Tuesday, February 5, 2013


It isn't no joke.
Long hours.
Time consuming.
For me, at least.
I wouldn't change a single moment.
Stay at home mother.
Home maker.
Bill payer.
Shit, it's tough.
I love every moment of it.
Every day I am taken away but the little girl I wake up to.
Preslie keeps me on my toes.
She is the center of my world.
I have the opportunity to stay at home and watch my little girl grow.
I never miss a moment.
I only get a break when Dada lets me.
My best friend is my adult interaction.
I buy onsies instead on liquor now.
I don't party, I'd rather sleep.
I don't just get up and go.
I have to tease a baby so I can take a 7 minute shower.
At most.
I make obnoxious noises to keep her entertained, while trying to put eyeliner on.
I watch Ernie's 1,2,3 Count with me about 5 times a day.
I can't just run into a store anymore.
Everything is a process.
Motherhood is a process.
But it's the most rewarding thing by far.
Fuck yes.
Screaming baby, I'm pissed, and she gives me this face.
This pitiful, "I'm faking, and your buying it, so I am going to continue.." face.
I think " damn it, she is so fucking cute, and she is mine".
I love every moment of my life.
Damn, motherhood caught me by surprise.

Saturday, December 29, 2012

Let's just sum it up.

I had the most beautiful daughter this year.
Celebrated 1 year anniversary to my handsome husband.
I was in 2 car accidents, none my fault or driving and both injured in.

Most amazing fact I learned, I am nothing like my birth mother.
I've gone so many times, in fear of being mentally ill like her.
All tests and answers are NO.
My doctor said I am too hard on myself.
Nothing scares me more than being like her.
Rude. Selfish. Conniving. Self centered. Manipulative.
I'm not on drugs or beating my kid.
I'm a shoe in for mom of the year.
I just thank the positive ladies in my life.
I'm such an observer.
I observe how people act.
I know right and wrong.
Thanks Mom (Cathy).

We welcomed baby Jayla Thompson.
Christmas Eve baby.
I love her oh so much already.
Reconnected with my aunts.
New puppy, Elvis.
New wedding ring.
I got to see my parents.

One year anniversary since my Grandad passed.
Since it is my only death and I have trouble letting go, I have never fully gotten over it.
He was the biggest role model I had.
He is the one person I never had to question his love for me.
He forgave.
He loved.
I never got to say goodbye.
I left to go back home and I didn't stop back.
He was supposed to be okay.
That's my mistake.

Now, to finish my wine and bath and wait for the new year to come!
Wishes to all.

Saturday, October 27, 2012

To my birth mother.

She was never for me anyway, and I still can’t comprehend why she decided to enter my life.
It’s not like she really cared, or did she?
She waits till I’m practically an adult to show any feeling or remorse.
I know she loves me and that’s a fact.
Not a solitary micro thought in my head doubts her love for me.
She just doesn’t know how to show her love.
I never truly knew her, my mother that is.
My conception isn’t a romantic tale how my parents met and fell in love.
It was a teenage romance, with a regrettable accident.
Two lust-stricken teens had sex, and had me.
My “birth” father was never around, and nor do I care too much.
It would be a complete lie if I said I didn’t want to meet him.
The story of how the teen romance ended isn’t really quite sure.
I have to depict from lies and truths, but I have so many I don’t even know.
My mother couldn’t take care of me when I was a baby.
Rumor is she didn’t want to and her boyfriend, my step dad, didn’t want her to have me.
Rumor also is that I was severely mal-nourished, and that I believe.
I lived with my grandmother for the time being, but that is another place, time and story.
First day of 8th grade was the best day ever, till I got home.
Now, my grandmother had asked me many times if I wanted to ever talk to my mother again.
I would always reply “No”.
It wasn’t till that day she said she had been talking to my mother again.
My heart sank.
My heart sped up like a speeding horse in a race.
It was different now, this time my mother decided she wanted me in her life.
I thought I was ready for it too, but I was wrong.
Mentally I wasn’t ready for the mother-daughter commitment I was getting myself into.
But rejecting my mother would have been foolish, but smart.
I didn’t stay away and ten months later I saw her.
Oh, god was I in for a rude awakening.
They seemed to be the happiest family.
That’s all that matter.
Plus, seeing my siblings was the best part.
I remember my sister and littlest brother waiting and then running to me when I first arrived.
One of the greatest feelings ever.
I caught my mother of guard; she had just gotten out of the shower, and had no clue who I was.
I guess I looked different then the 5 or 6 years since she saw me last.
The summer was immense, that same summer my grandmother and I gotten into a fight.
I asked to live with my mother and she accepted the idea.
Though the events leading up this point shows it was all for a boy, which definitely helped the situation.
It wasn’t all about him.
I did realize how much I missed my siblings and my mother even more.
I figured it was time to patch things up.
I will never forgive my mother for abandoning me like she did.
Being a mother is hard, I understand that.
Especially with no significant other, and then having a boyfriend, who I understand, hated me.
Then she added to her pot by having more kids, and giving one up.
I still think of it as she gave two up.
I included in that.
What made her choose to give up one but not the other, which I will never understand.
My biggest peeve is why run to drugs?
I know drugs and their affects.
They pull you in and twist your thoughts around.
They feed on your every desire and fears.
It’s like taking candy from a baby; you are the baby, and the drugs are taking your candy and they are the candy.
A baby will scream bloody murder for their candy back once they get it back they are fine.
Drugs are candy, and who doesn’t ever crave candy?
But drugs do damage that is never able to be fixed.
My mother will never be the same.
Though her mental troubles do not help.
They only feed the drugs more of a chance to get in.
I know my mother is a caring, loving, and focused person.
She wants the best for all her children.
She would never show it though.
Children like hugs, and kisses, and to be told they are loved.
Asking my mother for that is like stabbing her in the head with a machete.
Her past is questionable.
I’ve never been quite sure about what happened in her past, and I assume I never will.
Too many stories to know what’s fiction or non-fiction.
Kind of like a scary movie about a real haunted house, you never know what’s real or not.
One thing that will always sit on my mind is it’s not till you were at your lowest point, until I was at my lowest point ready to take the plunge of my life did she show feeling.
She would always say “quit trying to scare me” “you're being stupid”, but when she found out I wasn’t kidding then it was “I'm sorry. I love you”.
Those were by far my most favorite moments with my mother.
The moments I will always cherish and use to remember her.
I would never be that low enough to need her again like that, but I will always keep those memories close to my heart.
She always figured buying little knick knacks here and there would be good enough to show her love.
I actually can remember her saying that should be good adequate amount of love.
I guess it was something.
Until she needed me for money.
I would never turn her down either.
She would need it I would give it to her.
I can still picture us fighting about it, a lot.
Screaming at the top of our lungs.
It was the only true pure passion we had for one another.
Fighting was what we did best.
If it was a subject in school, we would have gotten a triple A.
It’s sort of like a slow moving movie.
I play it slowly in my mind, the different fights.
The reasons.
No matter what, it always ended in tears or bruises.
The thing is I for ever and a day loved my mother.
She could have shot me with a Kalashnikov AK-47 and I still wouldn’t have hated her.
I would have never forgiven her, but I still would have loved her.
I say loved as past tense.
As at my point in my life I am not sure where she stands in my heart.
My three year relationship with my mother is none I would ever wish upon another person, period.
We have a complicated relationship.
A sort of love-hate relationship you hear about.
I do believe my mother, at times, wishes I was never born.
That I was the biggest mistake she has ever made.
My nose would grow long enough to wrap around this world if I said I didn’t, at times, regret moving here, and having her as a mother.
My nose would grow even longer if I said I wanted to be like her.
That’s the one hope I will always have.
To be nothing like her.
I don’t want to grow up, even more, hating my family for my mistakes, having a husband who doesn’t cherish me, having children whose every wish was to be away from me, and not loving life.
I would say I am proud of my mother from what she has tried to accomplish after getting sober.
I am proud of her effort at keeping a job, and being a hard worker like she is.
My mother is by far the smartest person without a high school education.
She just gets lost somewhere.
It hurts that our relationship had to be this way.
Maybe I’m to blame, or maybe we are the same.
This relationship to put simple is a guiltless twisted lie.
We both have lives to pursue, but it has to be separated.
I just need her to let me be free, please.
I’ve always had hoped to have a close relationship deep down, but I ignored those feelings for so long till she re-entered my happy life.
I will never know what happened to us.
What seemed to be a promising connection between mother and daughter after years separated.
I have to wonder what could have been.
I love my mother at times.
I can’t stand her the other times.
I know she loves me, and that’s a fact.
I just can never forgive her and never forget.

Friday, October 26, 2012

Steps to Life

Suicide Awareness. My own experiance. I wrote this a few years ago, hope you enjoy.

She can still remember what happened each day she decided to do it.
She can still remember why it was her decision to do these random acts.
She always knew what it meant if it worked and who it would affect.
The first time is always the most memorable.
She had only been at this new place a few months.
She really didn’t know what it would have meant to come.
She figured she would be happy and it would be the safest choice, but boy was she wrong.
Her mind was intruded by random thought of happiness and being with her biological.
Biggest mistake of her life you would think, but that’s another story.
Life and Death seems like it has a big difference.
Life can be given easily, and Death is either easy or hard, but both can be dangerous.
For her, death was the way.
God wasn’t in charge of this decision anymore.
She was loved and there is no doubt about that; it’s just the love wasn’t what she wanted.
Don’t get her wrong she had given her love, and it wasn’t her intention to hurt anyone; just herself.
It seemed that cutting and tearing at the skin wasn’t any pleasurable anymore.
It didn’t solve the problem; but it gave her an escape.
It was the only thing she had control over; sound kind of cliché but it was true.
It had been a rough two months, but hostility was the thing that killed her.
Step father was the solitary person she could rely on.
Best friend was 2,000 miles away.
Sister, well that’s also another story.
Brother one was the closet thing she had.
Mother was pretty much intolerable, and was blind by the very obvious.
Brother two she couldn’t stand, he pushed her.
He tore down everything she cared for; jealousy; maybe.
But it appeared it was more hate than anything.
It was regrettable hate of having her there.
That night was all fighting.
Step father had gone for a few days and mother was at work.
Mother had to come home early to help calm the house down.
Step one:
See mother never really listened to what she had to say.
And you think she would since she got her there, to this place of indiscernible torcher.
Fighting continued.
Mother had to leave because she thought everything had been solved, but it wasn’t.
Step two:
Time for Tylenol 500 mg.
She was in a state that she couldn’t go back not even if she tried.
Tears were drowning her face, and soaking her shirt.
Heart was pounding, hands were shaking, and mind was racing.
She started with 10.
10 minutes passed and nothing felt different.
Had all the stupid movies been wrong?
Did they embellish the simple truth which she relied on at the very moment.
Let’s add 15 to the mix of 10 already.
Not even the Mountain Dew was staying down.
Sister saw her there on the ground a sick, messed up, and hurt.
Sister didn’t know what to do to help.
Sister wasn’t sure what was really going on.
Brother one thought maybe he should call mother.
Brother two said “watch her die”.
Still 25 pills and no evidence of pain residing.
“Take the rest of the bottle”, the mind was speaking to her, taunting her.
Let’s add another 34 to the mix.
59 pills down, and 15 minutes later she could barely walk.
Step three:
Sister was shaken with the scarce thought her sister was dying.
Brother one decided he should call Mother.
Brother two said “Who cares? Let her die”
Sister was fixed on making her live.
Sister walked everywhere.
Outside, bathrooms, backyard, and kitchen.
She could barely walk.
She stumbled and fell.
Smacked her head into kitchen counter.
Step four:
Brother one calls mother.
She isn’t too thrilled that she would evidently be accompanied to the hospital.
She was now angry with everyone.
She just wanted to die.
One request would to have been left alone to die.
Dying is never good if you die in anger.
Mother comes home helps her to car.
Step 5:
Hospital smelled of death, and it made every hair on her body tingle.
Maybe this was the right place to enter.
Thoughts ran through her mind of the many things she could do to herself.
She could barely walk or see enough to even try to accomplish any thought in her drug stained mind.
Blood slowly drained from her body by a foreign object resembling a needle.
Tylenol blood level was the highest.
If her brother had left her for possibly 20 more minutes, her task would have been fulfilled.
Charcoal was the most disgusting and repulsive taste she could possibly envision.
It would get stuck in her teeth, it reeked, and it was almost impossible to keep down.
Sister never once let her spit it out.
Mother made a latex medical glove into a silly face.
She finally finished the charcoal with a big gulp of generic Sprite.
Blood again was taken from her arm.
Needle pierced her arm in the blue veins that linger beneath her skin for the 4th time.
Tylenol level still hadn’t decided to diminish from her body.
She now realized looking into her sister’s bright, big blue eyes that it was all a mistake.
A mistake she would continuously abuse.
Hours past, and past, and it seemed like the clock would only taunt her.
Finally 4 in the morning rolled around, 11 hours in the sickening hospital.
She had deceived everyone into letting her go home.
She was fine she said, and they believed her.
Moving On:
Mary Beth Miller, author of her favorite book Aimee, had once said “Suicide is like the chicken pox. It never really goes away. It just comes back in different forms.”
Like a smoker or an alcoholic, they can get better, but deep down they will always be one.
A smoker will always crave for one more cigarette to caress their wrinkled lips and fill their lungs with the essences of smoke overflowing with nicotine.
An alcoholic will always want one last sip to take a way everything that was once bad, to make them forget.
She will get better, but living with 2 years of wanting to die will always stay and haunt her.
Everything that had leaded her to the point of her breaking point will always settle in her mind.
Time will always remain.
She will never see a clock the same way she used to.
She will never be able to look into her sister’s blue eyes the same way.
To see so much hurt piercing into the eyes that only gave her so much truth.
The effect one young, innocent little girl can have on you to make you never want to strike her heart will such fear of losing everything she looked up to.
She will always remember that as her favorite time spent with her mother.
It takes her mother the thought of losing her oldest daughter to make her realize she wasn’t being the mother she should have been the whole time.
She will always remember her mother that way, the way she had been dying her to be.
She sees now that life is way more precious than she had ever thought.
It just took her 2 years to find that out.
It just took her constant cuts to the arms and wrists, and multiple life-taking events to see why people say life has meaning.
She will never be able to take a Tylenol the same way.
It’s never good to be addicted to a med that should help a simple ache or pain.
And that was it; it was supposed to take away the pain.
The pain she had so long been hoping to rid of; to finally give her heart a rest and put her mind at ease.
The hands still shake with nerves.
It took all this to realize that life was worth living for.
Suicide is just the devil disguised as a green little monster of hate, pain and hurt.
-VMA April 15, 2008

Thursday, October 25, 2012


People ask about my tattoo down my spine. I was eighteen and getting a tattoo that meant something to me. Sadly, it happened to be for my first love.  So here is my story of it. I wrote this in 2008. Enjoy.

Forever isn't quite what they thought.
Rewardful and meaningless.
The point of "forever" is forever.
No matter what, that's what they said.
Now she would think and go over the last five years but that'd be wasteful.
He would be blind to the obvious, to what was in front of him.
Unlike all the others, they didn't need to see, touch, smell, or hear.
Just knowing they were there for each other was enough.
Enough to hold on to, enough to live off of.
Goodbyes are dangerous, they kill.
They tear her, all of what she felt and cared for was gone.
He was gone, to the military you'd guess, but no, to life, the girl, and all he needs.
Miles divide; they figured nothing could stop them and their hearts finally beating as one.
What they never knew was while miles divide they conquered.
Five years passed, but miles attack.
Stab, punch, pull, kick, and that last moment, the last, the end of five years was the final "bang" from the gun.
They lived, loved, push, shoved, tore, built, gave, hoped, fought, cried, and laughed.
Miles kept dividing the whole time.
Bits of there hearts shattered; poured into the ground.
But always had enough for one another.
Miles pushed.
Distance was starting to get to them.
They lived their lives, school, friends, and family.
Met people, but still loved.
He kept her living all this time.
She lived for him, and only.
He made her love her life, and feel hopeful of the future.
"Just to see you smile" isn't just a song; it's a meaning, it's a truth to all life for them.
The life that would be the start of something good.
"I'd do anything that you wanted me to" and that's the evidence in the truth.
"I swear" isn't there anymore, she thinks.
Ponders the meaningful lyrics to what used to mean the world.
He gave her all she wanted.
But those names he once said in spite of anger will remain for all time.
She thinks that possibly is the reason they can never be together again.
Using everything she trusted in him, turning everything she opened up to him against her.
That's always going to sit heavily in her head.
It's kind of like a divorce they never wanted.
He asked her to marry him; honestly it had been the easiest "yes" ever.
Possibly the death of her, but it was the making of life.
The house they wanted, kids they wanted, and everlasting happiness.
Watching it crash like waves in the ocean, or planes crashing in hate.
Popcorn will forever remain the funniest food they will ever come across.
Bay-be will always be the corniest word that has ever entered their vocabulary.
Tigers will never look the same; simulating the very "member" she wanted.
First kiss will only be a lost fantasy that will never be brought to life.
Memories... sadly memories fade, fade into dust like in the Arizona desert, or the Savannah beach.
Southern accents will never sound so cute.
Big hair will go out of style.
Jackass will never be funny/annoying/cute/lame all at the same time.
A boy/man crying will never heartbreaking again.
No one will ever understand them the way they understood each other.
No one will get why they can laugh at lame things, or cry at a simple 'I love you".
Late night phone calls will never be worth it.
"It was never over" was a line from The Notebook that said it all through the years.
Cave woman "it be mine" ha.
Now, they owe nothing to each other.
Just life, they owe each other life.
But will they ever fully be "free" from one another?
Men are fools. Women are no where near better.
Not even love can save this.
Survival. Survival. Survival.
It's not enough to say I'm sorry anymore.
All they have to say its goodbye, right?
I hate myself for letting it get this way.
We are better off this way.
Hold the words that were never able to spill from your heart, your head. Your mouth is sewn.
Emotional roller coaster would be an understatement.
A piece will always be yours.
Impactment on lives are over.
Like a lame yearbook quote "stay the same".
Spanish love quotes just don't quite sound the so endearing.
Lies can never be forgiven like they used to.
It's time to get over holding hands.
It's best to let it roll.
It's not goodbye, because they will always have a piece of each others hearts.
It's just a change in what they are used to.
Hello to moving on, I'm ready.
True story// Miles really do conquer.
-VMA April 13, 2008

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

I hate people.

I really do.

Today at Walmart some lady, wearing clothes WAY too small for her, spanked her kid. It wasn't a little spank or a snack like "hey, behave!". This spank was ridiculous. I am a nice person and said "what the fuck are you doing?". Okay, so it is not my business, but seriously. I won't spank my kids, but I am not against it.
Anyway, she proceeds to tell me how my kid won't be independent and I will have to carry my baby everywhere. Whoa, shut up. I baby wear, what of it?
Trashy whore.

Just needed to rant.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Oh the time flies

I totally failed at this blog. So let's try again.

Preslie Jean was born, like 5.5 months ago!
Best. Moment. Ever.
She was perfect. 7.75 oz. 20 in.
May 5 2012.

Now we are almost 6 months old! We sit up. Starting to crawl and eat solids.

Babies grow and they grow fast. I never knew my daughter would be this smart, this beautiful. I knew I was meant for this job. Even my body, this mama got through labor with no tears. Come at me! Iron strong.

Motherhood is wonderful. Beautiful.

I love being a mom. Seriously? It is fucking awesome. Minus the PPD and the happy pills. Whatev's.

Eh, I'll post again tomorrow. I need to snuggle my baby in bed with some pandora and my sassy mom friends.