Blood Sucking Bescumber

Do you believe that vampires exist?  I do. But the kind I believe in don’t sparkle in the sun, wear long black capes, or turn into bats.  (Though wouldn't be awesome if they did?) No, the kind of vampires I’m talking about are the kind that suck the energy and life right out of you. 

According to Wiki, Vampires are : "Beings who subsist by feeding on the life essence of living creatures, regardless of whether they are undead or a living person/being." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vampire) Now, granted, the ones they are speaking of are mythical. But the ones I am talking about are quite real.

I bet you know one. They think the world revolves around them, that other people exist simply to fulfill their desires and whims. "Pay attention to me," is their motto and they play it up better than a cheap B movie actress on coke. Any conversation, at any point in time, anywhere, must be about them. And you, well, you put off your own needs  in order to meet theirs. Babysitting their kids and watching their dog and becoming their psychotherapist are all more important than your own happiness and well being. You feel more tired and stressed, less alive, after interacting with these vampires. And no matter how much  you give, how much blood they drain from you; no matter how much energy these malignant magnets suck from  you, in the end it’s never enough. 

Why do you, and I, put up with this? Inside of our hearts,  we who the world calls "freak, psycho, or crazy," is a reservoir that is bigger than that of most "normal" people, or "civilians, " if you will. This place is meant for compassion, love, tenderness and empathy. And while most civilians seem to have a fair dose, we have more than our share. We love more than others, we FEEL more than others, and we try to please more than others. Perhaps trying to compensate for the "crazy" by caring too much; "They'll accept me if I'm accommodating." So we put our own needs aside, our needs to have someone listen to US, to love US, and to help US. 

On any given day, I only have so much energy to share, so much empathy to give, and so much blood to be drained. My cup does not runneth over. Yes, that reservoir inside me, and you, is bigger than that of civilians, but so are our demands. We're already at a disadvantage because it seems that, while our  spring are  filled with love and kindness, they're also full of fear and anxiety, depression and CLAMOR.  We drain much more quickly than they do, and the only way....the ONLY way, to re-balance this is to be selfish. 

Yes, I said it, selfish. That word has such a negative connotation to it, but, again, according to Wiki, it means, "to place concern with oneself or one's own interests above the well-being or interests of others."

Well that doesn't sound so bad, does it? Not to me. It means that I'd love to babysit your kids...if I have time. I'd jump at the chance to watch your dog.....when I'm feeling better. I'll play psychotherapist to you.....after I see my own. And any civilian who can't understand that is simply not worth my time. I need to put myself first. And so do you. Only by making time for the most important person you know, will you ever be able to share that reservoir with anyone else. Your husband, wife, kids, mother, father, sister or brother will never see the real you if you're running around on empty all the time. Even if it goes against every instinct in your body, be selfish. 

And for all you vampires out there, retract your teeth. They don't scare me. What should scare YOU is ME...on empty. We don't want that, do we? 

©Anne S. Leedy

My 4th might as well me the 17th.

I'm really not sure why I keep coming back to this blog, I know no one really reads it...and that's ok. It was only ever meant for me and maybe whoever happened to run across it. But writing has never really helped me cope with anything. I supposed I keep hoping this time is different. 

So today is the fourth of July...kind of a big deal over here in the States I guess. Lots of people barbecuing, playing Frisbee, drinking beer, enjoying family....

Not me. I'm just sitting  here in front of this computer wondering if I should clean the spare room first, or maybe the bathroom...I do have to pack, so maybe do that. 

I  tend to avoid family functions at all costs. I really always have. I don't like to be around people too much, especially large groups of people, especially large groups of people who want to hug me, especially large groups of people who want to  hug me and keep asking how I'm  doing.

"Well I'm fine, thanks for asking. Oh am I still working over at blahdeeblahblah? No, two years ago I had a break down after I developed chronic pain and so I've been out of work since. Welfare? Oh yes I've needed it to survive. A burden on the government,  you say? Well it's been lovely seeing you, fuck you and have a great day."

©Anne S. Leedy

Misogynist

Misogynist – mi·sog·y·nist  noun – one who hates women, adj. – Of or characterized by a  hatred of women For any of you that aren’t familiar with it, Wegmans is a pretty awesome grocery store. They carry everything from hard to find foods, organic skin care, to a huge selection of gourmet candy, and everything in between. The one closest to me even opened an outdoor café with live music on the weekends and a beer selection to rival any craft beer festival.  It’s always crowded...And I mean wall to wall people crowded, but if you want something special, like black truffles or organic toothpaste, it’s the place to go, just suck it up. My experiences with Wegmans have been less than ideal.  A few months ago a woman hit me with her cart; I turned around and said, “Excuse me, would you mind being a little more careful?” She proceeded to rant and rave about what a bitch I was until I finally asked her if she wanted to step outside and take care of things, because she seemed to have a big mouth, but I doubted she could back it up. I dared her to say one more word...”Listen, I have nothing to lose, so I could care less if I get arrested…please…let me de-stress on your face.”  She vanished among the crowd. Problem solved. Two weeks after the bitchy cart driver incident, I had yet other interesting experience at Wegmans. I had finished my shopping and was walking out of the store to my car when a man yelled something. I ignored him because I didn’t think he could have been talking to me. I mean, I didn’t do anything, so it wasn’t’ me. As I put my (environmentally friendly: P ) bags in my car I noticed that Yells-Alot WAS indeed yelling at me. I walked over to him and asked what was wrong. “You hit my car with your shopping cart!” Well, if I did, wouldn’t I have felt it? In any event, I didn’t feel like getting into it with anyone, so I told him I was sorry and asked if there had been any damage. “It’s not about damage, you bitch, it’s about cunts like you who don’t watch where they’re going.” A sort of switch just flipped in my head. A stream of word vomit came spewing out of my mouth. I don’t’ remember exactly what I said, but it went something like this: “Listen, you fucking asshole, I didn’t touch your precious car, which probably compensates for your tiny cock. And if there was no damage than why did you even mention it? I’ll tell you why. Because you’re a misogynistic asshole who gets off on yelling at people, especially women, so you can feel better about yourself. The only thing that will truly make you feel better about yourself is falling off the face of the earth.” At this point Yells-A lot started to get in his car, without saying a word, but his window was still open. I would not let this go….my ex husband always said I was like a pit bull with a bone. I went over to his window and saw him pick up his phone, like he calling the police probably. “Oh what a big man! Call the fucking police. What are you going to tell them, that you were a douche bag and someone stood up to you? And I’ll be long gone by the time they get here. Why don’t you call your mother instead because she’s the only woman that can probably stand you? Oh, and next time to decide to be an asshole to someone, stop and think. Because I have nothing to lose, I’m on so many meds your head would spin, and if you think I’m crazy now…you have NO idea how fucking crazy I can get.”   Well that was fun, I thought…I went home…didn’t’ really have the stomach for Wegmans again for a long while. But today I was in the mood for Chinese food, and believe it or not, they have great Chinese food.  My mother decides to drive since I was feeling a little dizzy and she’s watching my nephew who just turned 5. All I wanted to go in, get our food, and bring it home to eat. I parked in a handicapped spot, which, I thought, might be good indicator that I have a handicap of some kind.  As I was walking with my nephew, his hand in mine, and my mother,  who has just gotten over radiation for breast cancer, a man drives by in a car and rolls his window down just to say to me, “Why don’t you walk a little faster, you bitch.” I’m generally a nice person. I don’t ask for much. Treat me with kindness and respect and I’ll do the same. But I, admittedly, have anger issues. It seems as though my rubber band mind can only be stretched so far before it snaps. And it’s not pretty. I told my mom to take my nephew into the store and I walked over to (Hmm, let’s call him Fucktard Freddie) F.F. and just flipped. Again, I was so upset that I can’t remember exactly what I said, but it was along of the lines of: “In case you didn’t notice I’m parked in a handicapped spot, so just in case you don’t know what that means…I CAN’T WALK FAST. I’m here with my 5 year old nephew, my mother who is recovering from breast cancer, and I have arthritis in both of my ankles. Oh and I see you’re in a handicapped spot too, I didn’t’ realize that douchebaggery was handicap.   Keep your fucking mouth shut or I WILL shut it for you. Oh yeah, roll up your window and pretend you don’t see me. You’re so brave in your car, but don’t’ want to face me yourself. One more word and will personally fuck up you and your car, you fucking asshole.” This time I was just so tired of running into douchewaffles at Wegmans that I went to speak to the manager, who profusely apologized, bought us lunch, and had security stay at Fucktard Freddie’s car until he got back in and they asked him not to return….and I got to see it all. *Sigh* Sometimes God DOES let you see how karma works.

©Anne. S. Leedy

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©www.facebook.com/skrewdepression

Words

I have an obsession with pictures of creepy scenery and girls..not quite sure why.

What's Wrong with Dog Hair, Anyway?

My mother has always had great timing. She's caught me having sex in her basement when I was 16. She's walked in on me smoking in my bedroom. She even caught me and my best friend sneaking back IN the house after being out drinking all night.  This time, I guess, I should thank her. I had called her and asked her to bring her van over so I would only have to make one trip with all of my things. 

With the gun to my head, and my sweet furry friend, Tammy, laying by my legs, my mother walked in the front door. Her screams and cries were enough to make me stop what I was doing, not turning around to see her, just freezing. She ran over to me and wrestled the gun from my hand, ripping my shirt she was so violent in her maneuver. 

I was embarrassed and ashamed, but more than that I was done. I had no place to go, I had nothing to live for, and I might not even have my dog, as my mother told me I had to get rid of her. My mom (and sperm donor) were allowing me to move back in with them for a while, but the rule was no pets. My dog had been with me for everything, and was my only friend in the world. There was no way I was going anywhere without her. I would just as soon live on the street than live without her. 

I planted my ass on the couch, with my dog, and  refused to move. Either Tammy was coming with me, or I wasn't coming. I suppose my mother thought I had been through enough for one day, you know, with me trying to blow my brains out and all, so she agreed that my companion could come, too.