Fake People Beware


I have a VERY low tolerance for all things intentionally misrepresented.

I’m half Shawnee; maybe it’s in my blood, I don’t know…

I will not apologize for it in advance like I do for a lot of my shortcomings; I never claimed to have characteristics that you’d model your own persona after…but I can say that I always try to shoot straight in life with those around me, as I would only want for others to do with me. “Projection” at it’s best, I suppose. I would always rather be told the truth about something and get my last remaining feeling hurt than to be lied to and sugar-coated by someone who can’t respect me enough to tell it like it is.


I can’t stand the whole “sayin’ something, doin’ nothing” virus that has seemingly infected everyone I encounter

I innately hate people who blatantly and knowingly play a role in the face of human interaction with a total stranger (or worse yet – a friend) out of pride or ego or whatever… it makes for a super-bad taste in my mouth about somebody.And I truly don’t throw around the word hate in the context of other people very often (what I say about POS car or my failing dishwasher is a different story but hey). It’s been a curse my whole life that I am unable to conform, to fall in line and go along with things that I don’t 110% agree with – it has limited me in many ways. But I am just built that way, I have tried to change the fact that at the end of the day, despite how big my frozen heart may be – logic will always beat it out. And it’s not logical to be fake in my opinion. And so in turn, I typically say so – to whomever prompted the inner-boxing match to begin with, the fake person.

That said, please know that I am a very non-confrontational person who is all about the “live and let live” concept; I do not judge people based things that I hear or think I know about them, hell I don’t even judge people based on their own actions most of the time. I judge others under the same system that I judge myself; and I judge myself in the light of reflection. What I mean is:

When all is said and done, I have to ask myself what has been said and done, think on it, sleep on it, maybe watch the entire second and third seasons of Dexter on it…and then I likely still won’t know what the hell to do about the rat that is gnawing at remnants of my tattered heart – the one that pretends to be something else entirely while it feeds from my chest.

Lately my self-reflection has been changing and mutating into something new and very hard to look at; so perhaps I’m being overly sensitive to the fakeness of people in turn. Who knows? But I do know that the sobering kick to the kidney, the wind being knocked straight from my chest upon the realization and the attached forced acceptance of so much unwelcome ugliness. The traces of any original denial remaining in me dwindle now; and healthy or not, I have refocused my Tasmanian Devil-esque state of being towards dark places – away from the reality of Logic slapping me in the face this way…

How is it possible that I created and gave birth to – reared and raised – a fake person?…

that hurts my spirit so very much and in so many indescribable ways… I know there’s no more denying this fact about my very troubled daughter…I’ve known for a while now and been working very hard to build revised parameters around this reality in my life and our “relationship” (or lack, there of). I feel as if my hands have been tied around a tree with this situation, and I remain at a total loss…

wouldn’t mind just kinda climbing under a camper shell and not coming out…(its somehow still 70 degrees in Northern Cali everyday) but I hadn’t noticed until my roommate told me we’re on drought mode…what the…?

ugh….I’ve been sleep-clowning again. I’m going back to bed.


Vicarious Sanity

I think that I am slowly going insane – or something like it – day by day.
I say this because things have gotten fuzzy around the once sharp edges of life for me; details of each day that would’ve once mattered are unimportant and irrelevant to my moments now;

and that is what I live inside of these days, are moments.

Just moments at a time because that’s about all the sanity I have left to deal with my reality as it stands…which is an exceptionally unpleasant place.

If I allow myself to be the Me that I have always been – well, more like used to be – I will default to a bigger picture…planning ahead…the maintenance of control over my life’s general course whenever possible…reliability…stability…motivations and goals, etc. The evolved Me is unable to look beyond the next few minutes in life past the immediate and present tense; the evolved me lives paralyzed inside of a bubble that will inevitably burst. My life has gotten this way because my heart has opted to crawl out of my body and go its own way, one unknown to me. I still hear its beat, feel its pumping pulse in my veins; but my heart has left my body and vanished into the night.

The evolved me has adapted to be able to swallow the tragedies that I have lived – am still living – through.

The evolved Me is stuck on stupid, like somebody pushed pause or something and life just hasn’t continued to play right ever since.


My laundry somehow gets removed from the dryer and folded/hung up/put away during these Pilot Performances of mine; I spend a disturbing amount of time in frustrated conniptions over “missing” tops and sweaters that my Auto Pilot has already put up, completely forgetting(?) that I had spent 35 minutes of the afternoon putting my clothes away…

The constant need for physically exhausting motion and extreme mental/psychological stimulation i.e. terrifyingly scary movies or swimming in the ocean during January (wtf?)

The detachment from all good and positive sources.

The chronic and debilitating malfunction of my ability to give a shit about much of anything besides what the fuck went so wrong with my daughter to cause her to CHOOSE such tragedy time and again…

The obsession with my failures and the rejection of my worth.

All in all, I guess I’m just very tired of being so afraid of my ringtone…

of waiting for the other shoe to drop on my head…

I just want my daughter safe; so badly do I want her to be okay that I’d give up either or both of my eyeballs to heal her and give her the security she needs, even if it’s not with me. I ‘d turn over every ounce of my own self-worth or self-esteem to her, gladly. It’s so hard for me to understand…it’s so hard to accept.

Today’s Harsh Realities:

This morning I woke up to see a text message from a +1 phone number waiting on my cell phone’s screen for me…

When I open it, I see my only child’s face staring back at me through hollow and soulless eyes – a “selfie” she took and sent to me for whatever reason – no message, no text; just a reminder of her lasting beauty and dwindling potential. She’s been missing again for 5 days, today – after returning from what I believe had to have been her most near-fatal “adventure” on the streets of our over-populated and world-famous busy city. She was lucky to have made it back alive last time…

The number she text from traced back to an escort service about 30 minutes south from where we live – again. She holds no respect for herself at all; and always finds the most degrading and self-destructive circumstance available to her. She is perpetually on self-destruct mode.

PAIN = your only baby on earth, in whom you have poured every last drop of your being and energy – gradually growing older to defy the idea of nurture and sway to the side of nature – becoming someone too much like her father, who nearly killed you before your escape from him.

FAILURE = your only child, your “legacy” to the world: slowly fading away to the Dark Side of life happily and willingly. Your only child has no original ideas, dreams, goals, opinions or standards; her existence is the epitome of “simple”, requiring no morals or empathy as a human being to function properly. She is unable to even feel for her own mother for Christ Sake…she is lost and seeming to loving it. I try so hard to relate but can’t.

REGRET = your worst decision ever: the girl’s father, who you spend every day of your life regretting in every possible way – shining brightly through the smile and eyes of the daughter you had belonging to him. Despite the fact that he has never spent more than an hour with her as a young baby, she has grown up to resemble him uncannily. I must have been Hitler or Genghis Khan in a former lifetime…maybe a cruel slave owner or a Spanish Inquisitor…just fucking shoot me already please!Image

Gone Again…

I just got the call that has been Déjà vu’d into my existence like some horror-esque Groundhog Day – my daughter has gone missing from the private hospital in which she has been recovery from her last disappearance; she has opted to leave once again by her own free will. And just like that, she’s gone into the unknown (and known to a terrifying degree) without a trace or a second thought about her own safety or livelihood.  She doesn’t understand the mathematics of her situation, the power of equation – probability and finite conclusions.

I am old enough to know that we are each going through life as a dollar bill in the pocket of a manic gambler in a casino, drink in hand; we will play anywhere from one to a bazillion times before we run out of luck and are gone to the masses of dollar bills inside the machine that was the swallower of the gambler hopes and dreams. I am able to recognize the fact that the odds are already stacked against this situation; and with the gambler carelessly spinning wheel of chance time and again, her odds are quickly thinning. I can see how the mathematics of probability declare the eventuality of her luck running out and the wheel stopping at a very unhappy ending.

I’ve told her this, I have explained that one day, she is going to hitch a ride with the WRONG man and she will lose the ability to decide when and how to come home again when she’s ready; I’ve told her that she is gambling with her very life when she impulsively disappears from sanity like this…she doesn’t care.

I knew it was just a matter of time before I received a call from yet another detective on a newly filed missing person’s case on my only child; and I know it’s just a matter of time before other horrible calls come at the rate my daughter is at with her self-worth in the world. It baffles me, truly…I don’t really do the praying thing but anyone out there who does please pray for my daughter’s safety in the days to come.

Damn it, these are the days when surviving is the most depressing thing that I’ve done for myself.

Tired of the unhealthiness and bullshit.


I just want to be able to enjoy an entire day without the drama and chaos.

I just want to be and let be.

I don’t want anyone approval or criticism, I just want everyone to shut the fuck up.

Don’t tell me what kind of mother, friend or person I am when you are, well…YOU.

Today’s “Angry”


Sometimes I get so fucking tired of living within the confines of illness; there are days when I almost forget that I am sick and unable to carry on like a normal person; or times when I allow myself to fall prey to my own wild imagination and I begin to believe.

I’ll never forget something my daughter said to me on the Saturday following this past Thanksgiving;

she said,

“Why do have so much hope, Mom? There’s NO reason for you to be so hopeful about things, you know?”

At the time and in the context in which she spoke, I disagreed with her wholeheartedly; but since that day, I have thought about her statement regularly – and see her point pretty clearly. I have been depressed all of my life since I can remember, the feelings associated with my depression are nothing new to me, and I have a pretty good handle on them seeing as how I’ve been dealing with the shit forever.

The feelings and emotions that I experience sometimes in regard to my illness and impending death, though, it’s a different ballgame. These days, like today – are all-encompassing and consuming in every way. I guess I should stop feeling sorry for myself now, seriously…there are people worse off than me.


That’s enough for today’s angry.

My Daughter, the Teenaged Prostitute.

This is really hard for me to write about publicly, but innocence is much more important than my own pride right now; so I am going to spread what I perceive as being urgent to the world:


And your daughter is just as much at risk as anyone’s.


My daughter had been missing again for 19 days until yesterday morning when she was picked up by the local police on the track downtown; she had been hostage to a pimp who was subsequently arrested as part of a multi-agency sting operation with the goal to liberate children who are victims to the underage prostitution rings that have become a huge nationwide problem. My daughter was nearly unrecognizable even to me – her mom – after only 19 days on the streets; both of her eyes were swollen closed and she was delirious from drugs and lack of sleep. She was angry as hell that she had been plucked from her gig somehow, too. My heart felt like it was dripping slowly down the inside of my chest to see my only child this way; but sadly it’s nothing new.

Now, she at the hospital being treated for her many wounds ranging from two broken feet to various head and face traumas to cigarette and meth-pipe burns to internal damage that I’d prefer not to to disclose (though, any woman might only imagine). She smelled awful, she was unintelligible; and has become the focus of a very serious police investigation – against her will, of course, as during her AWOL, she witnessed three shootings (one fatal) and jumped from a three-story building. I’m at a loss.

Why would my daughter continuously CHOOSE to runaway to such nightmarish situations and circumstances, when she has a family and “normalcy”? Where did I go so totally wrong that she’d prefer such an existence to one of safety and security?

Anyway, upon talking all night with the police, I’m learning that this has become an epidemic problem in my area, and abroad – grown men “touring” the streets to have sex with handfuls of underage, disturbingly low-cost girls – human sex trafficking/child sex tourism.

RIGHT HERE IN MY CITY, right here in my own child’s battered face and body…