Posts

Showing posts from August, 2011

And Then I Threw Up

Image
Okay, I have to get this out of the way before I can move on to the hilariously violent rage that I keep bottled inside of me at all times.


You guys are the most amazing fucking people I have ever had to pleasure of communicating with. Seriously. Never forget it and if anyone tells you that you aren’t, I’ll come bite their ankles off… right after I stab them in the face with a pen. It’s more fun when they run first. All of the comments have done what months of therapy and bottling could not. I feel … light… again. I feel free. I feel pretty and witty and fun. And there the moment goes.


A Brief Lesson on Grammar and Common Fucking Courtesy. Asshole.



“I stay down in Pageland.”


“Yeah, that’s where we stay.”


“Where do you stay?”


Completely ignoring the fact that ‘stay’ means that you, well, fucking STAY somewhere, as in, you don’t ever fucking leave it or it’s only for short periods of time, I’m going to point out how stupid you sound.


You stay in a mother fucking hotel.


You stay THE NIGHT…

Now For an Unfunny Change of Pace

Image
I’m coming out.

That deafening roar you just heard was 95% of everyone I’ve ever known shouting “I KNEW it!”

Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not coming out of THAT closet. My sexual preferences lie where they always have, mostly in myself.


I’m coming out of what might be a scarier closet. There are certainly more skeletons in this one. It’s a door that everyone wishes would stay firmly shut, but I’m going to open it, again.

I want to stand up today and introduce myself to you. I want you to meet the real Heather Heartless. Not just the bitchy angry one, not just the one that makes you laugh, but the one I keep hidden away.

My name is Heather and I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder… among other things.

On March 14, 2009, I looked out the window of the gas station where I was working and saw two men approaching on foot from the road. My very first thought, honest to God, is “They’re going to rob me.”


And they did.


Violently.


No one asked for money. No one said “This is a stickup!” No one…