I Have Become The Woman I Said I Would NEVER Be!!

30 Mar

depressed
I promised myself I would never be “that” woman.

And today I am her.

Yesterday was a bad day. I was in a car accident, thankfully nobody was hurt. I guess my nerves got the best of me. I should have been paying attention to the road but instead I was thinking about the “other” women. The woman I found out about a month ago came to mind, followed by woman #2 and woman #3 who I discovered in the past three days.
When I returned home I was already distraught. My boyfriend was packing for a mini trip he told me about the night before, but little did he know what I knew.

“Do you want me to take you to the airport,” I asked?
“No, meeting my mother for lunch,” he replied.
“Want me to get you my carryon bag,” I said as he was picking out clothes from the closet?
“Yes, that would be great,” he responded.
I went to the laundry room, grabbed my carryon bag and handed it to him.
“Thanks sweetie,” he said as he was folding his clothes about to put it in the suitcase.

I started to walk away when I stopped. It disgusted me that he was wearing the button down shirt I hated the most. The shirt I had ironed the day he cheated on me with woman #1. I sighed in exhaustion, turned around and said:
“Oh baby, when you get to Washington D.C. tell Susan that’s my suitcase.”

I walked out the door with the shocked look on his face still in mind.

Then four hours later my nerves got the best of me yet again. This time I was walking and paid no attention to the car coming at towards me. Sorry but I couldn’t help but think he was with “her” at that moment. That’s when I was hit by the car, but thankfully not seriously injured.

You see, I’m not ENTIRELY stupid.
Friends and family told me to leave him after the first woman, but I didn’t. Instead I gave him a second chance. It was hard and more problems evolved. Then when I found out about women 2 and 3 I started to plan my escape.
It wasn’t until yesterday morning when I woke up, wide awake when I had a brilliant idea.

My boyfriend was still asleep when I grabbed his phone from the night table. Despite everything, I NEVER went through his phone. Shortly after I became lightheaded and dizzy.
I shouldn’t of been shocked but I was. There were even MORE women, not including the woman he had been talking to from the internet and was flying to meet yesterday for the first time. I couldn’t help but ask myself:

“How many more women are there?”

I am hurt, shaking, confused, disgusted and angry. BUT I still have my pride and dignity. That’s two things he didn’t take away from me.

Now going forward, when “that” woman enters my life, the woman I ridiculed for staying with the cheater, the woman I gave a dumbfounded look at when she said she wasn’t leaving the cheater, I will now smile, take her hand into mine and love her. That’s when I will tell my story and make a new friend.

My Last Day as a Stripper……

2 May

 

(WARNING: I am about to share a true story that forever changed my life 10 years ago on May 1, 2002. Please bear with me because this was hard to write. I hope I don’t make you cry)

 

I try to call your mother but there is no privacy. I walk to the front of the strip club and police are roping off the crime scene with yellow and black tape. I go round to the back of the building and police are everywhere searching for evidence. I walk back inside and your friends and co-workers are crying and being interviewed by law enforcement. I head for the dressing room, the same trail you and I walked hundreds of times beside one another. I enter and lock the bathroom stall behind me as I clutch onto my phone, not prepared to make the call to your mother, after all you are only 20 years old.

 

I dial, the phone rings, and your mother answers with the ’you woke me up’ tone.
I say nothing, I only cry.
Her: Priscilla is that you?

 

I’m choking on my tears.
Her: What’s wrong? What happened?              

 

Me: Ty… (Crying)….ler….h… (Crying)…e’s…de…. (Crying)….ad
Her: What? Oh my God, what happened?
I could hear her wake up your father who was lying in bed beside her to break the bad news.
Me: Mrs. Long, your son is dead because of me. I’m so sorry, I said still weeping uncontrollably.

 

It was an ordinary day at the apartment. We were both scheduled to work, you as the dance manager and I as another unreliable ‘stripper’ who hated her job. Remember you often had to drag my lazy ass to work? I made many excuses to avoid taking my clothes off for another disgusting stiff dick who would go home and jack off thinking about the naughty lap dance I had given him.

 

This particular day my excuse consisted of studying for my final exams and having spent the night hugging my pillow while I watched old sappy love movies, which you hated.
You slapped my feet as they rested comfortably on the coffee table and said “Get your ass up, you’re going to work with me.” We debated on the subject for an hour. Aside from trying to convince me the money would be good because it was a Saturday night, and I needed to make my car payment, that I obviously didn’t have, your real reasoning for dragging me to work that day was because you liked working with me. I was your partner in crime, your best friend, roommate, co-worker and college classmate. Sometimes you gave up during our debate on this subject but most of the time you won.

 

My complaining about working that day continued during the two-mile drive to work. You firmly clinched my leg and with a smile you said, “It will be fun, trust me.” You pulled your car in the parking lot, where the pink flashing billboard sign of a naked woman stood, gave your keys as usual to Rob, the valet guy who was your second best friend and together we walked up the steps leading to the double doors we both dreaded entering and referred to as hell.

 

Once in the dressing room you immediately interrupted a cat fight with two of the “day time” dancers. I joined my fellow strippers on the bench, staring at myself in the mirror wandering why I let you talk me into coming to work when I could be at home watching Seinfeld. You checked the dance list and called to recruit more dancers, I continued to drag ass to get ready only wondering which Seinfeld episode I was missing.
“You better hurry up, you’re on main stage next,” you said slightly yanking my ponytail flirtingly.
“Yeah, I heard the DJ,” I replied.
You chuckled, sat next to me and said, “Do I need ask the DJ to cover for you again?”

 

You are referring to the fact my makeup is not yet fully applied, my hair not curled and my dress and 7 inch stripper shoes are still in the locker I have not yet opened.
“I told you before we left the apartment I didn’t want come,” I said applying the blush again to my already rosy cheeks.

 

There were a few seconds of silence, you still sitting next to me facing the lockers and me still staring at my disgusting self in the mirror when you said, “I tell you what, if you’re on main stage within five seconds after Ruben (the DJ) calls your name I promise not to kick out any of your customers tonight.”

 

Now you have my attention….

 

You had been suspended twice, hospitalized once, suffered a fractured rib and put many of my male customers in the hospital for touching me inappropriately, not to mention interrupting my cash flow. Any other stripper it was three strikes and you were out but me, my customers were thrown own without a fair warning.

 

“So what do you say,” you asked?

 

“Deal.” I said, and we shook on it. (Remember this ASSHOLE????)

 

“Then get your ass on stage,” you said this time flirtingly slapping my ass.

 

You stood ten feet back from main stage smiling and giving me the thumbs up sign when I entered main stage with a second to spare. The night went smoothly, you did not fuck with my customers as you promised, and thanks to our hand shake I was making money. At 1AM our eyes met. We were both proud of one another. I was on time when I entered the main stage and you hadn’t yet grabbed one of my customer’s balls and kicked them out as you usually did.  I did spot you several times lurking during a few of my lap dances, but you kept your cool and were true to your promise. And your reward for such good behaviour was when I blew you a kiss and you caught it smiling.

Then fifty-two minutes before closing time I approached the table I now regret. I sat in the lap of one of the four Hispanic men who could barely speak English and who gave me a $20 tip on main stage.  It was easy and fast money considering there was a language barrier. I gave the man in the white shirt at the table $320 worth of lap dances, who was drunk and incredibly horny, which explained his inappropriate, touchy behaviour.

 

I spotted you several times while dancing for him and watched you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying to hold your end of the deal and reframe from kicking the asshole out of the club. I gave you the, “I got this, I’m a big girl” glance and you hesitantly backed away.  I gave him five dances and took a break, five more and another break. Then mid way in twelfth dance the man leaned forward and bit my nipple. Remember? There was no time to respond, you had already grabbed my shoulders, pushed me back, twisted the man’s shirt and literally carried him out of the club with the man’s shoes a good ten inches from the floor.

 

You lost and I won, I thought laughing to myself. You surrendered with only ten minutes until the party was over. I stood at fourth stage by the front door as I covered my breasts with one hand, and held my clothes in the other, standing only in my T-back awaiting for you to come back in to give you shit about losing our bet.

 

Then I heard the DJ announce bubble gum shots in the parking lot, code word for fight. Three managers run past me and out the front door almost knocking me over. The double doors to the entrance swing open and I briefly see your 6’6, 295 pound body lying on the brick concrete in front of the main entrance.

 

I run towards you.

 

I am now standing over your head as I watch a river of your blood stream down the front steps of the club. I kneel beside you still only wearing my T-back. Your white button down shirt revealed one bullet hole, then another, and another. There were too many gunshot wounds to count. I lay my body onto yours in hopes to stop the bleeding; I didn’t even notice our fellow co-workers wrapped a blanket around my bare body. I can now hear the sirens getting nearer. I perform CPR but you’re still not breathing.

 

 Then I look into your eyes and realized you are dead. Your energetic and enthusiastic spirit we all love was no longer glowing. I scream, I cry, I shake you to come back to me but no response. I feel someone or something pulling me away but I fight, I cling onto you with all my might hoping you will come back to me. But you don’t. You continued to lay there lifeless as I was covered in your blood.

 

After five hours of sobbing, watching paramedics cover you with a black blanket and being interviewed by the police, I get in your 76 Ford Mustang you named ‘Suzie’, your baby you would never let me drive, despite how many times I pleaded. The same car you drove us to work in that day and were supposed to drive us home in. An investigator was worried about me driving due to my devastation of your death and followed me back to ‘our’ but now ’my’ apartment.

 

My head is pounding from crying but I don’t care and with the little energy I had left I walked up the stairs to the second floor of our apartment, the same steps we walked down together 15 hours earlier. I hold your keys, the same key you locked our apartment with when we left, and the key you were suppose to use when we got home. Our front door swings open. I want to plop on the couch and you massage my feet like you do every night after we get home from work, but you’re not here. The shoes I asked you to take to your room before we left are still firmly planted on the living room floor. You said you would put them up when we got home but you can’t, you’re no longer here. I go throughout the apartment and turn over every picture of ‘us,’ I even threw our 1st place mud race trophy through the glass patio door. I enter your room and can still smell the cologne you sprayed on before we left. I collapse on your bed as I often did when you held me as I cried about a guy or failed a test.

 

For the next two days my tears soaked your pillow.

 

I am so FUCKING mad. I don’t know who to be angrier at, you or your killer!!! Why didn’t you fucking listen to me??? I didn’t want to go to work that day!! I’m a big girl, I can ward off evil and perverted men, and you don’t always have to protect me!!! If you hadn’t drug me to work that day and or stuck to our deal you would be laying beside me right now.

 

I HATE YOU!!! I cry harder.

 

“Yes, I do need to protect you. You’re my best friend,” you would say with a smile.

 

I didn’t go to your viewing. I didn’t think I could hold it together. I arrived 15 minutes late to your funeral. It was standing room only. I spotted your mother sitting at the first pew of the church and squeezed beside her. Tears rolling down both our cheeks, she took my hand into hers and we shared the, “I miss, and love him” look. That was the last thing I remember at your funeral. I blacked out. Our friends say I tried to jump in the coffin with you, shook you, begging for you to wake up, but I don’t remember any of that.

 

Apparently I didn’t snap back to reality until I was standing amongst your friends and family at the gravesite. You were being lowered into the ground, with thousands of red roses that had been gently laid on top of you by each and every one of us when we got the call….. The man who shot and murdered you was caught and now behind bars. But still justice has not yet been served.

 

May the man who killed you rot in hell and you rest in peace. In less than a year I will be sitting front row for the best movie I will ever watch. When the poison is injected into your murderer, and I watch his life being taken away as he took away yours. That is the day justice will be served and I will smile again.

 

After the funeral your mother gave me your daily journal that I never knew you had. She said she felt bad because she thought she was invading your privacy. She continued to say it would be in my best interest to read it that is when I was ready.

 

A year after you died I got a bottle of wine, poured a glass and opened your journal I had safely tucked away waiting for this moment. I read how much fun you had during our trip to Florida and how you planned my surprise birthday party. All your entries made me laugh, cry or both.

 

Then I read what you wrote two days before you died.

The day after you were murdered you had a special evening for the two of us. We were to have a romantic dinner at the restaurant, “The Craft” and stay in a penthouse suite at the Crescent Hotel in downtown Dallas.

 

I continue to read….I cry if not harder than the day you died.

 

I close your journal weeping about what I had just read. I couldn’t believe it. You were my best friend and nothing more….

 

My answer is yes, I will marry you! I only wish I could tell you in person.

 

I love you and always will.
Tyler Long April 12, 1981-May 1, 2002

On 13 August 2012 22:08, Priscilla Hayes <priscillahayes2007@yahoo.com> wrote:

Unexpected Betrayal

18 Mar

couple-arguing
I just woke up. Three hours sleep in the past two days is actually really good given what I discovered and the emotional roller-coaster I rode and still continue to ride.
I rubbed my head, it was pounding. My eyes hurt, they were puffy from crying. I cleared my throat, it was scratched and hoarse from all the yelling. More importantly, my heart….my heart….well….I don’t think I no longer have one as it’s now shattered.
I glanced around the apartment. There was glass everywhere and sentimental objects of mine were now broken, but I didn’t care. On the surface one might think the apartment which my boyfriend and I shared was ransacked and robbed. I only wish that was the reason for the disorder.
I glanced at my phone. I had received many texts from friends asking:
“Priscilla, I am worried. Are you okay?”
I appreciated their concern but it was now a topic I no longer wanted to discuss or think about. I now pleaded the heartbreaking flashbacks from the past two days would only disappear. I shook my head still in disbelief and shock despite the proof that proved otherwise. I laid my head back on my pillow, repositioned my back on the uncomfortable couch that I recently made my new bed and draped the blanket around my shivering body for comfort pretending it was a friend holding me to reassure everything would be okay.
My mind was still clouded by all the questions and emotions that I still pondered. I could ask myself again and again the questions I wanted answers to such as:
How?
Or
Why?
But instead of trying to make reasoning of everything, I had to face the truth…. and the facts.
I had to ask myself, “Priscilla what are you going to do?”
I didn’t yet have an answer. I still wasn’t thinking clearly. I pulled the blanket over my face, closed my eyes when the first tear fell, then another and another.
Now I know how it feels. So….. this is what it feels like when the one you love betrays you.
************
My boyfriend and I just finished hanging a heavy mirror in the entryway I brought two months ago when I moved in to “his” but now “our” residence. When I saw it hung steadily on the wall, I sighed and finally felt at home. We were both exhausted and hungry so we began to prepare dinner.
We were in the kitchen preparing fresh vegetables when my phone lit up, it was a text from my cousin. I responded when my boyfriend said “Stop texting your other boyfriends,” a phrase he used at least once a day. I laughed as usual and shook my head as we proceeded to cook.
He was frying meat and I was chopping lettuce for our taco dinner with our Maltese , Abby, (the new addition to “our” family) who was lurking at our feet searching for scraps when my boyfriend said:
“I meant to tell you the other day, my friend Kristen is best friends with your friend Tucker. What a small world,” he said with a chuckle.
“Who’s Kristen? Do I know her,” I asked casually?
“Don’t think so. It’s a chic I met on the dating site we met on. We went out once but NEVER slept together,” he said in addition to mentioning they were Facebook friends.
I was curious if I knew her since we had a mutual friend who I hadn’t talked to in six months. I pulled up my boyfriend’s friend list on Facebook and asked:
“Which one is she,” as there were four Kristen’s in his friend list?
He pointed to a specific woman with a profile picture of a landscape.
According to the picture and limited information on her page I couldn’t confirm if I knew her so I clicked the “add friend” button. I disregarded my phone on the counter and returned to my boyfriend to help cook dinner. A few minutes later my phone lit up and at a glance I noticed it was a notification she had accepted my friend request.
I skipped looking at her pictures and immediately started to message her when the messenger window revealed she was already typing to send me a message. I continued to type when I received her first message:
“You need to talk to your man, not me!”
I was a little taken back by this comment but didn’t read anything into it. Instead I replied:
“I did, Chris told me you guys met from the site and your best friends with my friend Tucker. I was wondering if I knew you,” giving a smiley face symbol at the end.
I put my phone back on the counter to finish chopping lettuce when she replied:
“Why did you send me a friend request?”
I felt slightly attacked and was unsure why. My boyfriend was beside me stirring meat with his ears plugged with ear phones listening to music when I wiped my hands, picked up my phone and said:
“If you’re a friend of Chris and Tucker then you’re a friend of mine.”
Seconds later she sent the following message:
“Again, why did you send me a friend request?”
I was still slightly confused. Why did I feel like I’m being interrogated?
I repeated my previous message to her question but this time I added:
“I didn’t think it would be a big deal. If you don’t want me as your Facebook friend then unfriend me. Sorry for the bother.”
I laid my phone yet again on the counter about to walk to the refrigerator when she wrote back:
“Want to do lunch?”
What, I thought?
Now I started to have serious doubts about this woman. I scrolled up to reread the series of texts wondering if this woman was bipolar when I replied:
“I guess but I’m a little hesitant now lol.”
She quickly replied:
“There’s a lot you don’t know. Call me, Chris has my number.”
Instantly I knew I wasn’t going to ask Chris for her number as he would ask a lot of questions, questions that I didn’t know so instead I replied:
“He’s dozing off and not going to wake him,” I said lying. I ended the message with supplying her with my number.
Moments later she messaged:
“Chris just texted me.”
She gave her number and insisted I call. I announced I would after dinner.
For the next twenty minutes I was antsy and curious as I wondered if something had happened to our friend Tucker. I excused myself from my boyfriend and went to our sunroom to smoke when I pressed the send button on my phone to call the woman I had not yet met.
When she answered I couldn’t help but notice her tone of voice wasn’t as perky as mine and it sounded as if she had something serious to say, so I remained quiet and listened. There were several pauses in her voice before she proceeded to say:
“I don’t know how to tell you this.” It was then I learned when someone starts a conversation with this sentence it’s never good.
My eyes started to burn, the only thing that came to mind was Tucker had passed being the last time we spoke was when he learned he had cancer. I listened to her stumbling again when she told me what I had LEAST expected to hear. The more I heard the less I could see, followed by loss of hearing and an overwhelming numbness throughout my body. Finally she concluded with specific details, followed by sending me picture texts and a recording that supported her accusations.
I heard enough. I saw enough. I then entered a state of shock. She was still talking when I interrupted her and said:
“Let me leave and I will call you back.”
I pressed the end button on my phone before I waited for her to reply. I walked back into the apartment where my boyfriend was sitting on the couch watching TV. I went into the bedroom and grabbed my purse with one arm and scooped our dog in the other. Thankfully my car keys were visible on the dining room table instead of me searching for them as usual. I had no plan other than to quietly leave and not say a word. I knew if I opened my mouth I wouldn’t be able to control what I might say and thereafter. I was three-fourths from the front door when my boyfriend asked:
“Where are you going?”
Calmly, I turned around, looked my boyfriend in the eye trying to fight back tears when I said:
“Kristen told me everything. Don’t deny it, she showed me all the proof.”
I had no expectations as to how he would or should react, but this was the moment my heart shattered.
You see, he underestimated how well I knew and understood him including the meaning of all his facial expressions, laughs and awkward silence. It was at that moment, he didn’t have much to say, and in fact he was speechless. He didn’t have to explain, his face said it all. He was guilty. It was a look I will never forget and still haunts me to this day. I started to feel faintish when I excused myself from his presence and continued to walk towards the front door as I originally planned.
I knew I exited the gates of hell when the door slammed behind me broadcasting a loud echo throughout the hall but I didn’t take another step. I turned around, reentered the apartment, laid my purse on the foyer table, carefully placed my dog on the kitchen floor and charged towards my boyfriend who was still sitting on the couch.
This was when I blacked out.
I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I’m sure I said something like:
“You fucking cheating asshole. You bastard, I hate you and hope you go to hell.”
I don’t remember if he responded or the following order of events. It was then when I remembered grabbing my first object, the granite stone statue my father gave me when I was five-years old. It shattered when it flew across the room hitting our apartment window leaving a large crack. Next was the picture of my grandmother and me, taken just before she died. The window now had another but larger crack. I continued to throw candle holders, vases, bottles of wine, anything that was breakable and would break that fucking window.
I was on a mission.
Finally the academic award I received in college went flying. It hit the window, glass shattered and it bounced back two feet from where I was standing. I paused when a gust of wind and showered the apartment not noticing my right hand was covered in blood. (It’s not good when you live on the 31 floor on the corner of a skyscraper and your walls are all windows from ceiling to floor)
I took a deep breathe when I realized I was the big bad wolf who huffed and puffed and almost blew the apartment down and would have had I not taken a moment to breathe. I was shocked by my reaction and I’m sure my boyfriend was just as shocked from what he too just witnessed.
I continued to scream at him before charging again to the front door slamming it shut to call the “woman” he obviously wanted to be with. To avoid waking up neighbors and preventing my boyfriend from easderopping, I escaped to the stairway. I sat at the top of the stairs and called the woman who should be my enemy but was now my friend. We talked for the next hour, the more questions I asked and answers I received, the more things started to make sense. My phone began to beep that the battery was low so I ended the conversation with a promise to call the following morning.
I decided to retire from the stairway and turned the knob when I realized it was locked. I had never entered the stairway so I was unaware I needed my key fob to exit. I started to call my boyfriend to rescue me but no answer. For the next ten minutes I walked down 13 flights of stairs when I saw a door that was slightly open which was my sigh of relief for an exit. I approached the elevator, the doors opened, I entered and the doors closed behind me. I pressed the button to the 31st floor when I realized I didn’t have my fob to travel back up to my apartment. (We live in a very tight security building which contains three different keys for different access and I didn’t have any of them) I pressed the button pointing in opposite directions to open the elevator doors….. but they didn’t open.
It was 2:30AM Wednesday morning and the chances of a neighbor entering the elevator to leave or return home was very unlikely. Needless to say my only option was to press the red “Help” button on the elevator.
“Are you in trouble,” the operator asked?
“Yes the elevator won’t open,” I proclaimed.
For the next fifteen minutes I followed the operator’s instructions in hopes for the doors to open but no work.
“I am sending the police and fire department your way.”
I sighed heavily. I plopped on the elevator floor and rested my back against the doors. I grabbed my phone from my pocket which revealed three percent of battery.
I hesitated before I re-examined the evidence. It was hard but I persevered. I wanted to make sure my eyes were NOT playing tricks on me, but they weren’t as I hoped they were. The first picture text revealed itself.

IMG_5511

I sighed.
I scrolled to the second.

IMG_4787

My eyes began to water. I scrolled to the third.

IMG_1303

I closed my eyes when the first tear fell yet again.

I closed my eyes and shifted my thoughts back to earlier that day.
“I have a headache,” my boyfriend proclaimed to the sexual advances I was initiating, not including his distant behavior which shortly followed. I was aware he had a meeting with distributor at noon which was not unusual. However, I found it odd he got ready an hour before his so-called “meeting” when he usually waits till the last minute to dress. I now know his “distributor” was her. I couldn’t get her words out of my mind.
“We met for lunch today, that’s when he confessed he had a girlfriend.
“Damn Priscilla, what a fool you are. You couldn’t see the signs,” I asked myself?
Truth is now looking back, I still don’t think I would have…..he mastered the art of manipulation.
I glanced back at my phone to listen to the recording from their date earlier that day when my phone begun to power off. However, I remember the conversation percisely. Phrases such as:
“I don’t like her.”
and
“It will not last.”
and
“I don’t love her.”
It kept replaying in my mind as a broken tape recorder. What excuse does he have I thought?
It was then I really needed a tissue but my shirt was a substitute.
At the time I had nothing more to do but cry and think before I would be rescued. As a result I had plenty of time to ponder on what I would do next, but I was still confused despite the evidence that was very clear.
Then my thought process started to shift. What would I tell my best friend who would me the same story seeking advice?
Well….that was easy. I would give her a dumbfounded look if she even made an excuse to stay with such an asshole. And there I was….that woman who would be an idiot to those around her if she even considered staying.
I didn’t, nor do I want to be that woman.
The elevator doors opened. Police and fire personnel were standing before me. For a moment I thought about asking if they could rescue me from a broken heart. I was escorted to the floor of my apartment when I personally thanked the firefighter for his help when the elevator doors closed. I cautiously walked back to my apartment.
I briefly hesitated before turning the knob to my front door.
‘Priscilla, you have a huge decision to make,” I told myself.
I entered my apartment and the front door slammed behind me leaving another echo throughout the hallway.
The question is…..am I going to be “that” woman who accepts forgiveness OR will I be brave and persevere for a greater and brighter future?

Don’t Want Love? Ha….Neither Did I!!!

12 Feb
That Damn Thing Called Love

That Damn Thing Called Love

Initially this blog was about I, “DatingBitch” and my fucked up world in the dating scene. After dates with psycho police officers, flower stalkers, men comparing chicken with pussy, without hesitation I said “NO MORE!!!! I can’t take it!!!!”

I’m not saying it was the fault of the “opposite sex”, not at all. In fact, I was privileged to obtain an unwanted “dick gallery” of over 300 pictures that were sent voluntarily, NOT upon request so I can’t complain, but maybe, just maybe, on those dates I didn’t say or act like a potential future bride, or I didn’t carefully screen my candidates prior to us meeting. Whatever the reasoning might have been, it was an adventure in the dating scene that screamed the beginning of a new reality show on prime T.V.

Now I‘m not a relationship expert, nor do I have a degree in psychology, but if you desperately desire a relationship…then listen closely because I guarantee no matter the color of your hair, (including ginger’s) how many times you’ve been married or kids you have, if you have a job or collecting from the government, if you are disabled or less than intelligent, no matter what your flaws or disabilities maybe,”I”, the “DatingBitch” have the secret, the cure, the manual of love, whatever you may call it “I” can bring you the man or woman of your dreams with my new dating book that I have not yet written but titled “How to Find Your Soul Mate Whether You Want Them Or Not.”

If you DO NOT follow my rules carefully and thoroughly….your love life could take an unexpected turn.

So if you DO NOT AND truly want to have fun without any commitment which concludes a curfew, followed by jealousy, overwhelming demands, the old ball and chain then the non-existent sex the day after the honeymoon, or maybe you made a vow to yourself to stay away from the gender that fancies your romantic desires as I did, then I want to preserve your happiness and perhaps save your life by my two rules for unwanted love:

Rule 1. Whatever you do protect your identity by providing a false name and purchasing a prepaid phone so you cannot be found.
And/Or
Rule 2. Follow the advice of relationship expert Jenna Marbles who says, and I paraphrase:
If a man/woman approaches you with as much as a wink, flirts and makes an excuse to touch you, asks you on a date or whatever the reason may be, this is your cue to draw your hidden sword and attack revenge against the enemy by giving them the following look….

Exhibit A

Exhibit A

From what I hear, Tthe Look” has an extremely high success rate, but I wouldn’t know because I didn’t apply this cardinal rule. Again if you do NOT want a relationship, whatever you do, DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT make the following face as Jenna Marbles outlines:

DO NOT SMILE!!!

DO NOT SMILE!!!

If you do smile, as I did, the consequences could be severe!!!

Now if you are seeking your soul mate as I clearly WASN”T and want to fall in love as I clearly DIDN’T, do what I did:

Rule 1. Date as many people as you can. The objective is to become jaded as much as possible!
Rule 2. You must, without a doubt in your mind BELIEVE, “I DO NOT want to date!!! I DO NOT want to fall in love!!! I DO NOT want to get married!!! I just want to be ALONE!!!!!” Repetition is important. Tell yourself this throughout the day. Practice when getting ready in mornings, say out loud during traffic, the key is to feel, imagine and believe you do NOT want love or a relationship because unexpectedly…..

imagesCA14CWOF

Congradulations…..you are now in love and you may have found your soul mate. See, if you don’t apply “the look” by Jenna Marbles as shown in Exhibit A, as I clearly DID NOT, then expect the following:

A second date, sex on the fifth date, two weeks later saying “I Love You” and combining ONE residence two months later.

Then when you’re head over heels in love, you will turn to your new love and ask:

“When did you fall in love with me?”

Don’t be shocked if you get the following answer:

“The day we met!!”

So please take caution for what you wish for when it comes to love because if you don’t give “The Look” you may get the opposite as I desired…..LOVE!

And you just may have a new Valentine!!

I Love You Chris!!!!

I Love You Chris!!!!

My Sunrise: Then and Now

29 Nov

My eyes open. The sun is beaming through the window. Waking up is the worst part of my day. I just want to go back to sleep. I want to sleep my worries, sorrows and my pathetic, sorry ass all day, every day.

The dishes lay in the sink still dirty, I haven’t rotated the laundry for two days and I haven’t put the clean sheets on the bed. My hair is still knotted, haven’t changed clothes and it’s a chore to take a shower.

I just want everyone to leave me alone. Don’t call, don’t text, don’t come over.

What happened to me, I ask myself?

I know why, I allowed those “loved” ones me dictate my life, future and who I am. When I temporarily escaped these people, I was the best I had ever been for that one month, then gradually, but rapidly my life had come tumbling down, worse each day than ever before. People say I’m strong, I know I’m strong. I have conquered many situations and obstacles when I had no help or nobody in my life.

I know what I have to do, I just need to do. However, looking at the whole picture is overwhelming. This is when I go back to sleep and promise myself and pray that when I wake, I will be motivated and have a new and fresh outlook on life. I can’t count how many times I promised myself this simple logic but never did.

Once upon a time I hated to sleep. I had rather indulged myself to experience the beauty of life in every moment of every day. Everyone had asked me why I woken every morning at 4AM, and this was why.

But I can no longer see this beautiful gift right now as most of you can. One person said told me to find something I’m passionate about, but it’s hard when you have no passion or love for ANYTHING!!!

When I learn someone died by a reckless driver or a freak accident, I always wonder why it wasn’t me. I can’t help but think they had love in their life along with a family. So why not me? I’m miserable and have no love, especially for myself. I’m drained emotionally, mentally and physically.

I call an old friend I hadn’t spoken to in almost two years. I asked how certain people were doing and learned why I was unable to contact one of my friends. He was murdered. Murdered? He was two years younger than me. I reflected on this for a day.

Then the following day, with the little strength I had, I took a shower, shaved, applied makeup and got dressed up. I felt a little better, but I was still drained, weak from life. Before I walked out the front door I had already felt like I climbed Mount Everest.

Little did I know, that ONE day, the little effort I had made, would change my life and the day following.

In ONE day, I got a job I love and a new residence. At dinner that night, the man I’ve been dating said the three words that make the world go round. How it happened, I’m unsure. But I do know, tomorrow when I wake up, just as I did today, I will no longer wake up to another anxiety attack, but rather living and loving this beautiful gift we often take for granted…..LIFE!!!!

For 16 Years, I Didn’t Know I Ruined a Young Man’s Life

19 Nov

I didn’t sleep last night. Mother and I arrived at the police station thirty minutes before the administrative office opened. I told the clerk I wanted to speak to a detective about something that happened 16 years ago. Mother and I were lead into what looked like the same room I was interrogated in so long ago. We sat quietly in the closed room waiting for the detective as I glanced at my phone to reread the Facebook instant message conversation from last night pertaining to why we were there. I couldn’t get the last two sentences out of my mind:

“You ruined my life. Please fuck off.”

I couldn’t help but ask myself how this happened? I was just thankful that his friend from that night recognized me yesterday at the grocery store and confronted me. I had only seen both of them once, the same night all this happened. I was surprised he recognized me and knew my name because I couldn’t remember what either one looked like to save my life.

“Priscilla,” an unfamiliar voice called out. I turned around to face a man whom I had no recollection of knowing.

“Do I know you,” I asked confused?

“You put my best friend in jail way back when,” he said.

There was only one person I had put in jail and now everything came together.

“How is he,” I asked not remembering his name?

“He’s been struggling with the charges but he’s doing okay. Maybe you should send him a message on Facebook. He probably won’t respond but it’s worth a try,” he said writing his friend’s full name on a scrap of paper.

Although I had wanted to talk to him after all these years, I didn’t know what to say and messaged him the following:

“Sorry for that night, that was wild.”

He responded back a few times and proclaimed to know who I was as he too didn’t remember.

I was unsure how to put it so I messaged “Cops, you went to jail. I was there.”

Minutes later I received the following response:

“I spent a night in jail. I had to get lawyer and pay court fees. I went back to jail. I was charged with sexual Assault with a minor. You ruined my life. Please fuck off.”

The first time I read that I froze. Sexual Assault with a Minor????

How, I thought? The last time I had walked out of the police station with my mother a detective told us the young man would be released and all charges would be dropped. I hadn’t seen him nor had I heard about it since. I was confused. I continued to ask questions but the only response I got was “Please fuck off or I will file charges for harassment.”

Something wasn’t right, it wasn’t making sense. I went to my computer, put his name in the database and it was confirmed. He was convicted of “Sexual Assault with a Minor”, the same time the incident happened. I called my mother and informed her of this revelation. We agreed to meet at the police station to make things right even though we were both confused.

This moment couldn’t have come sooner. It seemed like it took the detective forever to approach the closed room we had been waiting in for the past hour. The door opens, a chubby man wearing slacks and a tie throws a pad of paper and pen on the table, sits down, removes the pen cap ready to take notes and says “I hear you have something to tell that happened 16 years ago.”

I took a deep breathe, swallowed hard. It was the same story I had told police with mother sitting next to me but this time 16 years later. A night that was supposed to of been innocent fun, but ruined a young man’s life forever…..

I was sixteen years old, three months from turning 17. My mother dropped me off at a friend’s house where I was supposed to spend the night and watch movies. Little did mother know I had packed an extra set of clothes because my friend and I were going to meet some guys. After she dropped me off I changed into a black shirt and leather pants that I had a hard time keeping the button and zipper closed because they were so tight. I topped off the outfit with my friends high heels because I didn’t own a pair. Half an hour later we were dressed and the guys were at her house to pick us up. I don’t remember how my friend and I met the two guys or where we were going but everything else about that night is clear in my mind.

The guys came in separate cars. I rode with one guy and my friend rode with the other. Yes, I was young and stupid, not realizing what a dangerous situation I could be putting myself in. My friend who was riding with his friend were following us to a deserted wooded area at the lake. It was midnight and no one else was around. We noticed they took a left turn and was confused as to where they were going. (I later learned they say a cop on the side of the road and made a detour. It was before cell phones.) At this point I started to grow a little concerned for my friend and for myself. We park and he turns on the car radio. He grabs a beer in a cooler behind his seat which I didn’t notice was there. He offered me a beer but I declined, I hadn’t yet tasted alcohol at this point in my life. We move to the backseat where we proceeded to make out. We were kissing and my shirt came off. He began to fondle my breasts as he was still fully clothed. That was as far as it was going to go. I was still a virgin and hadn’t yet seen a penis. He was very sweet and gentle, never forceful. We heard a car coming and peeked our head out the window. What we thought was our friends were actually the police, six squad cars to be exact. An officer had already approached the window when I was still trying to find my shirt. We were asked to get out of the car and were separated by two different groups of officers asking us questions. The officers that pulled me aside asked questions like: “How do you know him?” “What were you both doing?” “Have you been drinking?” etc.

I didn’t know where this was going and or why we were in trouble. Another officer approached the officer interrogating me and said:

“When I approached the car, her shirt was off,” he said nodding at me.

The officer began to shine his flashlight in my face.

“How old are you,” he asked suspiciously?

“I will be 17 in a few months,” I proclaimed.

The officer got on his radio and asked his fellow officer how old the guy was. The officer shortly responded on the radio that he was 17 years of age. I knew that. So what I thought?

The officer continued to ask me repeatedly what happened between the young man and me. I told the truth. Nothing really.

“Did he take off your shirt or did you,” the officer asked?

“I don’t know, I can’t remember,” I exclaimed.

The officer continues to shine his flash light at me but this time shining it up and down my body.

“Your pant button and zipper is undone,” the offer announced,

I looked down and noticed it was.

“Yeah, these leather pants are tight and they always do that,” I said zipping and buttoning them back up.

“Stay here, I will be back,” the officer said. He walked over to the other officer talking to my guy friend. We briefly made eye contact, I was still unsure what was going on.

I was cold, nervous and shaking. I thought we were in trouble because he had beer in his car and both underage but unsure why all the sexual questions.

A few minutes later another squad car pulls up but a female officer gets out and approaches me. I proceed to tell the her the same story I had told the past three times.

I kept glancing at my guy friend who was surrounded by officers, still being questioned like myself.

“Don’t look at him, look at me,” the female officer said. Your safe now, you’re not in any trouble. You can tell me the truth.”

But I already told the truth I thought. What did these officers want me to say?

She continued to assure me I wasn’t in trouble and not to protect him. Then she asked:

“Did he have sex with you?”

I paused, looked her dead in the eye and said “NO!” Again, I was a virgin and the word “sex” scared me.

She walked back over to the other officers who were talking to my guy friend. When she started walking back to me I saw the officers handcuff him.

I grew scared. I thought she would handcuff me for what I didn’t know, but she didn’t. Instead she told me to get in front seat of the squad car, she was taking me back to the station so my mother could pick me up.

Mother? They are going to call my mother? Now I knew I was in serious trouble. I lied to my mother about watching movies with friend who I wasn’t with, and being dressed up like I was to meet a guy.

I was brought back to the station and was asked the same questions repeatedly. My story never changed.  Then I was asked to write a statement about what happened. I did and it ended with us kissing and he touching my breasts before the police came. When asked what was going on I never got an answer but rather asked another question. I became even more confused.

The officers read the statement I wrote and left the room. Minutes later an unfamiliar officer walked in the room. I will never forget him. He started yelling at me, calling me a liar etc. Then he said:

Your shirt was off, your pants were unbuttoned and zipped. You’re going to sit here and lie and say he didn’t have sex with you? You are going to lie to an officer? If you are lying you will be faced with criminal charges.

At the time I had no idea they were trying to get me to confess and convict my friend of sexual assault of a minor even though he did nothing wrong. At the time I was not aware of the laws. In the state in which I live, at the age of 17 you are considered an adult which he was, and, I, a minor despite I would be an “adult” in three months.

The officer interrogating me never sat down. Instead he leaned over the table and said:

“I’m going to ask you one more time, did he have sex with you. Don’t lie to me because I know you are.”

“No, nothing happened,” I yelled back, now crying harder and requesting my mother.

Half an hour later I heard my heard my mother talking to detectives in the hallway. When she came in the room she was appalled by the way I was dressed and that I lied to her.

The drive home was silent. When we got home mother asked the following question:

“Did the two of you have sex?”

I continued to cry not realizing the situation. “No mother. I’m still a virgin,” I answered honestly. That’s when she began to explain the law and our ages.

The following morning mother had to take me back to the station for further questioning with another detective. He continued to ask several questions and my answer to all of them again were “NO.” They were all pertaining to sex, most of which I had no idea what he was referring to being I didn’t become sexual active and lose my virginity until six years later. The last question the detective asked was:

“Did his penis penetrate your vagina?”

My mother was sitting next to me when he asked this question. I remember crying and screaming:

“No he did not. I’m a virgin. How many times do I have to tell you?”

The detective leaned back in his chair and announced the young man would be released and all charges would be dropped. Mother and I left the police station relieved this was all over.

Now 16 years later, I sit next to my mother in the same room I was interrogated in that night and I ask the detective sitting before us who knows nothing about the case the following question:

“Why were charges filed when we were told otherwise? Nothing happened.”

He hiked up his leg, cleared his throat and proceed to tell me the initial charges which were much harsher such as indecency of a child, rape etc were dropped. However, he was arrested and charged with a lesser charge which was “sexual assault with a minor” for fondling a minor. He proceeded to explain that at that time the law read if the “complaining person” aka “victim” (me) proclaimed nothing happened but officers believed it did, the state could proceed with charges with “reasonable doubt” and a conviction could be made without the consent of the “complaining person” especially if they are a minor.

Because my shirt was removed when police arrived, and I admitted he fondled my breasts WITH MY CONSENT, the state continued to press charges.

I sat in shock as the officer continued to explain the state law to me.

“The kissing and fondling was consensual. What can I do to make this right,” I asked the officer?

He stared back at me, shook his head and said:

“Unfortunately nothing, even if it was consensual. The law is the law. He was charged with “Sexual Assault of a Minor” for fondling you. You were a minor, he was guilty.”

As a recent victim of rape, it can be difficult to receive justice for such a harsh crime, yet it is easy for a man to be charged with “sexual assault of a minor” because the “victim” was three months under the legal age even though it was consensual and no sexual contact was made.

The officer proceeded to tell me he plead guilty, and because of the laws at that time it will never be expunged from his criminal record. I spoke to several lawyers who did research and they all said the same. “There’s nothing that can be done.”

This man will forever have these charges on his record, and since he was 17 years-old there are limitation on what he can and can‘t do due to this fucked up charge.

Mother and I returned to the car and left the police station. Again we were quiet, same as when she picked me up that night 16 years ago. I saw mother glance over at me a few times. She knew I was hurt, mad and upset.

She took my hand into hers and said: “You tried to make things right, that’s all you can do.”

My eyes started to tear up and I replied, “I ruined an innocent man’s life.”

“No, YOU didn’t, the law did,” mother said squeezing my hand tighter.

I didn’t respond. I don’t know what to do or say after discovering such nonsense.

I stared out the car window and only one thing came to mind:

The law is fucked up in more ways than one, and something needs to be done!!!

Focus on the Solution

14 Aug

Reblogged from Wholeheartedness:

Very Inspiring

Unspoken Truth

14 Aug

What should have been making love wasn’t,
We had done it many times before but this time was different,
It wasn’t love making as I had hoped, it was fucking,
Like one would fuck a “fuck buddy.”
There is “making love,” and there is “fucking,”
We were good at distinguishing between the two,
But the past three times, I got my answer,
It was only a fuck,
It was over.

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