the truth...

Isn’t reading something that is completely true, free of any pretense bullshit…so much more…interesting?

YES!! YES IT IS!!!

So here goes my truth…glamour, rage, passion and all:

Ever since I was a litte kid, around 12 or so…I’ve wanted the same thing for Christmas. Each new year passes, new distractions in tow…but my wishes nor my compulsions have never really been met nor have they changed enough to really matter.

When I was a little kid, first diagnosed with Vitiligo…I made a promise to myself…a secret promise. I promised that if I was still alive with this ugly skin by the age of thirty, that I would kill myself.

Then very bittersweetly, my 30th Birthday came and left. By this new age, I had already come to realize they would never cure this “cosmetic disease” when it is so profitable. Also, there are much worse diseases out there to be worked on. Mine didn’t really matter so much. It didn’t kill people, it only made them wish they were dead ;c/

By the age of 30, my life was so backwards out of control…I don’t think I felt much in reality anyway. I didn’t have a loving family anymore. My own personal home-life was a fucking wreck!!! Mentally and emotionally I had been so abused and tormented…that the word function was not a word I could use as an *active* verb in a sentence with my name any longer, ever again.

As 31, 32, 33 and 34 all went by…a little more of Kimberly Ann’s sanity was left along the way somewhere…piece-by-piece, hope-by-hope and dream-by-dream.

At my shockingly now age of 35, I find myself in a peculiar place. I’ve been institutionalized once (overnight.) I have only one family member, and although I love her…I drive her crazy and the stress of me probably causes her issues with her own health (I’m so sorry Mom.) My boyfriend, never gets to see me anymore. My friends barely put up with me, because I never go out anymore. Oh, and now I have this chronic fucking pain syndrome (Fibromyalgia) that has taken a sad girl trapped in permanent ugly skin, and also now made that skin and tissue and muscle hurt like hell every single day for no reason at all. And now I have lumps on my neck. I don’t know what they are yet. I see another specialist next week. JOY, more friggin’ doctors.

Could this specialist be my long awaited Christmas present??? Because if I have cancer, I will refuse to treat it!! I’ve been done with this life full of psychical illness, mental illness, addiction, shit-fuck relatives and a shit-fuck system that probably wishes I would die anyway. I cost Illinois money, and that precious money that could be used to save/improve upon a random poor girls life…really belongs some rich, fat, bald, fucker (aka: a Chicago politician), so he can get his fuck on with a whore and some blow in a swanky yet discreet hotel. Money well spent eh?? At least he’d smile when he was getting “serviced.” Me?? I’m done smiling. I’m done with everything.

I wish I was worth the effort, I wish I wasn’t such an easy target for torment. But I’m nobody. I’m a social security number  and a burden.

Just so there is not any confusion…I am not a drug addict. I am not going to kill myself. I am not going to do much of anything, because I’m too sad, too sick and in too much pain to even want to try to do anything.

So, Dearest Santa…here I go again…what I want for Christmas…IS TO FUCKING DIE!!!

I’m so tired. I’m so very tired. I don’t belong here anymore. I’m nobody. I’m less than nobody, cause I’m still in the fucking way.

Love, some sad and hopeless chick that’s been walked over a few hundred times too many!!!