Frustrated, tired.

It’s 2 am, I haven’t seen the sky in days.  I’m frustrated and tired. I’m staring at my phone like it owes me something… like you owe me an explanation as to why you hurt me. I’m mentally blaming you for my insomnia, for the aching pit in my stomach. You fucking hurt me.  You hurt me, and I’m struggling to fall asleep, wondering how you sleep at night.  How do you sleep at night? You don’t see flashes of me, crying in front of you? Exposing my vunerable soul.  You don’t look to your left, and fight the urge to burst into tears because the side of the bed that I once claimed, is now empty… Or, is it? Is it empty? Are you playing with another girl’s hair? I can see your fingers running through her silky hair, as yours would always get tangled in my knotted brown hair.  Do you trace her skin and admire her as she peacefully falls asleep? I’m a wreck, but you wouldn’t care. When have you ever? I wonder if you turn you the other way when she asks you to hold her, like you did to me. You’d probably say I’m being crazy, and I always make you out to be a liar.  But really, when have you ever told me the truth? You’ve damaged me, yet you always seemed to succeed at blaming me for the suffering you caused.  How do you sleep in a bed full of selfishness and deleted texts? How do you sleep knowing I’m not there, but somewhere fighting back tears. I’m sitting here venting because you won’t listen.  You never did. Though, you apologize, the hurt is embedded like the tattoo of my ex’s name that you shamed me for.  You made me feel worthless and maybe I was. Maybe I was worthless and easy, because you knew you could hurt me and get away with it.  I’ve always forgived you, holding onto hope that change was only a half mile away. But a million miles later, I was left on the road side while you drove off into the sunset by yourself.  You liked it that way. Did you enjoy draining me, leaving me feeling hopeless and defeated? Did your pride and ego thrive off of my fall? I’m sick over the emptiness you left me with.  The dark cloud that once was a sun full of beautiful memories, rains sad songs and lost time.  I think what hurts the most is that I’ll never get that time back.  I feel as if so much time has been taken, that the time I have now is just wasted due to fear of the same disappointment.  I lie and rot in my bed, and watch the sun as you and I are laughing in it, swimming in the pool as my arms are around you, and we’re talking about our future that I thought we both wanted.  I thought so wrong.  So wrong.  I remember watching movies, and the warmth of your chest, how it would put me to sleep like an old time lullaby.  I close my eyes until it’s night.  It’s dark, the ghost of you comes out. You’re full of love and hope. You make promises and you keep them. You do anything to make me happy. I’m instantly angered. Because the ghost is not you, it’s a spiritual form of you that used to bleed and cry.  This ghost isn’t real, and I realize I have to let go. I’m not bitter, I mean it.  I’m merely disappointed, deeply hurt. I’m cold in the hot sun, I shiver and just want to be home, under the covers, with you.  But there’s no more you, no more me.  No more us.  It’s bittersweet, and it hurts to be in the middle of not wanting to move on, but knowing it’s better.  The lies, the hurt, the betrayal, the way you sucked me in and spit me out, it cuts like a sharp knife.  When I look in the mirror, sometimes I see you there, holding the knife as it shines.  You smile, then you disappear.  It’s 2 am.  I’m frustrated and tired, but I can’t sleep. I can’t eat.  My mouth is so dry it hurts as I yawn, but I can’t muster up the motivation to drink water.  I’m withering away, and the water I’m deprived from, you drink from a large cup.  I’ve watched you grow from a sweet, loving young man, to a lying, spiteful man filled with rage.  I sometimes want to call you and ask if I can come hold you, but then I remember you are there, and I’m here.  And we are no longer together.  

The left side of your bed that I once claimed to be mine, will never be mine.  Stands of my hair will never be on your pillow, and I will never turn around to wrap my legs around you and sleep on your chest.  I’m frustrated and tired, and I’m giving up. 

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I’m a bitch.  Sorry, not sorry.

No, I don’t try to be a bitch but yes, I do have my reasons for being a bitch.

I’m an unapologetic bitch.  I will never apologize for being candidly bitchy.  It’s who I am, it’s in my DNA. My mom always told me I’m a “spitfire”.  She praised me for being strong, bold, and honest.  You know, a lot of the traits that brand a woman as a bitch.  There’s three kind of bitches: a female dog, a woman who stands for what she believes in, and someone who is bitter and takes life’s frustrations out on anyone and anything. Everyone knows the first type of bitch.  She’s fluffy, a little territorial, and nevertheless, a total sweetheart who just wants her belly rubbed. Then, there’s the second type of bitch. It’s a woman who’s not really a bitch, she just knows who she is, what she wants, and isn’t afraid of anything.  We all know, and probably loathe, the third bitch. You’ve probably seen her at the store, yelling at an employee for “not doing his job” just because the store doesn’t have the item she was looking for.  She often has unstable relationships due to the fact she is insecure and overbearing.  She thrives off of yelling at telemarketers and will often judge other women, even men, if they don’t meet her standard of ‘perfect’.  She has a bad attitude about everything and is very spiteful.  You see, I’m not that bitch.  I don’t encourage anyone be that bitch. Please, don’t be that bitch.  However, I do encourage you to connect with your inner number two bitch. She stands for what she believes in, she fights injustice, she’s an all around bad ass, and she is inside of you, waiting to break free.  

Be the bitch that is always honest.  The truth can hurt, and that’s what will make you a “bitch” to society.   In all reality, you mean well, but not everyone likes the truth.  Some people like to be comforted with lies. But in all your bitchy glory, you can set people free with your honesty. And it will feel so good. 

Be the bitch who knows who she is.  The weak will see you as intimidating, but there’s nothing wrong with being confident with yourself – what you like to wear, what you believe in, and what you do with your life, will always be judged by someone who cares more about your life rather than their own.  It’s a sad reality, but not one that you have to be trapped in.  People will always hate the way you love yourself but the great part about that is, is that no one else ultimately matters but you. Sounds selfish, right? Well, it’s not. People will think of you as a bitch for loving yourself, but it’s important to always remain unphased.  What a beautiful thing, to be an unbothered bitch who is confident with who she is; a bitch who embraces all her mistakes and flaws, and never questions her intuition.  It’s okay to be all about yourself because hey, who else got you, like you? 

Be the bitch that feels deeply. Whether it be happiness, sadness, or anger, it’s okay to proudly wear your feelings and to have your guard down.  It’s okay to be emotional.  We’re not just bitches, we’re human. Society tells us we’re self absorbed when we’re confident, and weak if we cry.  How ass backwards is that? It’s looked down upon to love yourself as well as having real, genuine feelings.  In true bitch fashion, you can love yourself and want to die simultaneously. We all have feelings; all three types of bitches, all humans.  It’s okay to feel emotions, to wear them on your sleeve with the same confidence that people hate.  It’s okay, because it’s difficult to find someone real… Be real.  Embrace all your emotions, no matter how wild. Bottling your feelings could be potentially dangerous and mentally damaging in the long run.  Let your emotions fun free and keep it pushing, you amazing bee-otch.

Be the bitch that forgives, but doesn’t forget.                                 Be the bitch that knows when you’ve been hurt.  Remember that hurt.  Embrace it, let it weaken you.  Be the bitch that cries, be the bitch that might drink a little too much to blur her emotions, but don’t be the bitch that allows pain to define her.  Be the bitch that grows and recognizes who and what is wrong for her.  Be the bitch that is never easily fooled, because you’ve been hurt and you know better.  Be the bigger bitch, be graceful.  Wipe your tears, fix your makeup, move on.  Be the bitch who forgives but never forgets the painful memories that ultimately brought her strength and greater blessings.

Be a crazy, loving, honest, kind, emotional, hard working bitch. And never, never apologize for it.

Don’t judge me just because I’m different than you.

Just because you think you’re right, doesn’t mean I’m wrong.

Don’t judge me because you believe in religion and I believe in science. Just because you believe in God, doesn’t mean that I’m wrong for believing that our existence could stem from intelligent beings that are extraterrestrial.  Because guess what, to someone, we are both crazy for believing in something we can’t see, nor prove.  We solely based our beliefs on our own opinions of what is real to us.

Don’t judge me because I like my space, and you like to be social.  I don’t have a lot of friends and sometimes I would rather stay home than party.  To you, I’m lame.  But it’s my preference, and I choose to do what makes me happy.  Isn’t that the goal for both of us? If you like to go out and have drinks with your friends every weekend, that does not mean you’re immature, and it does not define you as a party person.  It simply means you do what makes you happy.  Kudos to you, but don’t degrade me because I would rather be in bed sleeping. 

Don’t judge me because I wear sweats to the grocery store and you wear heels.  You could say I should try harder with my appearance, or I could say that you try too hard and the houseware aisle of Wal-Mart is not a runway.  I wear what makes me comfortable and you wear what makes you feel confident, what’s the problem with either? I’ll wait… Either way, we wear what we like.  Do you see the pattern here? You see where I’m going with this?

Don’t judge me based off of what you heard, just because the source is your trustworthy friend. We choose our friends wisely because we love who they are and trust them, right? Sometimes, friends will gossip because, well, there’s something to talk about. Just because something came from your friends mouth, doesn’t mean your friend is right, and if my friend we’re to speak on you, that wouldn’t make them right either. We should stop judging people based of off other people’s opinion.  It’s an ugly habit, and I’m guilty, but the fact of the matter is: it’s wrong.  It’s totally fucked up, and rumors can really hurt.  We are all entitled to our own opinions, but don’t judge just because your friend does. Having a mind of your own is cuter and it makes you less of an asshole.  God, did that sound judgey? That sounded a little judgey.  Oops.

Don’t judge me because we grew up from different backgrounds.  I didn’t come from a rich family, and having went to a private Catholic school and dealing with getting kicked out because my mom could no longer afford it, I always felt a sense of embarrassment and shame.  I couldn’t get things all the other kids bragged about.  Hell, I couldn’t even get to basketball practice because my mom didn’t even own a car.  I never had friends over.  My first boyfriend’s parents picked me up at my neighbors house, because I was too embarrassed to be picked up infront my own.  My mom’s wealth caused me to be ashamed and I never felt good enough.  It took me a while to realize that it had nothing to do with her wealth, but more so who I was deep down.  I wanted everyone to accept me and to not be known as the ‘poor girl’, when instead I should’ve focused on how to make people look past that and like me for me, because that’s what real friends do.  But because I dealt with a lot of mean people, a lot of people couldn’t look past the fact that I didn’t meet their standards, and I was bullied because of where I lived.  I admit, sometimes I feel ashamed that I don’t have my nails and eyebrows done and can’t afford some of the finer things.  Society and social media holds high standards, especially when it comes to women.  We’re supposed to be bosses with our shit together and expected to look flawless 24/7 but I’ve come to accept the fact I’m not perfect, not even close.  So don’t judge me because I may not look as good as you.  Don’t judge me because of where I came from, because wealth and good looks don’t define a person’s soul.

Don’t judge me because I formula feed, just because you breastfeed. I can’t​ emphasize the importance of this one.  Yes, I formula feed. The guilt and shame of not breastfeeding is real, and it’s beyond fucked up that genuiley good mothers are put to shame because of their choices.  I use to breastfeed.  The bonding was beautiful, and knowing that my baby girl was healthy and ultimately fed because of me was tremendously rewarding but with every pro there is a con.  I didn’t have the support I needed, and I often times felt more discouraged than proud. Pressure got to me, what can I say? I would never put down a breastfeeding mother, because as mothers we have a right to choose.  I think we can all agree, fed is best.  I would never judge you for a choice that does not affect my child.  It’s saddening to see so many mothers publicly bashing and judging other​ mothers for choices that will never effect them, or their child(ren).  I cringe at people’s comments and judgemental opinions regarding mothers and their choices and lifestyle.  If you are not a mother, than you simply can’t imagine the pain and hurt we feel when being judged, when half the time we don’t feel good enough as it is. We carry our babies for 9 months, which often feels like eternity.  We give life to our babies, all to be critqued and critisized? I recently saw a post where a woman was bashed for having had a C-section, and was told that it was wrong for her to call herself a mother because she didn’t give birth “naturally” aka, vaginally.  I was disgusted, appauled, and hurt for the victim who instead of feeling the joy of motherhood, was judged for the deliverance of her baby.  I mean, how cruel is it to try and take the happiness from a new mother? I could not only sympathize, I could relate because I myself had a C-section.  It was not easy, it was not pain-free.  It was terrifying and intense to say the least, and I felt love just like every mother does.  We’re all doing the best we can.  What’s the sense in spending our time judging other moms, when we could be spending our time trying improve ourselves as mothers and women? Think about it, before you judge.

Don’t judge me because I don’t post my entire relationship on social media, just because your boyfriend shows you off.  All boyfriends should be proud to have a strong, sexy woman by his side.  But just because my boyfriend doesn’t post pictures of us, does that mean he is not happy or ashamed of me? I don’t think so.  We go on dates, we have nice dinners, we share hilarious conversations and inside jokes.  It is a mutual decision for us to keep our relationship private, but it certainly does not mean we’re not proud of one another. We show each other off differently than you and just because your boyfriend shares adorable pics of you and constantly posts paragraphs progressing his love, that doesn’t mean it’s obnoxious or your love is conceded.  It’s cute, no doubt.  The thing is, no love is the same.  Just because it isn’t seen or documented, doesn’t mean it isn’t real.  And just because it is posted and liked, doesn’t make it perfect. There are ups and downs that aren’t always shared, and there’s some people who like to vent about both.  There is no problem with either.

Don’t judge me because I dropped out, and you graduated. You did the one thing I will always regret not following through with.  You probably made your family and friends proud.  You may or may not have went to college after high school. You may have pursued your dreams, maybe you’re still in school and hold down a job.  You deserve all the credit, really. Successful people do deserve praise.  But does that mean that I should be looked down on? That I’m not as intelligent and goal oriented as you? I don’t believe so.  I’ve made mistakes, I’ve given up when things got too hard.  I don’t want to believe that’s who I am, so everyday I’m trying to be better – in every aspect of my life.  Granted, I may not be as successful without a diploma because that piece of paper is more proof of success than a dropout with nothing to show for, but that doesn’t mean I’m good for nothing.  Don’t judge me because of my poor choices. I’m only human. Heavily flawed, full of mistakes, but I’m trying. And I believe that counts for something, for everybody. We are more than the diplomas we’re given and in my case, not given. We are more than GPAs. Sadly, the world doesn’t care.  To the world; to employers we are only worth what’s on a piece of paper. That’s how we’re identified from birth. We receive a certificate.  If we didn’t have one, there would be very little proof to show we are who we say we are.  I get that. But papers don’t tell our full story, who we are and how we treat others tells everything. So, don’t judge me because I didn’t get as far you. Just because I didn’t graduate, does not mean I’m a unmotivated person with no potential and just because you graduated does not mean you will go farther in life. We are all chasing the same dream, to be happy. 

Just. Don’t. Judge.