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You Make Crazy Fun

You Make Crazy Fun

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Dear Andy

Dear Andy,
Every time that I hear the song "Hesitate," I think of you, and what we could have been.

I met you on MySpace, back in 2004ish, because I thought that you were nothing but a punk, and I called you out on it. We started dating, and fucking that very week. I thought nothing could separate us. You were my fire, and you did burn me.

I wanted a life with you, and I loved you. I never could say that I ever loved someone like I did for you. But, you burned me. If you didn't lie to me, we could have still been together. Truth does hurt, but sometimes truth also will keep two people together who were meant to be together.

You screwed up. You wound up with women who were not good for you. You thought you got one of these women, or I should say little girls, because that is the maturity level the "women" you started fucking after you were with me, pregnant. 

You thought that a change of scenery would help. You moved to Pittsburgh, and that didn't work out, so you moved back to Maryland, and that didn't work. Then you moved to Virginia. That is where you ended up fucking the wrong young woman, and got her pregnant. You thought you were in love, but you couldn't be in love with her, because you still loved me.

I called you, and we talked for a bit, and that is when you admitted you still loved me. After, this conversation your "relationship" with the mother of your daughter went south. I am not sure what happened to you after all of that shit went down. 

But, I can say this much; I did a cut and clear spell Andy, and you will never be a part of my life again. I know you still love me, but I don't love you. I don't want to be with you. You have a child, and you are tainted goods now.

You have a lot of shit to figure out, for a 30 year old boy. You need to pay your fines, and do you time in jail, in Maryland. You need to get your GED, and support a child that you helped bring into this world. What I am saying here is....get your fucking shit together, and stop blaming others for your fuck ups.

I was willing to help you get your GED, and then you thought some young thing was better at sucking your dick than I. I was gonna help you with many of the things you needed Andy, but why did you sabotage our life? That is one question that I will never get an answer for.

You are one man, who has hurt me, that I wish well. 

Tuesday, April 1, 2014


I am not sure who the fuck I am supposed to be, and if this is a goddamn midlife crisis then it can fuck itself. 

I want, and want, and want, but the real world is saying "nope child you can't." Fuck your can't. I will want, and I will get what I want. 

I am sick of being denied. Tired of being told fucking no. Well no too you. NO!

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

All of us get lost in the darkness

Dear Randy,

For the longest time, I have allowed your presence to destroy my self esteem. Your essence has brought me too my knees, because of everything that you did, in the short time that I knew you. A year in a half of torture, pain, abuse, and isolation. 

You said you loved me, and then turn around and call me a pig fucking whore. You wanted to marry me, and then turn around and take you steel toed boot and strike my arm; leaving my arm bruised by not broken. Story of my life, with you. Bruised, but not broken.

You forced me to watch wrestling, with you kid, and you, because you wanted to make me feel like shit. You would compare me to the fake women that you saw on TV. You would get all excited about certain women, while I sat there wondering why the hell I put up with the degradation. Comments such as "why can't you be like that woman?" "you could never be like her."Then the comment of "I love you" would come after wrestling was over. The pull and push of my emotions was horrible.

You never understood that work was important to me. This was the only place that appreciated what I was doing. I would work 12 hours a day, so I wouldn't have to go back to your place. That was never a home to me. I had meetings after work that I had to attend, and I did. When I would get back to you place; you would beat me and accuse me of fucking one of my co-workers, because I wasn't home when you thought I should be. 

Why did you believe a former friend of mine, who told you things from my past? From that you beat me so back that still to this day I can't walk properly. Beer thrown on me. Being pushed onto the ground, while sitting in a chair that did not have its cushion. Steal chair being constantly driven into my back. Then came the kicking. How many times did you kick my left hip? At least 20 times. The next day, I couldn't go to work, because I could barely move. The bruises were amazing. I was bruised all the from my neck to my feet. Thank you for that.

I also want to thank you for raping me numerous times(I was pregnant, not by you, thank the gods, but you felt like a knight and shining armour for taking me in, but you raped me while I was pregnant). I thank you for not waiting the time that was allotted after I gave birth to my daughter. You waited two days, and then you raped me again, because you weren't going to wait the at least 6 weeks. Then you took away my reproductive rights. You told me that I either get my tubs tied, or I was going to be kicked out of you home. I didn't have anywhere to go, and you forced my hand. I got my tubes tied, and I cried. I was 24, and I was not able to have anymore children. My rights were taken away from me, and because of that Randy I despise men. 

The final straw was when I was "late" again from work, because of a meeting, and you once again would not allow me in your home, and I was sitting, with the cushion on the chair, thank the gods, and you put your hand around my throat and pushed me to the ground again. I got up. Brushed myself off, and began walking. I couldn't get my keys to my car, because you took them. I walked, until someone picked me up, and I went to the next town, called you, and reamed you out for everything you did. Then I started walked again, until the police stopped me. Thank the gods it was the next county over's police, and not the town cop, who was friend's with you. I was taken to a shelter for abused women. But, you found me, and kidnapped me. Beat me, raped me, and then took me back to my car with the threat "no man will ever have you, and I will never let you be with another man." All of the restraining orders could not keep you away from me. But, distance could.

I moved away from you, but the demons followed me. They have followed me for too long, and I am going to burn what you have done to me Randy. I have carried this trauma for too long, and you don't deserve to have any room, in my mind. You have lost your son, and you deserve to feel that pain. You deserve so much more pain than that, for what you have done to me, and others. 

You are a misogynist. You are a man who lives, in a fantasy world. You are a man who is fake, and wouldn't know what love is if it was given to as a gift. You don't know what love is Randy. I am sorry for that. I am so, so, sorry. 

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Today's Lesson

Hi. My name is Robyn, and I am positive person who is in denial. Denial of what? Of happy and fulfilled life.

Let me rewind the clock back a bit, and go back to the early eighties when I was just a wee child of five. At this young age, I was told that I was ugly, stupid, and would be nothing like my sister. Shit like that has a tendency to stay with you for a period of time. Especially, when the same mantra is said to you over and over again for a long period of time. And people wonder why I hate my mother so much. I know. Hate is not a positive emotion, but hate is a real emotion too me.

But, through all of the shit; through all of the negativity that I have been through, and still experience; I am not a person who has a black cloud that hangs over her head. I remain positive, for the most part, or as well as any bi-polar person can manage. I am not negative; I am a realist, and that can be harsh, and hard for most people to handle. I came from a shitty childhood, teenage life, and twenties, and for me to remain positive about some difficult situations is a miracle. 

As, I write this, I am in an odd place. I am not positive, or negative. I blame the medications that make me neutral. Or indifferent.  Or I just don't give a fuck. Not sure where my mind wants to take of residence. 

Thursday, March 6, 2014

The Debt Monster

I am not a champion for human rights. I do what I can from my little place, in the world. Human rights is such a broad term. What I want to talk about, this day, is wages. How much a person has to make to be able to comfortably live, and how many hours say a minimum wage works has to work just to be able to afford a two bedroom apartment. The link I am providing here shows just how many hours a minimum wage worker has to work to afford a two bedroom apartment:

Imagine having to work over 100 hours, I am guessing, and hoping, in a two week pay period to afford just a two bedroom. Why did this article use two bedroom apartment? Because, I think, that two bedroom apartments are the most sought after. Maybe one bedroom apartments are cheaper; maybe not. 

I know that, in my state of Vermont, to be able to comfortable afford to live, just in my county, one would have to make close to $18 an hour. Comfortable means having a roof over  your head, food on your table, and clothes to wear. Comfortable does not mean being able to go out every night for dinner, and drinks. Comfortable means that those luxuries are something that a person does once a month, if they are lucky. I am lucky to do this once every six months. 

I am fortunate that I have a living situation that allows me not to have to worry about making rent, or having food on the table. I am still working towards that $18 career. I know that I will make it there, and my first step is making $15 and hour. I also know that I will be able to achieve that financial goal. I remember when ramen noodles is all that I had to eat, and being able to eat actual food was a luxury. I remember when I had to worry everyday about having a roof over my head. I still have these insecurities. I am not rich; hell I am not even middle class. I am the working poor, and I am working my way out of a hole that I made. I know that by the end of this year I am going to be financially better. That is a major goal of mine, and a major stress off of my shoulders, and mind. 

I work my ass off. I am surprised that I have one anymore. I am not happy about having to work that hard just to "live." I don't consider this living. I consider it slavery. I am a slave to work, because I am a slave to debt. Get out of debt and the chains of work start to break. I love where I work, but I hate my department. I know that I will be able to transfer, in April. But, I am still a slave to work, until the slavery of debts are taken care. 

We are all slaves to something. Money is the great master who holds the whip.