You know what?

Fuck that shit... I ain't done.

I was gonna turn the computer off and try to find something more constructive to do, but fuck it. I'm still unhappy, I'm still mad, and I'm still alone. So I'm gonna sit here and bitch to myself until my carpal tunnel ridden hands turn blue and fall the fuck off at the wrists.

I'm wondering why it is that old ass men constantly hit on me.

What the hell is it about me that just attracts the wrong muthafucka brigade?

All the wrong ass men like me. Bitches like me. This shit is aggravating, to say the least. I'm sick of people telling me what they'd do if they were me. How I need to go out more. How I'm not putting myself out there so that the successful men can find me. You dont think so? Well fuck you. These people think I'm bullshitting when I say I hate going outside. I am fucking SCARED to go outside. Every day it's a damn struggle for me to get in my car and drive to work. I put on the rough rugged and raw bitch face, convince myself and the world that I ain't scared of shit. And thats a muthafuckin lie. I'm scared shitless every day of my damn life. Sorority meetings freak me the fuck out. I cant go to the store alone. I'm petrified in the club (and frequently attacked by lesbians). The only place I can go is church and I haven't been able to go up there in 2 weeks since it wants to SNOW in the damn mountains.

So when did I get so fucked up?

I think it was in college. No, scratch that. I KNOW it was in college. Between the rapes, getting shot, and being broke as fuck, moms catching cancer, grandpops dying 3 days before I get shot, fucking academic probation because I'm so damn broke I can't buy the fuckin books, I was a prime candidate for a nervous breakdown. And this shit is just the aftermath of said breakdown. Now I'm so fucked up all I attract are fucked up people who sense my need to be protected. They prey on that shit, and I'm forced to build a huge ass fucking brick wall to protect myself from they ravenous asses. Only thing is the wrong ass niggas always manage to slip in a crack and mess shit up worse.

So how do I get past this?

Fuck if I know. All I know is I'm sick of it. I think I'd do better if muthafuckas wasn't so quick to judge me by appearance. I know how I LOOK, asshole. But no, I'm not secure. I'm not confident. I don't think I'm smart, pretty, or anything else that L.A. heffas are supposed to think about themselves. I don't know how to be smart, pretty or any of that. I only know how to be M... all fucked up. Quit telling me what I need to feel like, how you dont think I have a problem, how you know I'll get better. Do you? Do you really know that I'll be better, bitch? No, I don't think you do. I don't think you know the first fuckin thing about what it's like to be me.

It fuckin sucks to be me.

I wish I was more confident. I wish I had more presence about me. I wish I didnt trust so easily, I wish I was secure enough in myself to not need some man to validate my existence, to tell me I'm pretty only to fuck over me later. It fuckin sucks to work so hard and not see any results. To want a certain kind of man but know I will never possess what it takes to keep the muthafucka. So I never try to get him. I deem myself unworthy and roll with that, ending up with niggas who's love for me comes from the fact that he likes the way my ass shakes when I walk in the notorious daisy dukes I wear simply because I know I can... not because I think I look good in them.

I sound like an ungrateful, schizophrenic bitch.

But I'm really not. I'm just frustrated beyond belief with my life. I need it to change. I need it to change quick.

I'm at the mercy of shitty ass men. I can't remove myself from this fucked situation. I know the issue, but I can't fix it. I'm going out of whats left of my mind.

I'm tired of being alone.

I want to be with someone who will let me rest my soul. Who will see the injury behind the strong black woman of the West facade. Someone who will say, "baby, I love you regardless. You don't have to worry anymore. You dont have to be afraid anymore. I'm here, I've got you."

More than anything, I want to hear that. I want to litterally hear someone tell me "I've got you", and mean it. I want to relax in his arms and listen to him say that again and again. I cry when I think that I might never have that.

I don't feel better, but my hands are numb. I guess I can call it quits now. I have to work tomorrow. I hope I feel better by then.