When I was a child, I knew for certain I was going to be a veterinarian and live on a farm. When I was an adolescent, I thoroughly intended on being the first female president of the United States (or when feeling less grandiose, a social worker). When I was a teenager, I had no aspirations to be much of anything for longer than 10 minutes. The way I saw it, I was lucky to still be alive. In retrospect, I often think that I was too afraid of failure to really carve out what I

“Can’t wait to get past whatever the fucking fuck this season is in my life right now – because seriously, what the fuck?!” There have been a number of times in my life this exact thought has not just crossed, but planted, itself in my mind. As an adolescent, it was finding out that my two best friends were going to boarding school so I would be headed to the local public high school, alone. Add in a little #socialanxiety and a horrific lack of #selfesteem, it was a recipe fo

I graduated from High School in 2005. I went out west to Arizona State University, as far away as I could get from the town I grew up in, and the only house I ever lived in, to obtain my Bachelors. Needless to say, I’m pretty certain my focus wasn’t “obtaining my Bachelors” but instead to party as much as humanly possible until I “became an adult”. I “became” an adult a lot earlier than expected, with the most handsome surprise ever. My oldest son made his debut into society

... and Their Mission for Subterfuge. Being a single mother certainly doesn't mean I don't want a life partner or companion. That said, I've tried to date, primarily for the last 2 years. Prior to that, I really wasn't ready. For someone who deals with trust issues, abandonment issues, and negative self-talk, the consequences of deceivers/dissumlators is ten-fold. Note: This is only a starter list for two particularly disturbing relationships. The most recent with a pseudolog

When I was 15, a therapist recommended that I speak with a psychiatrist for Borderline Personality Disorder and Bipolar Disorder. It was ignored, at the time, by my parents, because it had seemed as if everyone that went to therapy was being diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. I went back to therapy at 29, when I gave up the “good fight” and worked hard to maintain my sobriety. Again, the same mental illness diagnosis was suggested. This time it was ME who refused to accept, dec