These Twenty Somethings Suck

Let me tell you why this generation of twenty somethings sucks (and no, not all of you.) It’s because some of you are not hard working. Let me tell you an experience I had yesterday. So, what are you… in your twenties and working at your parents nail salon? Yeah, you have a job because of mommy and daddy. Now let me explain to you why your own flesh and blood should fire your ass.

1) I went in for a manicure and pedicure. Something I never do for myself but I was excited about. And you acted like it was torturous. First off, I don’t have grandma feet and they were just washed so you are welcome on both fronts.

2) You were wearing gloves so it’s not like you were touching my feet anyway… so get a grip and scrub harder.

3) I shaved for you. Do you know what shaving usually means? It means that maybe I will give the public a break when I wear shorts and not have hairier legs than the old man down the street.

4) When you were doing my manicure you were literally face-timing your boyfriend. Are you fucking crazy? You are working… on the floor.

5) Not only were you face-timing but when you couldn’t hear him you would inch closer and say very quietly… ‘what?’ Ummm, do you think I wouldn’t notice that you didn’t do that or that I would just assume that you were crazy?

6) You stopped doing my nails to answer text messages. Whaaaaat?

7) You stopped doing my nails to answer the company phone to make appointments for other clients.

8) Then I got home and was home for an hour and all my nail polish came off! Maybe if you weren’t so busy face-timing, texting and making appointments, you would have done it correctly because I am pretty sure you skipped a few steps.

9) When I went back to get them fixed, you asked me what I did wrong? Me? Yup, I forgot that driving a car and sitting on the couch were strenuous on my fingernails. Jesus, what do you think I was doing? You’re right. I was out in Lancaster helping the Amish raise their new barn you jackass.

10) Then I told you I paid $60 for everything, nails, wax and tip and you stared at me and was like you only paid $42. Listen mother of a douchebag. Regardless, I did not pay $42 for the polish to chip off in an hour. Emily’s Elsa’s polish from Frozen lasts at least a week. So get your mother fucking tiny brush out and fix my nails before I drown you in old pedicure bath water from grandma’s feet.

Until next time,

You are not entitled to something because you grow up and your family owns a business. You are entitled to something because you work hard.

And just a side note, if your boyfriend is ok watching you give other people manicures and pedicures on face-time that is just straight up weird and you guys need to work on what you call ‘quality time.’


Is that Harry Potter?

So I have finally turned my oldest son on to the Harry Potter series! This was a personal goal because, you know, it’s Harry Potter.

I have been trying to get him to read this series for about two years but the kid has ADHD, so anytime something shiny caught his eye that was the end of the boy who lived and the wizard who shall not be named.

However, the blessed day happened when I showed him the first two movies… bad parenting move I know. But I had to get him interested somehow and asking him to read and reading it to him was not working but watching the movies did. So because of the movies, he finished reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and more recently finished, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

Now he wants to fucking be Harry Potter. He wants his hair like Harry. He wants to be addressed as Harry. He legally wants to change his name to Harry Fucking Potter… I think ‘fucking’ is optional.

Then the other day I hear screaming and crying and I run at a full sprint into the family room to find that my son ‘poked’ himself with his own fingernail. (I have attached the picture below.) Coincidence? I’ll let you decide.

Until next time,

These dementors are sucking the life out of me

Airing My Dirty Laundry

***Trigger Warning- Suicide***

You know, I thought long and hard about whether or not I wanted to write this blog. It took so long because I was ashamed and embarrassed about writing it and then I thought, ‘fuck it. Maybe it will help one person.’

So I have been going through a very difficult time. I would share that part with you but I stated to another party that I wouldn’t… people are so particular. <insert eyeroll>

But that part doesn’t matter. What does matter is that this particular situation broke me so badly that I have shattered into a million pieces. There are shards of my well-being all over the floor and I can’t seem to pick them all up. I have fallen back into old behaviors, the biggest one is self-harming.

This situation has destroyed a piece of me and I don’t think anyone that is involved really cares. I started scratching my arms till they bleed and over medicating my body. I am not self harming for attention; I am self harming because the pain inside is so severe that I don’t know how to get rid of it. The pain in my body is so deep that the only way to feel better is to harm myself and release some of that inner tension and inner pain.

On Thursday night, I contacted the suicide hotline so I could talk to someone. I thought about calling my best friend and even considered calling my therapist but I just couldn’t because I feel like I am such a burden to others. I am sick of hearing myself tell the same people how I feel and getting the same response. My pain runs so deep and dark that I don’t think it is fair to tell anyone how I really feel, so i decided to tell someone who didn’t know me; and that’s when I contacted the suicide hotline.

It felt good to get my issues and my pain off my chest. I could be honest about how I took too much medication and how I was considering taking the rest of the bottle. You see, people that want to commit suicide don’t want to do it to hurt themselves; they want to do it to get rid of the immense internal pain.

And let’s clear up some clich’es that I am sure you are thinking of already. Yes. I have an excellent family. Yes. I love my husband and love my children but in my twisted mind, I feel like they would be better off with someone healthier than me. Someone more patient. Someone happier. Someone smarter. Someone more beautiful. Someone skinner. Someone better.

I know what you are going to say, that I am perfect the way I am and I thank you for thinking that and for loving me for me but I don’t love me and that is my issue. A huge issue that I have been working on in therapy for close to three years.

So I contacted the suicide hotline and I thought it was anonymous but it’s not. Thirty minutes later, the police were knocking on my door. And as embarrassing as this encounter was, it was one that kept me from doing any more harm to my body or pushing myself just a little too much from not waking up. It saved me from me.

I was given two choices, to leave with the police voluntarily or involuntarily. I had to really balance my mind in that moment to realize that I didn’t really have a choice and I was going either way. I was taken down to the police car, patted down and took a taxi ride to the hospital.

Once there, they cut my drawstrings because I refused to wear their clothes and they gave me fuzzy socks. After check-in, I went to bed in nothing but a recliner.

The people at the hospital were friendly and even though I was scared to death, I still felt a sense of comfort surrounded by a large heaping pile of embarrassment and shame. I was hoping that I could connect with someone and someone would connect with me. Like having similar war stories, similar pain, similar feelings; a sign that I wasn’t alone.

The next day I ate a granola bar for breakfast and had a cup of coffee while gathered around the TV with other patients. I watched three movies that day. Three. There wasn’t a group or anyone to talk to; I met with the psychiatrist for ten minutes before I was discharged. I knew all the answers to get out of the hospital. I just wanted to go home.

The reason I am writing this is because:

1) I am grateful to the people that called the police from the suicide hotline, even if I did feel betrayed.

2) Mental health help, guidance and perception needs to change in America and people like me should get real help when we hit rock bottom.

3) Even though my mind is in dark places, my husband, kids, friends and my therapist, I will be forever grateful because they are the ones that make me feel like I can make it one more day, one more minute and one more second when all i want to do is slip away.

Until next time,


If you are suffering from suicidal thoughts, call the national suicide hotline at 1 800-273-8255 or text 741741.

You’re Blurry.

So I have been going to the gym this last month- I know, I am surprised myself.

Surprised or not, I am constantly noticing that I am judging myself for how fat I am and how ugly I look. I also imagine that because of how I think I look, that other people must see me in the same way.

So yesterday, I went swimming and as I walked onto the wet pool deck into the warm atmosphere, I was self-conscious that my bathing suit barley covered my boobs (neither do turtlenecks) and that my bathing suit is literally falling apart. I got into the pool fast so no one could see anything. My bathing suit is black and because of my weight, I think I look like an orca whale sloshing around the water. The movie should have been titled, Free Ally instead of Free Willy.

As I am bobbing around in the deep end, I realized that this was the first time that I haven’t put in my contacts and basically the whole world was blurry. It was so blurry in fact that I couldn’t see people’s faces, their expressions and I barely knew what genders were surrounding me as the water sloshed back and forth. At first, it made me angry because I am so self-conscious that I feel like I am constantly checking people’s facial expressions to see if they hate me as much as I hate me. However, I then realized what a great relief it was not to have that pressure for an hour straight. Then it hit me; this is how I should live my life.

I want to live my life legally blind, so to speak. I want to live my life three feet in front of my face and not worry about what happened in the past and what is going to happen in the future. I want to live my life in the present.

Having Borderline Personality Disorder, I am constantly worried about who was in my life five years ago and why they left or who will love me enough to be in my life in the next five years. And being legally blind in the pool, I realized that I couldn’t worry about what has happened in the past and I can’t obsess about what is going to happen in the future because all I have is here and now. And if I need to look at life through a blurry lens to keep my focus on the now, then that’s how I have to live my life.

The people that are going to matter will be in my life in my future and the people that will be exiting my life will either leave quietly or leave with a bang. But either way, I will pick up the pieces and live my life the way it was meant to be lived; in the here and now and three feet in front of my face.

Until next time,


Special thanks to my therapist who constantly tells me to live my life this way and constantly reminds me to focus on the present when I lose my way.