I always love the end of an year ,not just because Christmas comes along but also because it gives one the motivation to wanna start on a clean slate for the new year. I’m about to write on how I want to start clean but in an unconventional way. I don’t want to be more happier or less sad. I’ve settled with the part of me that acknowledges that the bridge between my happiness & sadness is what makes me uniquely different. I’m a swinger. Technically we probably all are in life but mine sways a little further from the conventional. I truly do hope that whatever I choose to change in the next year, goes through.. even if it’s just for a little bit.

I’m feeling pumped & energetic at the moment about what I want to change in the upcoming new year. Call them resolutions, I don’t care.. They just have to be effective and gradual. So for starters, I’m DONE getting whack sex🗣🗣….Get that one loud and clear. Like that’s at the top of my list. Being a pushover most times doesn’t allow me to say what I want, how I want it, whether I want it to begin with and when I want it. But I am done letting that be the reason I can’t get mind-blowing sex. No more settling for two minute men or thirty men pumping into me like I’m some bicycle wheel in need of gas. No more of kneading my tits like they some sort of dough that needs baking. I’ll smack someone’s son if they manhandle my body any longer. No wonder I don’t understand the simple concept of self love, at least not when I’m letting someone think my body is some empty vessel. It took me a while to realize I’ve been settling for seconds best in everything because of my stupid need to feel wanted and love/ cared for. Not anymore. If your not worshiping my body like its a sanctuary, don’t fantasize with coming ten feet near it.

Mmmh, that felt good getting it out there.I suppose I’ve never been vocal about my sex life. Yes, this on and off depressed person has a sex life…

Moving on to another change, I have mentioned before that my nice personality has been taken for granted not once by friends and family. I’ve had not one occasion with not one person but different people come late to a scheduled meeting or date we had planned & they have kept me waiting for over two hours. I’ve sat at a restaurant waiting & when they finally show up, I’ve had to swallow down the urge to not beat the person to pulp while struggling to keep my tears down. I thought I was not a patient person until I had to experience this cycle for so long that I’d now say I’m at the edge of it. Not anymore more. New unconventional change of next year, I’ll always be an hour & a half late to any date or meeting, scheduled or not. I will purposely choose to take my sweet time at arriving and if the date I’m meeting has a problem with it ,they can as well leave & be on their way . It will take a toll on me pulling this through because my nature often forbids me to be anything other than nice to people but you know what, I’m done letting people take my good nature for granted. I’ll fight every good bone in my body to never be on time again.

It’s my final year in college & I need to have my head in the game. I don’t want unnecessary bullshit with exs, friends or family. I want to grow a pair of hard steel balls that will allow me to not condone any sort of disrespect ,dishonour or disregard from anyone, even from myself. I need to grow out of my shell, at least enough for the world to not shove me around anymore. I will not condone for my feelings to be deemed irrelevant by anyone, whether your my friend, foe ,family or significant other. I realize I’m writing this with so much harboured anger and pain for every time I’ve never stood up for myself, for every time I’ve cowed and for every time I kept quiet about something I should have spoken up about. The upcoming year is the year I do unconventional things that bring me a sense of contentment . No more nice Mercy. No more pushover Mercy. No more easily teased Mercy. Like my Queen said, ‘suicide before you see this tears fall down my eyes ‘.. I know it won’t be easy but I know it’s not impossible, I walked away from the shackles of a friendship that had dominated my life for the past five years, this won’t be impossible either…

I need to quit trying to find more complicated reasons as to why I’m special. I just fucking am!!!!!!! . I’ll proclaim that here & now when my pheromones aren’t raging depressed so yeah,…Forgive my opening rant and how hard I came off but I’m not honestly sorry since I kinda need to get it out there a lot more often so I don’t have those constant mind relapses that have me thinking I’m anything less than an amazing human being.Woot Woot!! I like the head space I’m at writing this; probably won’t be feeling much of the same in a few minutes but what the heck right? It’s here now, the least I can do is revel in it.

There are days where I’ve thought that I’d need to have a change of scenery for me to feel special and it fails miserably right after I walk out of the door of my destination. It’s such a constant competition with myself to see when I can most please myself & when I can be my greatest Debbie Downer. Even as a child, I always thought that I’d probably get a lot more recognition & affection from others if our life long dream to go to the States came true. Just to answer the possible question in your minds ,that ship sorta sank ages ago. For the longest time I knew I’d stop being invincible the day I boarded that plane to America and I’d never feel anything short of adored. The bummer in this case is two things, first, I never got to go to the states at all, practically grew out of the fantasy that it’d happen & the second is I’m still a thirsty bitch for affection years later. Not sure where the inadequacy for things came up in my life, probably from the one major tragedy of my life *smiling like a creep.

I shouldn’t revel in how fucked up I am but I do.. Gotta problem with it , I don’t give two shits about it.. It’s my specialty. It’s what I’m good at. I hope that one day I’m able to put it to damn good use and probably then, I’ll have a lot of fake love being thrown off in my direction. At least I hope that writing about how effed up things get in my life will have me earning something substantial after I publish a best seller…

Why on earth is getting a baby such a damn expensive deal..!!Don’t judge me for wanting to bring a child into this life but as random as this last paragraph will be, I wanna get a child so bad *cue the fake water works and temper tantrum… Besides my fear that I may not be the best example of a responsible self loving mother ,you know with the cutting and all, God I’m a sorry excuse of a person, I shouldn’t want a child as terribly as I do. Sadly though, I don’t consider myself stupid enough to get knocked up now, I’d have my mum rolling over in her grave, that’s if she’s not already done so with how reckless my life’s gotten…anyway, I plan to feel more special next year. I may not know where to start on it but I’m going to sure as hell try to feel like a substantial human being.

So yesterday I did something very bold. I term it as bold because of how unconventional it was & risky since it would have turned out very invasive to some. I’m actively on Instagram & I was going through my followers instagram stories & I came across a picture of a girl’s arm that had marks on it. She actually wasn’t taking the picture of her arm, it just so happened her arm made a cameo and I just happened to see it. I wouldn’t say I was being observant, it was like a glance that led me to contemplating whether confirming my suspicions of what the marks were was a smart thing to do… Let’s just, my conscience didn’t fail me. That was last night and I was sure to include in my dm to her that she was at all under no obligation to answer back to me. I know I would be a bit skeptical opening up about anything remotely mental related to a stranger. Today morning when I woke up, it had completely eluded my mind that I’d sent her a message, that’s until I saw my message icon ping that I had an unread message. She was honest enough to acknowledge that what I’d seen was indeed self harm marks. Getting to the point of this story, (not really sure there’s one) , it was uncomfortable seeing them on someone else other than myself, but I twistedly felt connected to her by her self inflicted marks on her hand. I felt the bond of having another understand that one is capable of being a mess enough to hurt themselves. It was relieving but sad. I quit feeling sorry for myself after the first time I cut , I no longer chose to see it as a fault but as a survival coping mechanism. It’s just different because I relish in the feel of a cold blade to get some damn needed peace of mind.

Not too long ago I had a friend of mine frown upon the fact that I recently got a new tattoo. He’s exact question was ‘You enjoying hurting yourself with this tattoos?‘ He didn’t realize how close to home he hit by asking me that… In my own twisted way, I love the feeling of the needle skim through my skin, it’s just that this time, I’m left with a beautiful artistic reminder of things that mean more to me than others. They are the murals to those I love and to the times in my life I can never seem to erase from my mind. They are my stories, I just receive the both ends of the stick when I get them, the pain that comes with getting them, and the artistic beauty created.

It amazes me how I can never seem to let go of my mental struggles even when I’m not in the gutter . I can’t cut loose the strong hold at which I hold them close to me & how much relevance I constantly give them. I’ve written before that I felt special being ill, I felt like I belonged being depressed & fucked up generally. It gave me a sense of purpose. I was constantly sad & I got to write the best of my blogs while in that funk. Call it fear of the unknown, which in this case is anything that’s remotely good and happy… that damn H word I never seem to like very much. I just can’t grasp myself not unhappy & miserable. No need to pity me, I don’t pity me either. The most surprising thing is, despite not wanting good change, I feel inadequate for depression. I feel like I sometimes lack the magnitude needed to be special enough to be depressed. Like I can’t just catch a break with the inadequacies in my life ; I’m just not cut out for happiness or depression . Really beats the point of why I got my damn enough tattoo in the first place. I need to find a bearing of where I belong, in the darkness or the overly bright light .

Tonight I wasn’t really writing as a means to vent, I guess I just needed to release myself a little. I had a relatively good day, went out to a lovely ice cream parlor in town that touched my old soul. It’s entire vibe and setting was the eighties and it’s ice cream was as legit as legit can be. I honestly didn’t wanna leave because for those few minutes I was there ,the world around me seemed right and peaceful… content even. I wanted to stick there and live on ice cream for as long as my mind chooses it’s ready to go back to our sad reality… Sno – Cream parlor was my heaven in hell…