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confessions and getting punched in the ass by a lion

THE SECOND HALF ABOUT WHY I DISMISS JUNKIES AND NO ONE ELSE
SORRY I DIDN’T MAKE THIS EASIER TO READ It’s hard to read because I don’t have time to edit. I don’t have the desire to make it paragraph friendly. I think this should be hard to read. THE LETTER I SHOULD’VE NEVER SHARED. DON’T TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF IN FRONT OF A JUNKIE. I woke up and you were on my mind. some of my best writing is the personal letters that never get posted. if theres not a blog every day its because I spent my writing time writing letters like this. My waking thought was I wanted to tell you I think when you do write it will be shockingly similar to the way ratgirl is written. Its not that you would mimic. Its just I think your writing will focus on the importance of each word. and you would value a page like the ones she writes that share short strange moments in her childhood. those pages aren’t just a story. theyre just prose that is profound. I don’t know why it seemed so important to tell you that you shouldn’t waste your time finding out youre not going to be able to write about self hate, without feeling guilty for knowing your relationship with god is something that will always defeat self hate. were in the same boat. we both did too much stupid shit that would’ve put us in the grave if god didn’t not only care about us, but know we would fight for redemption, I wouldn’t be writing this letter and you wouldn’t be a hardworking sober man with a good job. it took a steady steam of miracles to keep me here. I don’t know how close you cheated death because of drugs, your a damn miracle just for falling in holes. I hope I get to read about your miracles. Even more than that I want to read your prose. Prose is something i only achieve on accident. I’m a word whore. I can’t sit down and limit what I want to express into a simple concise paragraph. People who can always blow me away. I know youre scared of being good at something. I understand the power of that fear. Im not painting this moment because I share that fear. Also I love making art but, I love sharing stories so much more I’m being self destructive. I write when I should be feverishly making art and earning the money I need to live. But, my desire for communication is more important than what’s going to happen to me when the money’s gone. I live with the knowledge only a miracle is going to keep me from hurting people I love. It won’t be suicide that’s going to hurt. When I get to the point of suicide it will be a side note. The way I’m going to hurt haunts me. Im not going to get the medicine I need to write these letters. I’ll hurt because the depression im going to face will make me slip out of the world without a goodbye. when the money is gone, so is the medicine, the crash will happen. i know your bipolar and you understand the crash. So many kids like us turned to drugs because that was the treatment we could afford. You give me hope that I have a shot at life when the medicine is gone. I’ll always be in your debt for giving me that hope. but, I know we have the same disease just in different degrees. I’m screwed because I truly don’t sleep without an anti-psychotic. My uncle most likely ate a bullet because even a lethal cocktail of drugs wouldn’t put him to sleep. He had too much pride to be one of ‘those people’ on an anti-psychotic. I don’t have that luxury. you’re absolutely right that every pill stops working. but the anti-psychotic saved me. finally being able to sleep gave me the confidence to attempt nursing school. I got something better than a degree. I learned not only am I smart, I’m so smart people get jealous, bewildered, and mock me for always making better grades than someone who studies. I shock people. It’s cocky to brag about being smart. I can do it only because it’s truly just the effects of a mind so severely bipolar it gave me freakish intelligence. That advantage you share. I know your smart. I can only describe my intelligence as irrational and something you have to see to believe. I didn’t post about the blog when I realized how smart I am because part of the story involved a girl that’s a facebook friend. She also hates me. I feel like writing and when I tell a story the second timing it’s always better. I was in the gutter. I was on meth. I had to drink at least six beers, eat three bars and snort two adderall and get stoned to make it to class. I was basically bald. I was dating a nazi and using him because I couldn’t complete the paperwork for foodstamps. Me and my mom didn’t care if he worshiped satan and ate kittens, he fed us and I had to fuck a nazi like a whore to know I had a meal on the horizon. I also knew he was a murderer. I have no doubt he put a girl in the everglades. I had no friends, I had to beg for gas money to get to school. I knew I was so fat and ugly I wore the same clothes everyday and I just stopped brushing my hair. I had no reason to live. The nazi was kind but it was torture to fuck someone so full of hate and capable of killing me at any point. it was hard for me to admit I was on meth. But, im glad I did because im free of that dark secret. and if my story gets told a lot of people can relate to using drugs when they’re cheaper, more effective and easier to get than medicine. More people need to understand that cycle. I couldn’t afford adderall and I turned to meth. I’m not the only bipolar person that’s made the same decision. I can talk about the meth and the lessons I learned. But this is the first time I’ve written about the other horrifying aspects of my situation. I don’t even want people to know my life had to get that bad. I fucked a murderer for food. I wanted to die so bad. That’s one of the reasons I got so fucked up on every drug I could get to go to class. I dreamed of finally killing myself driving. I dreamed of somehow getting killed without obviously committing suicide. I was so selfish I didn’t care if I killed other people. I hate that aspect of my life so much I feel like I deserve every punishment I receive. I hated that I wanted death more than anything yet I was too chickenshit to do it. My aunt was still alive. She abandoned me over the word fuck in a text message. I changed her diapers and served her and she never gave me a chance to defend myself and simply told me anything I left at her house she was sending to goodwill. That loss was so deep I can only cry. I soon realized they acted like I was a huge financial burden. I ran every aspect of that house, changed every diaper, dressed her, gave her medicine, made sure she had good food, I healed the bedsores she didn’t realize would’ve killed her if I didn’t keep her dry, repositioned, and tenderly clean and medicate them. They paid me two hundred dollars a week. They acted like that was a burden. When they disowned me for the word fuck they had the money to pay a nurse nearly a thousand dollars a week to do what I did. I spent nearly five years in my twenties with a nine o’clock curfew to sleep there in case she needed me in the night. On top of doing so much the anti-psychotic gave me tardive dyksenia. I dont know if you know about it. Its a neverending facial tick where you cant stop moving your mouth. Tweakers imitate it. It happens from heavy psyche drugs. Its a permanent disfigurement. Most schizophrenics deal with it. When you cant stop moving your face and you know its something everyone sees it feels like wearing a sign that says I’m insane or I’m on meth. My mom just cried. So did aunt jonell. They had to watch me loose the ability to control my face. and it forced them to realize im just as bad off maybe worse than a schizophrenic. My shrink freaked out and put me on another psychotic. seraquil. It’s the governments cheap solution to sedating psychotic people. The nazi was prescribed it. he refused to take it. I found out why. I took it as soon as I woke up. It finally put me to sleep around ten. the next day I didn’t wake up. I was still doing everything for aunt jonell. but i did it half asleep. I drove to get her diapers in a state equivalent to having a lethal level of alcohol in my system. I was that fucked up. I spent months in bed only moving to serve aunt jonell. I laid in bed crying until she had to pee. I got her on and off the toilet and I fell back asleep until I was summoned again. my aunt knew I was drugged out of my mind because I had to fix my face. she just cried for me. My uncle always belittled me the more senile he got the more he tormented me. I was so sedated sometimes I pissed the bed before i could get to the toilet. he had the time of his life finding every way possible to tell a person they were lazy, worthless, pathetic, had no value, couldn’t do shit and had no future. I worked so hard just to get dressed, but I never lowered the level of care i gave my aunt. It was a miracle. I cooked meals when I couldn’t stand and I nodded off standing over a stuff. cooking that bastard man his daily demanded serving of collard greens. I cooked for him while he stood there and told me i was the laziest human being he ever met. he never changed a diaper. yet he stood there and told everyone that he didn’t understand why he was paying someone to sleep all day. Everyday he told me i would never get a man because i was fat, lazy and bald. I believed him. I gave up on living. I don’t know how I did it but I still managed to sober up and make it to class every night and make straight A’s. There was also the disrespect that my cousin also got paid two hundred dollars a week simply for lifting her from the wheelchair to the toilet. He used them for free room and board. They paid all his bills. I knew it wasn’t right we earned equal pay when he did about ten minutes of work per day and I was a slave. He showed my aunt the message that said ‘stop being a creepy fuck and stalking me’ I got disowned. He actually got his pay increased. The irony is I’m glad they disowned me. my cousin wanted to ruin my life. he set me up to starve. but starving was better than listening to my uncle find ways to make me cry. My uncle david was wise enough to comfort me for losing my ‘real’ parents but he also told me it was the best thing that could’ve happened to me. He had to force me to see that I was being abused and it was destroying me. My cousin turned on me because he was embarrassed I would go in public with someone covered in swastikas. Everyone turned on me. It was the best thing that could’ve happened. when it happened I was beyond suicidal. I wanted to disown aunt jonell with my death the way she disowned me. I spent many times holding a bottle knowing even though she used me like a toy my whole life and never knew me. I couldn’t make her feel guilty over my suicide. All my love is unrequited. God taught me to love even the people who deserve my wrath. I simply can’t take seraquil. It’s a bottle of suicide. I decided I was already ugly that it was worth being disfigured to get out of a sedation death spiral. God gave me a true miracle than even baffles my shrink. I started taking the anti-psychotic that destroyed my face. I don’t have the slightest trace of tardive dyskensia. There is no explanation. It’s damn near a medical miracle. I didn’t have a slight case. I was truly eating my face all day and it just stopped. I prayed so hard for that miracle. you can’t imagine. The fact God gave me that miracle made me put down the pills and start telling my story. I was still numbing all my emotional pain with enough drugs and beer to knock out a frat boy infamous for his ability to party. But that miracle made me start fighting. My battle was hilarious and epic. I was in an accelerated anatomy and physiology class. Its designed to weed out students not smart enough or dedicated to be in the nursing program. When I’m fucked up, people don’t notice. I can act. and I can handle my drugs. Most people never notice me. It’s because I’m shy and I dislike being the center of attention. The people in that class thought I was just some dirty ugly girl. At first people just were rude to my face the few times i attempted small talk. When your ugly the world is cruel. I know I was difficult to look at. However, girls i complimented for wearing a cute dress would look at me like I had no right to speak to them. The class was equally divided in two. The people sitting in the front of the class were ass sucking perfectionists and the back of the room was a group of misfits that had no shot of passing. I sat in the middle. The class was designed to force students to go to school on saturday for personal study sessions that the professor used to give hints and clues for what to study. The ass suckers showed up on saturday and depended on free answers to get an A. They constantly bitched about how much time they studied. I started writing. I read the chapter usually. but, that’s all the fuck I did besides get wasted. I learned through the lectures. I have a strange memory. The ass suckers even did the homework. To learn some things they did serious research. I listened to a three hour lecture. I better post this before its too long but I’m not finished with you yet. if i break your phone Ill buy you a new one. the facebook friend i didn’t want to read this story i simply called the fat girl. I loathed her. I usually love fat people. But, her weight turned her into someone that most dominate, control, win and rub her success in people’s face. I spent a lot of time learning with these people. I call her the fat girl. But, I do it with the knowledge she’s the only girl her size that always dressed cute and appeared perfectly prepared and polished. I know what it feels like to be fat. She may overcompensate but she made her size irrelevant because of how much genuine self esteem she has. That takes hard work. I’d never met a girl her size that managed to wear figure flattering sexy dresses and skirts. as a side note she’s also the preppy chick you don’t expect to openly lust after all really sexy black dudes. She’s smart enough to know black men want a fat white girl that’s fucking determined to be a doctor one day. Most White men would just see a fat bitch. It took me time to see past her facade of perfection and respect her for who she really is. I also like a good fight. And we waged war. When you don’t study and you go into a test you could’ve prepared for there is anxiety. On test days I showed up extra fucked up and openly admitted I was going to blow it.. But, something happens when I take a test. I crave tests. Some people have test anxiety. I have test serotonin highs. I’m like a drug addict when it comes to tests. For me the best high I can have is the challenge of a test I shouldn’t be able to pass. The less I study the greater the high I get. It’s because my brain is freaky. It was probably my first college test that was an actual challenge. I was in heaven. It feels like magic. I’ve always done it. Sometimes I don’t need to know something in order to know the correct answer. Every test was complex yet most of it I knew from lecture and the rest I guessed with only this strange notion that I had a gut instinct which answer was correct. When I get back a test I know I took guided on premonition I always expect to fail. The first test made people realize I was in the classroom. They all reassured me before the test that I wouldn’t fail. Then the teacher let us all wonder in suspense which ass sucker scored the highest grade. ‘The blonde girl said I’m sure it’s the fat girl.’ The fat girl said ‘no I’m sure its you.’ Then the professor told them it wasn’t either of them and he said my name and congratulated me for making a 100% The fat girl looked at me for the first time. she realized I didn’t have free answers, I didn’t do homework, I admitted I didn’t study and I beat her. I freaked her the fuck out. she assumed the first test was beginners luck. There were a lot of tests. I didn’t always make a 100% But, I never scored below a 96% I always beat the fat girl. She didn’t understand me. And she hated me. I get the urge sometimes to tell her I beat her when I was so fucked up. my only challenge was reading the test. Making an A was easy. Everyone in the class was forced to notice me even though I was ugly. People always teased me for being so certain I would fail and then making the highest grade. There were some tests so challenging the asssuckers bombed. People would say shit like ‘damn it lynn, would you stop making a hundred and miss a few answers to make us feel better’ A lot of it was guess work but most of it is my brain. I understood difficult concepts well enough to teach others. I helped a lot of people in that class. I have one skill people relied on I’m the queen of mnemonic learning. I shared my techniques for memorization and raised a few GPA’s. That class gave me the ultimate academic challenge. We had all semester to prepare for a test that determined if we passed or failed. I had to learn how to pick out any bone in the body out of a box, identify it, know the anatomical term for each indentation and groove, and determine if it was right or left. The true challenge was learning to identify every anatomical feature of the skull. I also had to learn every muscle. We were expected to identify over five hundred terms. People spent every saturday studying those damn bones. I pushed my time to learn that much information on the last possible saturday in three hours. It was insanity to expect myself to learn that much so quick. It was also one of the greatest highs of my life. The fat girl finally had her chance to flaunt a superior knowledge than me. I set back and let her teach me. Learning bones can’t be done with a book. you have to hold them, turn them, and figure out how they connect just like a puzzle. She watched me when I’m truly focusing my brain. It’s freaky. You only have to tell me something once and I can repeat it verbatim. It’s my gift. I learned different parts of bones with several classmates. There was such irony about that test you would appreciate. I paid a lot of money to go to a school known for a good medical education. There were two fucking skulls in the building. Only one of them was marked with red dots that distinguished different features. Learning the bones of the body is easy. Memorizing the names of each crease, crevice and hole is easy. figuring out left or right takes skill. But getting a group of ass suckers to come off a skull on their last day to learn it was a challenge. I was smart enough to find out how the test was set up. there would be 25 bones in stations. you had to identify it, correctly identify the feature marked with a sticker and determine if it was left or right. Half the terms we were expected to learn involve the skull. I will buy one someday just to remember what it felt like in my hands that day. It’s so complex and intricate its the most amazing thing I’ve ever encountered. their are holes you only learn because of how far you can push a pen through them. All semester someone had a skull, a book and a pen out. I thought about it and realized the skull was irrelevant. Since there were only two skulls in the building only two questions would involve the skull even though half the test terms covered the damn thing. a budget problem meant the whole class never had to touch the skull and still could make an A on the test. I mastered every term but the ones for the skull. I had thirty minutes. and I decided to get a bit cunty and demand that me and my friend get to learn the damn skull. Of course they only gave up the one with no visual clues. We had a book and fifteen minutes to learn all those terms. we worked fast. We had no choice but to share it to learn. We identified each feature one time together. But, we each had minutes to hold it in our hand and locate one hundred features we learned in fifteen minutes. Making the highest grade was easy. Holding that skull in my hand and methodically locating one hundred terms in the time it takes to say one hundred words was my greatest achievement. People stopped and watched me do it. It was something you had to see to believe. The asssuckers watched me name every term on the list in alphabetical order with no flaws. They knew I learned it in fifteen minutes. The fat girl will never forget it. When I had that skull not only did i learn it. I mastered it. The day of the test someone told me to do it again, wondering if I actually could repeat what they saw. I held it and named each feature faster than the first time I did it. I freaked out my professor for how fast I could correctly recite each feature on the unmarked skull. I made a 100% on that test. I was the ugliest, the most fucked up on drugs, the least dedicated, the poorest, and the most self hating person in the class. But, I made the highest grade. It’s not just proof I’m smart. It’s proof that God watches out for people he challenges the most. At that time in my life the knowledge that I could come out on top with so many problems refocused my life. My appearance was irrelevant. The blonde girl looked at me the way she probably looks at homeless people. I pity her. Despite her beauty, she was given an ugly heart. Over thirty years I’ve seen physically beautiful women become shockingly ugly fast, they all had an ugly heart. The woman I know with the most beautiful hearts grow prettier as they age. I fell into the second category. A part of my charm is not being the prettiest girl in a room. I don’t want to be that girl. I hid behind ugly not to have the attention that comes with beauty. I can tell you something I would never share with another man. It’s Ironic it’s something only you would appreciate because I fantasize about having sexual contact with you. I’m in the percentile of women who don’t have an orgasm during sex.. I have clitoral orgasms but for me sex is entirely about providing my partner the best possible experience because it’s pointless to expect myself to have an orgasm. It’s just not physically possible my pussy is simply broken. I used to think it was a mental block. But over the years I think its a physical problem. Tim was the man that I found stable and mature enough to begin a sexual relationship with around junior year. I would have stayed a virgin till graduation. but, when we kissed the first time I had such a sense that he was the missing piece of my puzzle I would have married him at any point. We had a great sex life. But, no penetration gave me an orgasm. he spent two years trying. I wasn’t smart enough to realize its vital to fake it. Our sex life was intense foreplay, giving me head till i came, and pleasurable sex where I focused on making his orgasm as intense as possible. He loved me. But he met a girl like me with a working pussy, and he left me before my dad was one week dead to fuck her. It was the meanest thing he said to me was ‘apparently she had no problem getting off with his dick’ he was ignorant she was in the act of seducing my boyfriend of course she’s going to claim it’s the best sex of her life. we were sitting on a park bench when he broke it down for me that it was a hard decision but he’s going for the chick who can come without lengthy sessions of head. I decided any other man I fucked would have the impression I come good hard and fast. Since I went on to fuck a lot of his friends they had a much better sex experience than he had. I’d like to think I could tell brian look I love fucking, I want to do it all the time, I never get enough but I don’t have an orgasm, and we could still be intimate. but I know how much pleasure he recieves from the illusion he’s a rarity and he knows exactly how to make me come. Giving a man that feeling is one of the most enjoyable aspects of sex. The irony is I’m so good at faking orgasms I know how to give a man an even more intense variation of muscle release and contractions than a real orgasm does. The few men I’ve slept with all comment on how intense it feels on there dick when I come. It’s one of those reasons I’m not married to a forty year old redneck that loves, adores, worships, and financially supports me. I don’t come. I lifetime of faking pleasure during sex isn’t what I want. life would be easy if i liked girls. but, im a slut for men and i’m picky. sex has been traumatic in my twenties. I fell in love with my best friend little brother. I loved him to pieces faking sexual pleasure was torture. He wanted it all the time. it felt like rape. time to post again sending you messages out of order. tim round two was next. I knew I had to fake it that wasn’t an issue. He lost all of his sex drive. his dick was broke from alcohol and diabetes. he was only sober enough to get hard sunday morning around seven o’clock I would rather deal with the trauma of being brutally ass raped by a stranger than re-live the sex he forced me to endure. He brought me shitty coffee, he put me in some twisted scissor position where he didn’t have to look at me, he didn’t touch me, he didn’t kiss me, he always left the tv on playing bay news nine, in florida its the equivalent of a news station for senior citizens, he lifted up my leg and the only touching involved was is dick in my totally dry pussy. he managed to turn sex into a process devoid of human contact except for painful penetration. and I pretended to get off sometimes while I cried. sunday morning began with rape from a man that wouldn’t even put his tongue my mouth. He fucked me the only way possible to give me the impression I was a hole not worthy of touch or looking at. There’s a reason buster’s basically the only man I fucked in my twenties. We had chemistry that involved our intense desire to punish jen. I couldn’t have found a crueler human to become my closest friends. I liked her because she was real. I stopped caring about her as a true friend when i realize she would yell at me for hurting her boyfriend after he choked me. I gave her a second chance because I always do. When buster, jen and I met the man who beat me was in prison. I even drove her to visit the man who beat me. he flirted with us both. jen was much prettier. and they began to secretly date. he also intended on having me to. he was an ugly bastard. but he made me laugh. he also dealt with jens idea she is a queen and the world serves her. it was funny because she called me the female version of buster. and she called him the male version of me. I rejected him for a long time. I’m not the girl that fucks her best friend’s boyfriend. The night I broke he found my weak point. I love to be dominated and treated like a whore. Jen wasn’t there but laura was. buster dared me to use some ugly kid to get him to blow a paycheck trying to impress me and get me drunk. it was a challenge. I did it. the guy was such a tool he tripped me, trapped me in the bushes, and physically gropped me. I’ve had it happen so many times, I have fun with it, i told him he had ten seconds to get off of me before i beat the shit out of him. I even gave him a countdown. He got off of me when he heard the tone of voice I used when I said nine. I went inside and told buster the tool got ten seconds to play with my tits, we laughed because we both knew he blew whole check at the bar to have the chance, and he used a credit card to bring back a keg. Our relationship was strange. If he had beat the shit out of the kid I wouldn’t have fucked him. The fact he was a dude that appreciated the way I handle a situation where I use a man, and let them have ten seconds of tit play as payment, was the trick to getting in my pants. He was turned on I’d do it. I was turned on that he knew that’s how I play. We might’ve stopped there. Then the night got more twisted. His other friend decided to go for me. He watched me use one tool and he was still dumb enough to through himself in my lap. He happened to be hot so I played with him just because I knew it tormented buster. He broke down and grabbed my hand and put it on his dick. At that moment I was playing with a hot dumb dudes dick and he didn’t know my other hand was actually finally playing with buster’s dick. The irony is I’ve never given a decent hand job. my left hand is gimp, my right hand is shockingly small. Yet I sat on my best friends bed giving her boyfriend a handjob while he watched me give some other guy a handjob. And I was subtle enough to pull it off in a room full of people with no one realizing I was whacking two men at once. Laura my other best friend knew something was happening. Me, jen and laura truly came as a trio for a long time. Our first kiss was in the bathroom of the house he lived in. It was such an epic disappointment. He can’t kiss. Like he has no clue how to do it. when he tries, it’s like having a slug jammed in your mouth. However, when we finally pressed against each other after temptation that lasted years. It was a memory I cherish. I also realized that jen was the fake skinny blonde with fake tits, daddy’s money and an annoying personality. fucking her boyfriend was fabulous. I thought I was so ugly and fat. at that point in life I completely refused to wear women’s clothing and I lived in a tank top and an unbuttoned grandpa shirt. He wanted to fuck me because of my personality. I was the reason he was able to deal with a girl like jen. He knew he was banging her best friend and I’m not a cunt. What makes it more twisted was the first time we fucked laura actually stayed in the room and watched. I’ve never been watched before. But, even though I don’t have an orgasm when I want the pleasure of sex, I don’t fuck around. he never learned to kiss. our best sex always involved close calls at getting caught. Jen was always a bitch. she would be stingy or mean and I’d smile with the knowledge that sometimes I shaved my legs with her razor, left her house and went directly to fuck her boyfriend. Every time we fucked I let myself think about begging her to let me out of that car after her boyfriend choked me. It was payback. I know it goes against enlightenment to indulge in payback. but knowing she would lie and stick me with medical bills was something I cherished giving payback for. I have no regret. In fact I’m proud it lasted so much longer than the time she dated him. Laura told me that jen said she knew I would fuck buster but there was no way he would fuck someone as fat as me. She was convinced I was too unattractive for even ugly guys to fuck. The irony is buster also fucked laura who was fatter than me. Laura and I worked shockingly well sharing a man. It was just irony the man we chose to share was officially the only one off limits. We had so many funny moments. We listened to jen bitch that buster never wanted sex and we were the reason. One night he officially forced me into ass rape. I’m abnormal. Aspects like genuinely being manhandled and forced to calm down and relax with a dick in my ass become some of my best sexual memories. The next day I was so sore from jen’s boyfriend forcing me to venture into the land of anal sex. we happened to drive buy a bird and animal show. That day she decided I needed a guinea pig. I do have a love for guinea pigs after reading a strange book with a character that hoarded guinea pigs. I named him willard after the movie about the man with the rats. i was allowed to pick out a movie and I picked willard. It was so bad jen, laura and buster revoked all my rights to pick out entertainment. So then I had a guinea pig that made me think of ass sex with my best friends boyfriend. I felt guilty when I looked at the guinea pig. but there both out of my life and I think about what Ill remember about them both. I’m going to have better memories of buster. jen is only going to remind me of having a best friend that thinks she’s much better than me. Buster had no chance after one night with brian. it was ironic. I didn’t even tell him it was over after i offered him a vacation and his response was ‘Ill take the monies but i aint no nigger’ It ended as strange as it began. my phone rang and it said buster. he never calls so I called and he didn’t pick up. he texted me ‘i told you never to call me this fucking late’ I tried to explain I got a phone call from his number. he told me that was impossible, told me I was full of shit. I told him he didn’t need to get an attitude. he said he didn’t have time for my shit and as a matter of fact lose his number. I had to check my phone to see what I said. I could’ve done better but this was my response and my way of ending all ties ‘Lost for good my latest dick actually makes me cum. yeah i liked giving you head but you can’t fuck good enough to make me come. Didn’t you notice I faked every orgasm. I barely tried in the end. And since I’ve seen normal balls regularly your sack droops like a senior citizen.’ he responded ‘have a nice life’ I responded, they do have surgery to repair your damaged ball sack muscles. there is hope for you’ the last thing he’ll ever say to me is ‘that’s great.’ Sex with brian is a strange experience. I’ll always wonder what sex would be like with you. I get the since it’s either like brian or like buster. the curiosity to find out drives me to the point of jealousy that another girl has the opportunity I don’t. brian is the most intimate gentle lover I’ve ever had. he prolongs every second of pleasure yet he makes sex seem innocent but not truly sensual. He’s different he’s so focused on not coming fast he strangely doesn’t provide a lot of intimate touch and kissing. He’s rare when he does come he’s ready for round two in seconds. he doesn’t realize when he’s trying not to come he insists i lay still and not stimulate him. I’m learning to relax in the confines of slow intimate sex. what disturbs me is he doesn’t like dirty talk. I know I need the intimacy provides at the same time we have two different views of sex. buster gave me the most sexual pleasure I’ve experienced because we had rough, intense, violent, degrading, filthy hot sex. He knew I truly got off when he was in complete control. I crave the intensity you see when alison mosshart sings, but I’m getting a lullabye by norah jones. I don’t think I’m capable of having sex without talking dirty. it’s one of the greatest pleasures i get from sex is heightening pleasure buy saying something dirty. I know youre battling sex. i wanted you know i am too. sex is why I write instead of dating. I’ll alway wonder what level of deviance you thrive under. I also would understand if you treated sex exactly like brian. I have the feeling you wouldn’t make me lay still to prevent you from coming. If you are a lover that knows how to throw a woman on a bed, rip clothing and dominate I’d be satisfied in a way that would be disturbing to observe especially with the knowledge I can’t come. It felt so nice to write this letter. I also wanted you to know I talk a lot about being a slut. In reality sex is my downfall. I officially have to clue what to do when I’m on top. My sexual domination fetish makes being on top unpleasurable. At the same time, years of avoiding sex have truly made me master the art of sucking dick. I love providing that pleasure enough to fake sexual pleasure. That’s one skill I’ve mastered to a degree I can brag. My perfect sexual partner would pretty much ass rape me and demand constant head. finding a man who could do that and still read books and make conversation is like finding a contradiction that probably doesn’t exist. I want you to write, I want you to know you’re value, I want you to know you feel me with curiosity. I want you to know we’re both miracles, we both can change lives, and I learned to love myself on a level where i don’t need anyone else to love me too. It’s possible. anything is possible. write the prose floating through your brain. blow me away. blow away the world. I was scared of being good at something. beating that fear freed me from an empty life. I want you to have all your dreams come true. you deserve it. I may not always be able to write you all night. but when I can, it leaves me feeling like a better person than I was when I started the letter. And seriously if I maxed out your phone mail me the bill. It was worth it. and i get bonus sober points for writing this long letter without adderall. thats why im sure it’s clustered with grammar errors. I’m fighting to function sober. know, im waging war with this disease.

Time passed. I wrote a blog and pitched it into his world. I wrote about having balls and friendship. He didn’t have to say a word. This was his response.

Glenn: yes im selfish. im an asshole, im confused, disoriented, disallusioned, ignorant, insensitive, unkind….i have stopped talking to you. im stumbling through every life experience clean , searching for fulfilling acts and ultimately leaving myself empty. im trying to combat grave mental disorderwith spirituality alone….chemical free. its overwhelming reading twenty rantsvsbout chemicals and jow other people arevyoo blame everyvweek. im trying to stay away ftom those two tjings today. chemicsls snd blame. im not judging you lynn. im barely hanging onto my own sanity im sorry im not yhe frirnd youvdeser

The way I responded was a direct result of reading that message once. I didn’t grasp the fact he was a total waste. I responded with a sense of hope and no real anger at his response.

Me:we could have helped each other. You deserve a good friend. You deserve many. I tried. you insisted on making me this girl that is all drugs and nothing but drugs. I just showed you love from my heart that I felt compelled by fucking God to give you. I don’t fight God. I don’t give up on people. I care so deeply about you. It’s a bond between two people with similar problems. I loved our chats. I know when you would talk to me about anything besides how much an addict I am, you loved our chats too. We have a connection. I feel it as plain as day. I don’t know why you won’t be my friend. I know you spend a shit load of time on facebook. I know you have the time for my friendship. You didn’t see the value in making me more than a prescription bottle. I wanted to be human. I wanted to love you. I wanted to give you a friend you could always confide in. That’s how I live my life. Being that friend is my only purpose in life. It s the only thing I care about. I don’t need you to be happy. however, saying hello and bullshitting about books or our lives would’ve made me happier than just about anything. You walked away. You quit me. You were supposed to love me in some friendship way that would stop that from happening. I only showed you love. When I was scared you couldn’t be kind. I think you should feel like shit. You can’t imagine how shitty I felt. I will always. be hear for you. I just don’t trust you to be a good person. that breaks my heart. I know you are good. you just don’t find me worthy of the time it takes to be good to me.

I took the time to read his message again. My focus shifted from caring about him to making a point and getting fucking mad the way I should’ve of. A lightning bolt went off that I wanted him to hurt and disappear forever.

Me: and you take one more message to tell me that I represent chemicals and blame. I had to read it again for clarification. don’t you see what cruel thing that is to tell a person. why wouldn’t you just not respond rather than saying I’m a dick and you are chemicals and blame. I hope you have at least the words I’m sorry to make me out to be chemicals and blame one more time. I write about so much more than what medicine I take. you just aren’t looking. you owe me a fucking apology whether we never speak again

His response and attitude I don’t understand. I appreciate he said something real for the first time. When the light bulb went off he exited my world as a time source. I can just share dialogue. I can wonder why he would hate me so much yet try and keep around. I’m actually scared to post this for once. Jesus Christ, I build to the moment of using complete verbal warfare. I can’t make this weird shit up. Junkies make no goddamn sense. When I get pissed off I get funny. I go places you shouldn’t.

Glenn:the things take are substances that can kill me…its hard to constantly thinkvabout thrm or read there names everyday….my mind still tells me i neee xanex..its dangerous..i hate typing my feelibgs out on avphone in long drawn out letters . i tried being a call awayva number of tines and you shot me down. i cant be this creation in your mind you expect me to be. he really does sound wonderful. hes the guy i used to swear up and down that i was .im not though. im a damaged fuckup in a constant state of rebuilding and its fuckibg hardvand overwhelming wiithout drbating online about drugs and expectations. i dont mean you any pain or harm. im sorry if im not who you think i am.

I read this message and I’m having a normal reaction. Some guy is saying he’s a total stranger that I won’t like. Now, it’s simple and guilt free to get him to unfriend me. It becomes a crusade to make him disappear and I’m not unfriended him. When you want someone gone it feels like a complete mission success when they hit the button and exit. You see the complete stopping power and ease I start a mission to make you hit the button. I’m you’re worst nightmare because I can respond in two seconds and fuck you up. I read it one time and typed my message two seconds after he sent it to me.

Me:you just blow me away by really being that person that is always mean and hateful. I have no idea why I have decent memories of you. It was to have this experience of someone so selfish they have no worth. You are miserable. I don’t really want you to read my blog or have access. please delete me. Goodbye I don’t want to look at you. you are a monster and you proved it. you win. I have no sense you exist

Can you give me credit for not playing games. I wanted him gone. I’m officially on the clock for him to disappear. I thought that would end things. I’ve declared he’s gone and now I’m fascinated to see how he faces rejection. I don’t like strange people who have been mean to be able to read about me.

Glenn: wow…i could never possibly make soneonevas unreasonable as you, happy. i have to type words in an order you approve of , when you want me to or im a heartless asshole….that is unrealistic.

Me: in two seconds: you just told me your a heartless asshole. what else am I finally going to break down and accept as the truth

Glenn: yeah i appreciatw your creativiy and your friendship snd our history but i cant get wrapped ip in constant arguing.its not good for either of us.good night lynn. dont hate me. try to see things fron anothrt persons perspective and ill do thevsame. im sorry i ignored you.

Me: I just read your little rant about how I have no idea who you are. I can accept that. I just think i could think of you as anything but just a dick. Im blown by the proportion.delete me please. or i delete you dont contact me again

Glenn: i did nothing to you. this is insane. im bad at relationships letvalone internet convos whrrevits hard tp express true emotion. you think you know but you dont.

Me: you just communicated that you are a really bad person who feels mixed up in my drug filled world. that’s all you see. a drug filled world. you couldn’t say one nice thing. creative was as close as you could get

Glenn: your hearing what youvwant. im done arguing with you. no words are good enough. no body could possiblyvsatisfy your expectations

Me: i am a friendship. i didn’t want anything from you. i had no expectations. i expected you could be a nice person to talk to

Glenn: i have real life struggles at the moment . i dont need an intrnet nemesis

I really evaluate this situation. I do take some time before I bust this out. This took a little longer than two seconds to decide. I want some creep who considers me an internet nemesis totally gone. I don’t feel like playing anymore. I’m tired of the bullshit. I hit the height of pissed off. I decide his clock has run out and getting him gone is worth being evil as I can. I fucking burn. I do it as hard as I can love. I love being nice. It’s something I love. Being an evil cunt was something I learned. It started at fourteen with tip warfare against a shitty server that is making me work without payment. I’ve been a cunt for a long time. It’s the real world. I was a woman who didn’t get paid by lazy bitches. I lived in grown up land. I got offered meth at fourteen in a fucking airport bathroom and I’ve never been on a plane. It was an education in cunt warfare. That job in a jean skirt was a place we all knew each other as a fucking cunt. At fourteen I entered a job only a cunt can do. It’s been a hardcore journey to learn how to truly cunt out.

Since I can’t seem to move from the toilet like a normal girl I always read two pages of a book when I piss. I took a piss trying to describe how I felt and why I justify a cunt move. I’m five pages into a book I read once and cant remember. “The dancers were butterflies. From a hundred paces Salome could see the dirt under these girls’ fingernails, but not their wings.” When your dancing and some cunt only sees dirty fingers you fight like a cunt with dirty nails fights. I have no intention of allowing a person to see dirt while I dance. If you pull some shit and give me that feeling a butterfly will sting like a wasp bite. I worked with dirty nails and other woman who had them. I fucking go for destruction.

Me: Offically at my ultimate cunt potential: this will end it. you are just that boy who fucked the lion in the lion the witch and the wardrobe. I will only remember that. and this notion of you as a person I knew is erased. welcome to cruelty the way you like to use it. I love nice. this is how you communicate. i hope it hurts. I wish I never met you.

I only know this motherfucker as a boy I was dating that the whole fucking school laughed at for getting caught fucking the gayest guy in school. We were freshman together. I thought he was a year older. He had three months in plant city high school. He was my boyfriend. He went gay. He admits kissing but the whole damn school heard fucking. I think to reach the point where a town thinks you fucked the gay dude in the auditorium prop room, you went beyond kissing and you got busted fucking. I heard some vivid details about his pants down getting fucked the ass. All memories of high school are hard to move beyond being funnier that me. Four years later my friends could bust my balls reminding me of my first high school boyfriend. It was epic. I was happy and in love. Then he didn’t go to school the next day. And then the rumor hit me. I was dating some gay dude that fucked the lion in my first play the ‘lion the witch in the wardrobe.’

It was goddamn funny shit. I had to sit and love the gay lion. He got my man. We were sexual competition. He was a wonderful cunt. His story is my real world. His name is sacred. I wish more than a person could imagine he was alive. Glenn was an afterthought compared to the fun I had with the lion. You are a gay riot if you pull off a lion costume. It was a sweatsuit with yarn. My memory of a great gay dude in a gold sweatsuit with a mane of yarn is priceless. I was someone to mercifully flaunt. Everyone felt bad for the girlfriend of the kid that fucked a lion. I fell in a story. I had so many people ask me about the lion fucker. Lion fucker was a part of my vocabulary. I never had a woman steal my boyfriend. A gay dude did it the first time it was possible. The lion considered my boyfriend a merit badge. He earned it. The lion could slap my ass. He could take the milkshake out of my hand and drink it when he had mono. He schooled me with the knowledge he fucked my boyfriend while he gave me mono.

The fury I felt at the lion will last a lifetime. I got schooled by a gay dude about life. I got burned. I literally had the lion walk up behind me and slap my ass harder than it’s ever been slapped. The lion was a boy with fang teeth implants. If you remember him you know his true happiness was biting people. It was his way of making friends. I have a lot of memories of standing in the damn auditorium and the fucking lion biting me on exposed flesh. He bit to leave a mark. Glenn fucked a boy that bit me all the time. I forgot about the bites. He was the epitome of a gay biting lion. Biting me was special because we liked sweater boys and he won the war. I only talk about how hard he bit so you can understand when decided my ass was a target he hit a bullseye. In theory, it was just a friend slapping another friend on the ass.

The lion didn’t follow rules. It felt like that motherfucker punched me as hard as humanely possible right in the fucking asshole. I know he fucked my asshole up. If you need a lesson in why you become a cunt this is it. Standing in another world, I was Punched in the asshole out of the blue. I will never be able to pull off a move like punching an asshole. I loved him and accepted the bites. That was okay pain threshold for love. I was just finally in a place when my worlds collided. It was the first time I got ungodly pissed off and wanted to murder and maim. The feeling of a random asshole punch is hard to express. You have to go into the world of cunt to punch an asshole hard enough to declare rape. You had to be bit to understand how much he could hurt you. That asshole punch rocked my universe. I never felt that much pain directly shot up my ass.

It was really my first introduction to anal sex. I considered that two second fury violation of my asshole complete penetration like a baseball went inside my hole. It was like a moment of ass sex at 90 miles an hour. I was a freshman who got my ass brutalized. When I turned around I knew that I was going to cunt out. There was no self-control. I was holding a milk shake. I had deep ass pain throbbing in my special place. The cunt was unleashed on the lion. I screamed bloody murder in every curse word I knew and swore to Christ to hurt that motherfucker. I didn’t punch because of a milkshake. I would’ve turned and swung at him but there was something in my right hand. He was the only person who could burn me hard enough I start fighting. I was telling him ways I planned to fuck up his asshole in special ways like a fucking baseball bat.

He laughed at me like I’m a stupid cunt. It was victory. He just took my milkshake out of my hand and drank it. Then he told me he fucked my boyfriend and laughed some more. I raged in true cunt fashion until all I could do was laugh. I went from ass rape, to true hatred, to humiliation, he got my milkshake. He got my man. I couldn’t hurt him with words. I know the satisfaction on his face from making me go crazy and lose my composure. I saw him sipping as hard as possible and I gave up. He won. Complete social domination. He got my ass and the milkshake. I couldn’t stop laughing. All I could do was grab my fucking milkshake and take a sip. I knew that bastard had mono. You are fucking pissed when you drink immediately after exposure to mono. That’s the story. A lion fucked my boyfriend. Then he punched my asshole and gave me mono. After that I learned to burn like a stove and bite hard

About lemerris82

My good friends call me Dirt Fizzle. They also call me by my real name and the name Halina Hawthorne. My real name is Lynn. I'm 31, I'm single, I have no children. I'm obsessed with art and printmaking. I'm in nursing school. I hate it. I'd rather be making art or writing. I write. I write about the commonplace and the vulgar. I wonder if other people have this urge to journal? I want to stumble around other members of fucked up individuals that don't sleep at night.

2 responses to “confessions and getting punched in the ass by a lion

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