and eventually marry her. I hate to be the bearer or bad news for her, but it seems she is going down my path. Maybe not the bipolar path, but the path in the realization that no man will ever complete her.

I have been chasing ghosts for years now. Ghosts of men online, ghosts of men I have dated, and even spirits of friends that have moved on. I took a picture of myself the other day, and even though I hate selfies, this one came out pretty good. You know what the funny thing was? I had nowhere to share it. During one of my hateful bipolar meltdowns, I had alienated myself from my friends on Facebook. These people I had known for quite some time. I don’t have SnapChat and I only use Twitter for tuning in to Star Trek. Then I realized how alone I really was. Maybe I was meant to be this way?

I had to walk away from my dear bipolar friend from the UK because what I was doing to him was borderline abusive. When I am in a vulnerable state, and I am desperate for help and when the people I rely on just aren’t there for me, I tend to lash out, get very angry and say things I don’t mean. I guess everyone is entitled to outbursts, but mine are just uncalled for, and they are very selfish. I needed to walk away because he deserves so much better and I need to figure out what I really want out of this life when it comes to friendships.

My angry outbursts hurt people, and when I moved on from Facebook, I realized that. Now I need to move on again. I will say that I am tired of being ghosted too. So many people I make connections with, just get up and vanish into thin air, and I am really tired of it. It seems people crave solid connections but aren’t willing to put the effort into it. I have been guilty of this too I suppose, so I really shouldn’t be complaining. I wish I could find a few friends that would stay, despite all my faults and misgivings. I even hope to find a guy I could write with and have great sex with. A passionate, smart guy with the love of the arts. It seems almost impossible to find a guy like that though.

But time. It is clicking away. My sister doesn’t have any. I have too much. The world will keep spinning and I will get another year older. I am really going to miss my friend, but I think walking away from him is the best thing. You can’t rely on someone who won’t be there and I am too selfish to understand that he has lows and needs space sometimes. If I have no one, then I can die in peace and go away so I won’t be a burden to anyone.

I guess it’s really time I moved on.

Stay tuned.

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When You Feel Like An Absolute Slut

slut

All these allegations going around about Harvey Weinstein got me thinking. Do we actually deserve it? I have been flashing my tits and ass to men for months now, and it wasn’t until a guy told me, “well if you’re not in the mood, I will go somewhere else because my balls are full and they need to be emptied.” When in the fuck is it EVER okay to tell a woman that?

It set off a chain of events today, that has absolutely soured my mood and feelings. I tried to find my bipolar friend for help, and of course, he is nowhere to be found. FUCK. I am sick of him disappearing like this on me. He is just one of the many who is getting on my last nerve.

My mom was admitted to the hospital tonight. She doesn’t eat because when my father demands that things get done, she doesn’t have the time and neglects herself. This is what men are. Fucking lowlife scumbags. Yes this is a “I hate men post” and I could give less of a shit about it.

I tried to cheer myself up, and I don’t know, everything just backfired. All the feelings I have been burying inside have been imploding inside of me. I feel horrible, awful, like the dirtiest skank at the bottom of the barrel. I have let myself become an object for men to use. To dump on. To shit on.

‘It could just be this bipolar mess screaming out to me. Whatever it is, it’s stopping me from feeling sexy and desired, and not the sexpot, exotic caramel goddess that I know I am.

I have to snap out of this and soon.

Tomorrow is another day. I hope it gets better from here.

Stay tuned.

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A Reflection. Why Women Like Bad Boys

bad boy

Ever had a real moment in your life when you kind of kick yourself, then realize it was the best thing for you? I have been wrestling in my mind as to why I got so broken up over a guy who was an obvious jerk. I want to say there were many good things, because there were. He was absolutely handsome, ridiculously smart, (like over the top smart where I couldn’t even balance myself), hilariously funny, sexual, sensual, romantic when he could be, and even sweet. But the guy was a total over the top asshole. And he knows it, and fully admits it to himself.

Which is fine. Let him be an asshole. But you know what? He is alone. And he will be forever be alone. No one would put up with his shit. No one in their right mind anyway, or any woman who has self-esteem and self-respect. Shame too. There is an amazing place by E. Fay Jones not too far from him that he never got to enjoy because he had no one to go with. AND HE WILL NEVER FIND SOMEONE TO GO WITH HIM.

I am a fucking amazing woman. Like over the top amazing and absolutely fabulous. I am a talented artist, fantastic writer, soulful musician and I am just plain kick ass, and I am absolutely full of myself. The difference between me and the asshole is, I never belittle anyone or make them feel beneath me. He says “you didn’t trust my judgement.” That’s a crock of shit. Beckoning someone like a dog and then them saying no they don’t want to be told what to do is called standing up for one’s self.

I can go on and on about what an asshole this guy is. But I am not going to do that. I have had fantastic sex, a new job opportunity, and met amazing people over the past few days. And it only gets better from here. I know that I am enjoyable to be around. And I know what I am worth. A man would be out of his fuckin’ mind not to want to spend time with me.

I think the problem is, I started believing the bullshit I was telling myself. Things were going horribly at work, all that stuff went down, and then he met me in a very vulnerable state. Sure, he picked up on it and used it to his advantage, some people are just good at doing that. I don’t even think he was conscious of it.

I am in awe of him. He has an incredible, amazing mind. Even though he is completely arrogant and full of himself, I enjoyed his banter and his company. I would never want to talk privately with him again though, or even make love to him again, (even though that was fantastic too). I think the point is, I can be a casual observer. I may seem him again in that crowded room where we met, and I will just be an onlooker, just someone on the sidelines if he chooses to have the spotlight. You know what happened? I was really aggressive and got my way the first night we met. Then I became his “pet” and everything changed. If a man wants a pet he should get a dog, fuck all that noise. But that was my fault. I was way too eager to please him.

Do women like assholes? We absolutely do. Do nice guys finish last? They absolutely do. I had a very nice man try to contact me several times when I was talking to the asshole, and I blew him off. Yeah women, we do that.

Look, he got a good time out of it, and so did I. It was amazing what we shared, and I will forever treasure it. Do I hate him? Absolutely not. Is he an awful, miserable excuse for a human being? Absolutely. But hey, at least he said “so long, thank you for your time” right? Sometimes us ladies don’t even get that.

I don’t even think he’s miserable. I don’t even think he cares. I will probably just pass through his mind like I never existed. I know one thing though. He admitted he checks my blog. So one thing I DO know is, someday he may see my words.

So “Quiet Man” what is my message? You’re an asshole. But you know that. But you’re also not as smart as you think you are because you threw away a good woman. A fucking amazing woman. With a juicy ass and a caramel body. Mmmmm. How good it tastes, remember? Haha. But I am sure our paths will cross again. For what it’s worth I had a really good time. I did cry tears over you though, my last post showed that. I went to that dark place with thoughts of you. But for whatever it’s worth, there will never be another woman like me in your life again. No one as beautiful, as smart, as funny, as cool, as sexy, and as willing to worship you.

So with that I am off on my next adventure. Full of sex, love, and rock n’ roll.

Stay tuned.

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The Death of a Shadow

crying artist

What happens when someone throws you away like garbage? What happens when you still care what they think of you afterwards? What happens when you become the worst version of yourself because you blame yourself for their actions?

Weak. Nothing. You feel worthless. My tears can’t hold back from what I am feeling right now. I was duped, then dumped. Thrown away like the nothingness that I am. What happened to the strong woman I used to be? Where was my strength tonight?

I didn’t submit. I won’t. I won’t be broken, coddled or told what to do. That’s not in my nature, or who I am. I enjoyed his company, I enjoyed his time. I pity him for the wonderful woman he just threw away. But am I really surprised? Not at all, really. Men throw me away all the time, and this is just another one to add to the list. I suppose I could say that the common denominator is me in all of this, which it is. Why can’t I get a man to stand by me? Why can’t I get a man to just stand still with me?

I am going to drown tonight. Drown myself into the worst version of myself. I tried to commit suicide over a man who did something like this to me, years ago. Will I do it again? I doubt I will, but God, I want to.

I will pray tonight for him and for myself. We never had a chance, we are too different. When I look back on my life at all the mistakes I have made, he will just be another one. I suppose I was just another notch on his belt, a nothing to him, that’s why it was so easy to dump me, to throw me away. Why get heartbroken over something that never really existed? Did you really fall in love with him?

I waited hours today to see him. I jumped at his message when I saw it.

His witty remarks, his foolishness. His passion, his spark. I will miss them all.

I will drown tonight, lose myself in alcohol and pills and not care if I wake up tomorrow.

And you know what? Neither will he.

 

 

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Love, Sex, Art, Music and Architecture

filling station

Buffalo NY – She would have never seen herself here. A whole three years had passed since she spoke to him, but the inspiration had been long engrained in her soul. An artist, a musician, a writer, she always believed in her work. She had a shitty job, and she needed to break free, so that rainy October night she did it. She woke up and instead of going to work, she packed all her belongings, took her savings and headed for Buffalo. That’s where she belonged. That’s where the all great artists and the genius of Frank Lloyd Wright were at. She would be a part of that. She would make her dreams come.

He waited. Three years had passed. Doing well in his job, concentrating on his music, and basically keeping to himself, he found solace in peace and solitude. There would be the occasional socializing in the chat that they met in, but he would never see her again. He had checked her blog from time to time, but there was no new entries. He was on Skype every day, but she was nowhere. His pet, his love kitten, his caramel goddess, was nowhere to be found. How could she ghost him? What had happened to her? It’s been three years, he told himself, get over it already. But no one, not in chat, not in life, was anything like her before. Etched in his mind forever, he wondered what had happened to the girl with the juiciest caramel ass he had ever seen. He shakes himself. Yeah, enough of that thought. So without rhyme or reason, he was scrolling through some articles on his favorite American architect. They had a tour going in Buffalo, NY, maybe it was time to take a trip……..

October, 2020 – Three years ago they had a fling. They met, they parted, they met again, and had amazing sex. But then she vanished and he was left with questions. Unknown to them was the fact that their worlds would be colliding. That art, music, and architecture would finally bring them together, after so long.

She just celebrated her 40th birthday not too long ago, but no one could tell. She was always a heartbreaker, and no man could ever keep her attention long enough.

In his late thirties now, he makes bald look sexy. Freshly shaven on top, with a little bit of stubble on his beard, no one can match him. Those proud powerful eyes have no equal anywhere else. They twinkle and sparkle with the confidence he commands.

Buffalo NY – Late October 2020 – Halloween is just around the corner. Many tourists have travelled up here to visit the museums after taking a trip to Sleepy Hollow a few miles south of there. She was a tour guide, but today was her day off. She didn’t make much money. During the past three years, she published and sold three sci-fi/fantasy novels, that were a great hit among young people. There was even a movie deal brewing. Life was good. She had a simple job at the Pierce-Arrow Museum with a season ticket to all the local art museums in the area. Sometimes the tour guides would all swap locations. She would be around art and architecture all the time, in the thick of it, right where her heart desired. But there was still that missing piece……

He walks up to the Wright Filling Station Exhibit, circa 1927, and he sees her there. White collared shirt, pencil knee-length skirt, stockings, heels, her long dark locks done up in a bun, with her glasses at the tip of her nose as she sketches the outlines of the exhibit on her little notepad. They exchange glances. A faint recognition? No, it can’t be. He stands there looking at the exhibit as she continues to sketch. She is quite caramel, he says to himself. I recognize that face, she says to herself. Finally he walks up to her. “I am sorry, but you look quite familiar.” She stops pauses and glances at him. “So do you.” She licks her lips. Those lips. He has seen them before, he knows it. “Would you happen to drink Honey Jack Daniels?” he asks, with a glimmer of hope in his eyes, hoping this woman doesn’t think he’s crazy. She smiles brightly. Complete Recognition. “Did my pillowlips give me away?” she asks coyly. A sly smile crosses his face. And so it begins.

Soft kisses. Orgasmic pleasures. Brushing his fingertips at the back of her knees. Her legs gripping him over his shoulders. Hushed whispers. Chaste glances. Fire. Wetness. Hardness. Crinkled Sheets. Hands, fingers, legs all intertwining. Flesh on flesh. Skin on skin. Hardening nipples against ice. Passionate love-making. Heavy breathing. Groping, intermingling of savory juices. Tongues dancing all over each other’s bodies. Sex beyond sex. Love beyond love.

Take a breath.

She sips her Honey Jack Daniels with her pillowlips at the edge of the bed. He looks at her in his nakedness and traces his fingers along her bare back. She turns around and says, “In those three years, you never left my mind, you never left my thoughts. I had to find myself and I am sorry I left you behind. Do you forgive me?”

He smiles and says, “Yes, my pet.”

And then they lay, spent and sweaty. Hot and juicy. Two lovers that found each other again, in which a silly thing like time never mattered.

And with that, for the rest of their lives, it was only, love, sex, music, art, and architecture.

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