I think people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. My good friend Bailey taught me that.

Jennissee I don’t like you one little bit. But maybe you came here to make me think about something. Or, rather, because I don’t believe I have an invisible sky friend watching over me I choose to make you mean something.

Writing about my mental illness and my trauma experiences will not ruin the lives of my children. Lots of people have dealt with having crazy writers for parents. If necessary my kids can change their last names when they turn 18. I’ll pay for it.

Yes, there would probably still be some kind of a trail. But it would be more distant.

I could live with them needing distance. And you know what? Future employers, friends, and lovers of theirs are probably not going to care that much about what I have written on the internet. Get over yourself. Your crystal ball is broken.

My crystal ball is broken too. I don’t know what the future holds and it scares me very much.

I am sitting on something. It is hurting me very badly but I cannot write about it yet.

I am completely and totally freaking out about the fact that my mother may very well die before I ever get to the point of being able to love myself. Is it just that I am a selfish piece of shit?

I think this whole year is going to be brutal.

I called it now. 2016 is going to be an emotional roller coaster from hell.

I have proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that I am an effective tool. I have proven to myself and anyone who cares to look closely that I am loved by other people.

What do I have to do to love myself?

That’s the next book. And I’m going to have to write it by hand. Because I need to stop typing. I will check in. Maybe I should pick one day a week? What day would be best?

I need to mostly get off Twitter. I love it but I’m killing my arms. I have to heal.

I am not good at moderation. I do things or I don’t do things. I turn the switch on or off.

It’s all or nothing.

I don’t like myself very much. I would go so far as to say I think I am disgusting and horrible. I really don’t for the life of me understand why people have such fucking high expectations of a white trash whore.

Why in the fuck do you think I can do better.

Is it that white privilege bullshit? Even mediocre white people turn out pretty good?

There are things I want to do with my life in terms of being a tool. There are things I want to accomplish. There are things I want to do.

But I’m going to have to forgive myself for destroying my family.

I am not going to wreck my kids. Fuck you very much. I did wreck my family. Tommy died. My father died. My brother can never handle speaking to his family again and he believes he should not be near girl children. My sister raped her children. My mother has had one of the saddest lives I can imagine.

All that after I prosecuted and we god damn exploded.

I’m kinda the last cockroach climbing to the top of the dung heap. What in the fuck is there to love in that?

I want to hurt myself very very very very very badly.

I am not going to.

I’m almost stoned enough to go to sleep. Fuck the t-break. I need to sleep. We have a martial arts class tonight. I need to be able to interact with my children. I only slept for three hours.

And somewhere along the way, I need to learn how to love myself.