I Think I’m Finally Spent

God Dammit, I’m exhausted-Lili von Shtupp

So after running around like a chicken with my head cut off for the last 18 months, I’m spent. Because of all of the changes in my life and the sedentary lifestyle I lived for 13 years, I’ve been running on overdrive and adrenaline. Don’t get me wrong it’s been fun for the most part, but I’ve become distracted, disoriented, and disorganized. This Sparkly Girl needs to disconnect and re-group. I’ve found something I’m good at and I’m extremely passionate about it. I’ve found writing. I never in a million years thought I was good at it. This all started from funny Facebook status updates. Serious status updates, lyrics and quotes. Inspirational shit too. Somewhere along the way, I got over-extended and tried to do too much. I’ve lost sight of family, friends and well, the rest of my life.

I need to slow down. But I want to write every damn day. 24/7 preferably. I don’t care if I get paid for it. I get new followers every day, so I must be doing something right. I’ve been told by friends and acquaintances that I’ve given them a voice. That I crawled into their heads and brought out their innermost thoughts. By putting myself out there, I’ve helped them sort out their shit. Unfortunately, I haven’t taken care of my own life. I’m going to take a few days off. I’m not going to post until next Monday, when I’m in West Virginia with my sister from another mister. Hopefully I won’t be chased by a huge ass snake while I’m there. I’m sure Tracy will be glad to take pictures of me running around, peeing on myself, and screaming like a girl. I know she and I will make great memories that I’ll want to share. I’m going to post some of her beautiful photography. She is a goddess behind the lense.

No worries, I will keep writing. On paper for now. As I’ve told K., it’s called longhand. Why I call it that, I’m not sure. Think it’s what my great-grandma called it back when I was a kid. I’ve got a book noodling around in this lovely blonde brain of mine. Some parts of it have already spilled out onto my blog. We’ll see what happens. Keep following me. Keep sending me pictures for stories. I think that’s my favorite. A lot of my readers send me their pics. They tell me a bit of their story and I create a story from it. I embellish of course. Add my own characters, my dreams, my wishes, my past. But it’s fun to go back to the person who sent it to me, and they tell me how close to the truth I get. I’ve even done it for one of my followers. I think that was the MOST fun!

So long for a few days. This demented Tinker Bell and blonde bombshell is going to sleep the sleep of the dead. When I get back, WATCH THE FUCK OUT! Giggle. Oh wait, Roger Darling is telling me to go clean the cat litter. AWESOME!

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This letter right here is the reason why I write….. Why I share

So many people ask me why I’m so honest when I write. Why I put myself out there. Why do I share so much. Read this letter from a dear friend of mine and you will know. SHE is the reason why I’m honest, why I share, why I give of myself the way I do. Because just once, just once you might get to save someone’s life. I’m not being haughty, I’m not being arrogant either. I helped save her life. Made her reach out. That is the reason that I write. To help, nurture, and love.

    • Hey mom!
      First off, you look fucking amazing! So proud of you, and dad too! Things haven’t been the best for me the last couple weeks…you’re the one I come to and your posts always bring a smile. To make a long story short, my mom is on pretty much 24/7 suicide watch on me. They’ve changed my antidepressant so I could be on Adepex, to help me lose weight since I can’t do much with my knee and back, and I ended up with the worst thoughts and feelings I’ve ever had before. I kept it hidden, forced a smile so mo one would know. Well, last week it got so intense that I was afraid of myself. I had things planned out, even had a few different ways to choose from. I knew at that point, if I didn’t tell anyone, I would end up making the worst and last decision of my life. So, probably didn’t go about informing my mom the right way, but it was the only way I knew how to so she would know I wasn’t just having a bad day. I chose to have my mom hide my meds and give them to me on schedule throughout the day. I can’t tell you how scared I made myself. I’ve never been one to think, let alone plan my own death. It’s embarrassing going through something like this but deep down, as much as I scared my parents, I make the right choice. It was a side effect of the antidepressant they had me on which caused my suicidal thoughts and almost actions. I made an appointment with the Dr and she went along with me yesterday. I was so embarrassed that when he walked in, I couldn’t look at him in the eye, couldn’t talk, I just cried. My mom told him what was going on and I had to beg him not to admit me to the hospital like he wanted. I go back in two weeks to see how the new med is working but until then, its almost like I have to have a babysitter, at 22. It’s horrible and I’ve never felt anything close to how I was the last couple weeks. It’s one thing to think it, but I was scared at how close I was to acting on it. So needless to say, yet another roller coaster ride for me. No one really knows but my parents and a fam friend about how bad it had gotten. But the point of this message is just to let you know that I love you and out of everything, your posts make me forget about everything for a moment and always bring a smile to my face, which means more than you know at this point. When I catch myself on the verge of tears of thinking things I shouldn’t, I go right to your page and just read. Read everything. But know. Even though you don’t intentionally do it, you have helped me many, countless times. Sorry for the novel I wrote but I love you and I truly look up to you more than you know.

    Oh  honey I loved every word you wrote. I’m so glad you contacted me. You don’t know how much it means to me. I’m so glad you told your mom. We would have been devastated to lose someone as wonderful as you. Life isn’t always easy. It’s not. And it doesn’t get easier the older we get either. But every day, every day we find ways to find happiness. To muddle through. We surround ourselves with good people, we learn to love ourselves and then love others.

    YOU are an amazing young woman. I have always loved you. You are sometimes the reason that I post what I post. The reason that I write what I write on my blog. Because of you incredibly strong young women. I’m amazed at all of you. Honey being on an anti-depressant doesn’t make you weak. It makes you stronger. It’s like a diabetic being on insulin. It’s something we need. If I wasn’t on mine, I would be an absolute mess. Or I would still be self-medicating with alcohol and food.

    It is the events in our lives that shape us. It is the people in our lives that save us or help us fall. We are the ones that are ultimately responsible for our own self-love, our own survival and our own worth. You reached out for help. That was a very brave step. Had you not, I’m sure you would be dead. I’m glad you go to my FB page, to my blog. You darlin’ are the reason that I write. The reason that I’m so blatantly honest. Because I know there are more sparkly girls with broken hearts out there. That are looking for love, for self-worth, for more.

    I’m proud of you for asking for help. I’m proud of you for living. I’m proud of you for everything. I really am. May I write about this? May I take your letter, take out your name and then add my reply? I will never, ever say your name.

    I love you girl and keep reading. Keep building yourself up!!!! And know that if you ever need me, you walk right to my door, call, whatever. I will build you back up and love you. Promise from the bottom of my sparkly heart!

Sundays in the Grooming Salon

Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.
Aristotle
It’s Sunday morning and I’m about to walk into my bliss. My job at Petco. I wonder how many lovely dogs I’ll get to beautify today. What kind of trouble I can get into. I see Clara and Marlena eyeing me through the glass door. Clara, the blondie is already smiling and giggly. Marlena has her painted eyebrow arched. Her red hair looks like flames. They are two of the most beautiful, free-spirited women I have ever known. I open the door and Clara immediately starts yelling, hey sexy. Marlena starts throwing dollar bills at me, calling me a sexy bitch. She tells me she’s going to steal my outfit. It’s not much really. Just a little torn up Malificent t-shirt, off the shoulder, a tank, my bra straps are hanging out. I’m wearing a pair of tight yoga pants. I blush. I smile. I think to myself, let the games begin!
 Of course I start posing.  Marlena starts yelling at me to say it. I grin, look at our new groomer. Hope he’s not easily offended. In my most devilish voice, I scream EAT THE KITTY!!! EAT IT! NOW! The girls lose their minds with laughter. I make a rude symbol with my fingers and tongue. We laugh till we can’t breathe. Our faces flushed. Humphrey looks at us like we’re crazy. Which of course we are.
 They love that I’m crude. That I’m not like their mothers. We talk about boys. All the time. We do have the occasional lesbian conversation. Thus the reason for the “EAT THE KITTY” outburst. I don’t know why I started saying it. It’s been kind of a theme for us. If it gets too tense, I just yell it out.
 I miss my K though. She was our Lucy. I still hold onto hope that she’ll come back. It’s an empty dream, I know. I  told her I’m moving in with her when I get old. I love her. She is me. I am her. In opposite bodies. Opposite ages too. It’s weird. She is my kindred spirit, my split apart, my soul mate. There’s no other way to explain it. She and I, just are….
 We work hard on Sundays. We laugh a lot. We cry sometimes. I don’t know how many times one of us has shared a secret. They just slip out in conversation. Among the dog hair, clippers, brushes, scissors, styptic, and shampoos.
 I can’t imagine my life without them in it. We depend on each other. We have shared some incredible stories. Supported each other through difficult times. I help them sort out their shit.  Take the sting out of their pain. I hug them a lot. Wipe tears. Tell them that I love them.
 I work in the salon out of necessity.  The money is good. But in reality, it’s because of those women. They beautify my life. Those lovely, Gothic women. They mean everything to me.