I Am Not Broken

I’d taken to telling everyone and thinking of myself as a broken doll that needed super glue (the mega pricey kind) to fix.

I’d say to my boyfriend, hey honey, I’m broken and basically worthless now, so how could you love someone like me?

I received two gentle ear tugs for that.

Going through life with this sort of thinking is fucking miserable.

Then I realized after much thought, solitude and reading about trauma (especially of the domestic abuse kind) that what I was actually in need of was spiritual and emotional healing.


The people who hurt me, those are the ones who need fixing, not me.

Because I am not broken.

Repeat that to yourself if you feel the desire.

I Am Not Broken.

I’m doubtful that anyone would willfully go into an abusive relationship, but once you find yourself stuck in one (and don’t even realize it!) it’s sincerely fucking difficult to find your way out.

I had honed my survival skills in order to function and then out of nowhere, I got hit with a life-changing whammy. The man who had sworn to love and protect me was a lying, cheating sack of perverted shit and I had been totally duped.

My bad.

My wounds will heal and scar over. Because I’m human, I will periodically pick at them.

He had done his best to do me harm and destroy me, but you see, it is he who is the broken one, for only the truly fractured purposely hurt the ones that they claim to love.

I’m not on any sort of high horse. I realize that this process of healing will be time-consuming and there’s an excellent chance that my wounds will often become infected.

But I’m hellbent on changing my perspective.


Still Nuttier Than A Squirrel Turd

I’ve missed me.

I mean being Mer…you know, over here on this ancient ass blog.

Starting a new blog was exciting and I’ll be honest with you, it’s pretty fucking great being anonymous. It was sort of like drinking wine out of a┬áPringles can while tooting around a Walmart parking lot on a zippy cart.

Freedom, bitches.

And I’m pretty sure that I’ll be keeping the new blog, but I put my heart and soul into this blog for six long years. To keep it private felt like the right thing to do back in November, but I’ve since decided to reopen it again.

Emotions, right?

I’m hanging in there. Happy in love, probably for the first time in my life.


I took my sweetheart out for his birthday on January 4th.

I’m still nuttier than a squirrel turd, still a chronic pain warrior (with a 101 bowling average using my 6 pound ball) who continues to swipe daily at my dark, icky thoughts. I’m still me, but I’ve changed so much.

That isn’t a bad thing, though.

I’ve missed this place and I’ve missed you guys.

My Final Post

I wake up every morning, not in terror like I did for a large portion of 2015, but with a heaviness knowing that I’ll yet again be dodging my seemingly recurrent, never-ending passive suicidal thoughts and anxiety. How will the day pan out, will I manage to do all of the things that are expected of me? I honestly can’t even remember how I used to get up and go to work, just letting my dogs out and taking my medications uses the majority of my morning time energy now.

I fear writing here, it’s true. As a friend of mine said to me weeks ago, this place (my blog) reeks of asshat and boy howdy, how fucking true that is. I sit here and start to feel like I’m being slowly swallowed by a giant whale and I struggle to breathe.

I am writing this now because I decided to face my fear today, however insane that it might seem to some to actually have a phobia of a STUPID FUCKING BLOG.

Asshat named it originally (who recalls KOBAF?) and helped me with some of my early ideas. He was supportive of my writing at first, but it was all subterfuge. His real area of interest was getting laid behind my trusting back.

It’s not him that I miss, no. Honestly, I feel I was given a tremendous gift the day I found out about what he was doing. What upsets me the most is that I DIDN’T SEE IT.

I don’t like being played for a fool, man.

Self forgiveness comes slowly for me and trust, not to mention abandonment issues, continue to plague my almost 6 month relationship with my wonderful boyfriend Steven. He is as understanding as any man can be given that his girlfriend suffers from some major PTSD and other fun mental health diagnoses. When I have one of my panic attacks, he’s always there to calm me down, reassure me and then give me a big ass hug.


We went to Amish country in October and ate a lot of cheese.

When one door closes, another one opens or some shit like that.

This will be my final post on this blog. Six years, not too shabby.

I hope all of you the best.