Don’t Call Me…


Not fit to.
You made baths difficult to take.
It’s impossible to soak for long before memories surface.
Memories of you. Of what you did.

You gave me hang-ups about father-daughter relationships.
Why is that little girl pulling away from her father?
Does he play bath time games, too?
Does he let his dick hang out, then beat you when you notice?

Why is that teenaged girl walking four feet behind him?
Is she worried he’ll pinch her ass if she walks in front?
Maybe he’ll grab her chest and say “nice tits,” giving a lingering squeeze.
Maybe he’ll ask if she has any fuckable friends who can stay the night.



Did he teach you how to do that?
Did he do things to you, too?
Is that why you did what you did to me?

How about you, little sister.
Who taught you?
How to be such a raging bitch.
How to be such a big-mouthed hypocrite.
How to be such a fucking liar. And thief.

How about the both of you?
Who would abandon their own sister.
For turning her back on him.

Why should I give a fuck?
That the son of a bitch has cancer.
Why should I scurry to his side in his eleventh hour?

I live with guilt.
Because of what he did.
Because of what you did.
I’m the one who feels guilty.
I’m the one who’ll burn for not being there for him now.

But I won’t.
I can’t.
I don’t have a family now?
Well that’s your doing. Not mine.

Fuck you. Fuck all of you.



Not fit to.
I trusted you.
You were my friend. My comfort.
What mother abandons her daughter? Repeatedly?

You were brave. Strong.
You left him, though he threatened murder.
You risked it all and left.
I thought you were so brave.

If you were like you are now, then.
You wouldn’t leave.
You’d take the beatings.
You’d allow our abuse to continue.
And you would stay.

And now you want expect me by his side.
Now you write me off.
Ungrateful daughter.
She who refuses to grow up and get over it.
Abandoning me.
For him.

Fuck you. Fuck all of you.





Yeah. I can’t do those right now.
They’re fresher.


This isn’t meant to be poetry. I’m aware it’s not a poem. This is just how my thoughts came out. The structure I needed to write it in. The line breaks. The sections.

I’ve spent all weekend rarely straying from bed. I’ve slept through most of it. I wanted to clean house. Tend the garden. Do laundry. Dishes. Perhaps go to the park. Quite frankly, I couldn’t be fucked to leave the warm safety of the bed.

Heh. Safety. It’s funny I should use that word, because I haven’t felt safe at all. I probably would have felt safer had I followed through on the things part of me wanted to do. But that part of me was far too small and weak this weekend.

When I wasn’t using the bathroom or fetching something to drink, I was in bed. Cuddling a cat or a pillow. Sleeping and crying and crying myself to sleep.

And I couldn’t stop dreaming. A couple of the dreams were weird and funky and cool. But mostly they were painful and depressing. I couldn’t stop dreaming about them. I couldn’t stop dreaming about how they fucked me up and then about how much I’ve fucked it all up myself.

I want to be strong. During the week, I am strong. Even if it’s superficial. I’m strong at work. No one knows I’m depressed. No one knows I struggle with thoughts of inadequacy. Failure. Worthlessness. Death. Every. Fucking. Day.

I smile. I laugh. I crack jokes. I make people laugh. They think I’m witty and clever and smart and bashful and sweet. They see me blush at the slightest things, but then crack crude jokes with the guys. They see me master new software programs and help veteran workers figure things out. They see me attempting to unify departments and repair interdepartmental relations. They see me as an asset. At least these are all things I’ve been told there. At work.

But inside I’m dying. Friday afternoon, I got sadder and sadder as the clock ticked closer and closer to five. Everyone was excited, sharing weekend plans and asking each other about theirs. I dreaded the inevitable moment(s) when I’d be asked about mine. I smiled, gave a small laugh and averted my gaze, “Oh, nothing much, really. Looking forward to some downtime.”

And then five o’clock hit, and the lump in my throat grew to large to dislodge. I shook and cried all the way home.

I made sure the cats had food.

I watered the garden.

I fed myself.

I surfed blogs with The Amazing Race on in the background.

I went to bed. And didn’t really get up again until around noon today. Sunday. I’m writing this now, in bed. See, I’m still in bed. But at least I’m awake. That is a marked improvement from the rest of the weekend.

And the feeling that usually befalls me on weekends like this has struck. I regret it. Though I can’t turn back time, I regret it. I’m not necessarily beating myself up. I had neither the strength nor the desire to do anything differently. But I’m sad that that was my truth. I’m sad that I couldn’t enjoy these beautiful fall days. I’m sad that I imprisoned myself this weekend. I’m sad that I can’t stop being sad. And I’m sad that having work to look forward to in the morning is the only positive thing I’ve gotten out of this weekend. I don’t even really like my job anymore. And it makes me sad that it’s the only normal thing I have in my life. That it’s the only thing I have to look forward to. I’m sad that one day as I look back on this so-called life, I’ll only be able to say, “At least I had work. The only time I didn’t lie in bed thinking about how much I deserve to die was when I was at work.”

How fucking pathetic.
What a fucking joke.
What a fucking waste of life.

Life is precious.
Life is beautiful.
We only get one.

Stop fucking wrecking it.
Make it meaningful again.
Stop being a whiny, simpering bitch.

Get up. Get out. Live.

I’m trying.
I know it doesn’t sound like it.
But I’m trying.

I’m trying so fucking hard.

I can’t go back and edit this, y’all. I can’t. Or I’ll delete everything and go back to sleep. So, while I’m trying not to apologize for shit (I’m a professional apologizer) since this is my blog and blah blah blah, I can’t resist apologizing for any egregious errors in this post. I just can’t go back and read through this.


35 thoughts on “Don’t Call Me…

  1. Stephanie,
    I don’t know everything about your childhood obviously, but I’m sorry that you went through so much (I’m assuming that what you wrote is autobiographical…?). Anyway, please know that you are not pathetic for feelings how you do; you have the right to be upset or sad. I think you’re on the right track with sharing how you feel. Do you have a close friend you can talk to about all of this? I’m here for you if you need to talk.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Stephanie I did not share this as it is personal. I have had many people I know that have been through many similar things. If you need to talk email me.


    Liked by 1 person

      1. I know you stayed in bed and I have done that many times too for days and for similar reasons and some not so much. I know after this weekend going back to work may be a stretch. Like I said you can email me directly if you need to. I have been through some shit myself and have been at a crossroads. I hope you have fallen asleep already. I had a tough weekend myself. I will be up a good 2 hours then I have my unusual schedule to adhere to. I hope you sleep well.


        Liked by 1 person

      2. Good Morning, Paul. Looks like I was already in bed when you sent this. I doubt I was asleep, but I was trying to be!

        And you’re right – work can be a respite from my thoughts. But after a weekend like the one I just had, I feel like I need another weekend (or at least a day) to recuperate. I’m exhausted. But I’m feeling better than I was.

        Thank you for your thoughtfulness, and I’m sorry – that you can relate.

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Good morning Stephanie. I am always in bed, lol. Work normally helps me as well. Yesterday I rode and froze my ass off to workout two kids where I dropped my rate a lot. I had an odd feeling the whole time and that I was sure I was going to lose them. I did more with them but they are clumsy and the mother text me after I fell asleep to basically fire me. Which sux.

        Liked by 1 person

      4. Damn, I’m sorry to hear that. Parents get in the way of their children’s lives and well being so much. I realize not all parents are like that, but I’ve dealt with far too many that are. So I’m more than a bit jaded.

        Liked by 1 person

      5. SO am I. Plus I had athletic directors that either wanted me to go harder or easier and gave me no warning like this woman did.

        Liked by 1 person

      1. I am back after spending some free minutes……….. You know here in Africa we must attend to our mud huts regularly , specially with the rainy season upon us. Building fences for the wild predators at night which might harm our wives and children. Get the woman to brew enough beer , so that our farts at night can keep them predators away as well.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I’m glad you had some free time, finally…but I hope it wasn’t ALL work! By the way – I don’t know how much of that was serious and how much was facetious. But you have successfully managed to make me laugh this morning. Thank you. 🙂


  3. Oh Steph! 😦

    I’m sorry. This sucks. It’s not wrong to need to hibernate for a bit. That’s okay. So sad you have no support in your family. So sad it happened. Be as kind to yourself as you can. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Heya – thank you. Thank you for the kindness and support that it’s okay to hibernate when we need to. It amazes me how quickly the blogosphere rallies around each other. I’m still new here, yet y’all have made me feel so welcome and supported. Thank you, Beeps. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  4. When you dream even sky is not the limit…

    Keep in mind that the universe expands beyond the farthest galaxy we know…

    You have no idea about your capabilities…

    If you have a dream…

    Just push yourself each day a bit more to reach it and you will be amazed by yourself!

    Don’t worry about the world…

    People did not believe Galileo when he said the world is round!

    Go Ahead… Get Going… All The Best!!!

    If you have a dream to fulfill,

    don’t waste your energies explaining why.

    -Paulo Coelho

    Liked by 1 person

  5. *SMILE* my story was just facetious, apart from drinking beer and the farts!! At least it helped to keep the evil spirits away *S*

    I am working day shifts till Thursday and then night shifts over the weekend, and I am looking so much forward to your writings and comments.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. A married Irishman went into the confessional and said to his priest, ‘I almost had an affair with another woman.’
    The priest said, ‘What do you mean, almost?’
    The Irishman said, ‘Well, we got undressed and rubbed together, but then I stopped.’
    The priest said, ‘Rubbing together is the same as putting it in. You’re not to see that woman again. For your penance, say five Hail Mary’s and put $50 in the poor box.’
    The Irishman left the confessional, said his prayers, and then walked over to the poor box.
    He paused for a moment and then started to leave.
    The priest, who was watching, quickly ran over to him saying, ‘I saw that. You didn’t put any money in the poor box!’
    The Irishman replied, ‘Yeah, but I rubbed the $50 on the box, and according to you, that’s the same as putting it in!’

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Hi Stephanie Wow .. what can I say I just read this it took my breath away for many reasons at first the swearing got to me but it was so intriguing that I continued. I’m glad I did…such raw emotions really made me think about certain things in my life. Girl I got you. I understand and I really hope you get some healing from writing down your thoughts and I also hope the blogging helps you to do this. I myself have found blogging helpful as so far I have not revisited certain areas of my life that I have already written about. I understand your anxiety and I emphasise. But please try not to let your past consume you as it did with me. It’s only now I realise how much bitterness I had carried over the years. Thanks for sharing and believe me when I say I really understand. God bless and thank you for reading my blog also. I wouldn’t have heard your story otherwise. 😦

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Beverly. Thank you so much for your comments and your so kind words of commiseration and encouragement. I know the swearing is rough. Believe it or not, I don’t actually swear much…out loud. But here, I let everything in my head out (well..almost everything). And I do completely understand if it’s too much to get past for regular reading. 🙂

      That’s part of my hope here, what you said…I harbor this hope that if I finally vent some of the horrible pressure in my head, that maybe I can start to heal and move forward from my past. The distant one and the things that aren’t so far behind me after all. It does consume me…daily, and I fear it’s getting worse. But I really am working on it. Perhaps this will help, and perhaps I need something more formal for help as well.

      Truly, thank you so much. And I’m sorry – that you understand. I found your blog, this morning I think? And it immediately touched me, so I had to follow. But don’t worry..I won’t pepper your comments sections with expletives. I’m much better behaved when I’m running my mouth on others’ blogs. 😀


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