How Could You?

Dammit, Javier! I hate you right now. It keeps hitting me right upside the head that you're gone. Just out of nowhere . And then I start bawling. How could you be so stupid? Do you have any idea how much pain your stupid fucking choices have caused? Dude, I don't think you're Mama's ever going to get over it. She's not doing too good, bro. It's aging her a little every day. She's just so damn sad. I can't really compare my pain to hers, but it still hurts pretty bad. I'm so mad at you. Do you have any idea how ugly I am when I cry?
I just miss you. We all do. No amount of wishing, crying, or being angry is going to bring you back, though. So, I guess I'll just deal with it. I love you, you asshole.

Why

Why? Why I am always doubting myself?
I am constantly thinking that I am too fat, that I have too many pimples, that I suck at my job, that I'm ugly. What the fuck? None of that is true. Why do I think that? I spent most of my morning crying, because I felt this way. And it's absolutely untrue. I'm one of the prettiest broads I know. I rock at my job (I'm a hairstylist), and I am just amazing all around. So why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we hate ourselves? Why don't we just love that little bit of jiggle in our wiggle? Why can't we look in the mirror and say, "Damn, that chick is fine"
I am absolutely fucking over it. I'm going to stop asking myself why. Because the answer to that question is,  "Why not?"
No matter what, you're good enough. Regardless of any doubts you may have about yourself, you are a bad bitch . I love you, and you should too. Now, let's go run the world.

Fuck Your Life

Scare of fucking my life. I woke up to someone breaking into my house, and someone standing in my bedroom. I don't understand why, but I somehow turned on my lamp or maybe he did, I don't know, I recognized him. All sucked up, shot out, hollow, like  shell of his former self. Fuck. You're a junkie piece of shit. I always called you Brother, you called me Sis, because we got each other. But you fucked up.
You grabbed my arms,pinned me, and for second, I thought you might do the unimaginable to me, They tell you to stay calm and use a soft voice when facing an attacker. For once in my life, I whispered. I looked into your dead zombie fucking eyes and, said, "Brother, please don't do this"  I said it more than once, maybe three times.I have never been more scared in my life. You reached down, I thought you were going to touch me, It was making my skin crawl. I almost threw up but I  held down the bile, I didn't want to make you more upset. I was terrified at the thought of actually being raped. This would fucking hurt. I kept saying "Brother please, please. We've been through things together. Remember yard duty at St Johns all the fucking leaves we had to rake?"  I finally saw a reflection, maybe a tear. He jumped off and ran. If I owned a gun, I never would have been able to catch a head shot. Who cares? I would have preferred to shoot him in the back. Live like a coward, die like a coward. I don't give a fuck how high you were, I've been there, done that. And I never did anything like the shit you pulled. We were at St John of God together, you met my mother for chrissake. You were my brother from my another mother. Now you break into my home, and nearly violate me? Oh fuck no, you got it twisted
Last time I saw you, was almost two years ago. Gaby and you were clean were clean, she was pregnant.  You called, you and your cousin needed haircuts. I cut hair, played pool, it was fun, that was the **** I will always remember and on the way home, I kept saying how proud I was of both of you. We took pics that night, like a family reunited. I 'm sure they're on my Facebook somewhere. You and your cousin took me home, you shook my husbands hand. Yeah, my husband. We got married recently, and try to lead a normal life. We work hard for everything we have, which is admittedly not much. But ITS OFF LIMITS. OURS NOT YOURS . I'm pissed. How fucking dare you, you lowlife piece of shit? Everyone has given you a million chances. Your family, your sons mother,your other sons mother, everyone expects better. Oh wait, no they don't, they've given up. After rehab, you always would call me to see if I was doing good, because you were sucking at life. I was always there for you no matter what.
But now? You're a fucking bottom feeder. You fucking drain people. You suckle until the tit is dry. Way to go "dad", for going to one whole soccer game.  And child support payments? Who needs them? I can't wait to buy you a fathers day card! Because, you're just the best ever. Gee, why don't you get them a nice card for all the birthdays, soccer matches, mothers days, anniversaries, even Christmases, that you forgot because you're a selfish, self absorbed asshole that was either  fucking loaded or in prison. The fathers day card will be nice and sparkly, and then we'll sign it, "Thanks for being a dick" .
You might wanna keep your head down. You got a surprise coming. Maybe tomorrow, the day after, maybe next week. Who knows? Doesn't the element of surprise just get you excited? Here's a little tasty tid bit for you.... Just found this about an hour ago...... Drum roll please.  You're a fucking pedophile. Lewd and lascivious acts with a minor under 14, 17 counts. That was in Florida. Did you think no one would find out? It's public record you fucking idiot. Only a few bucks to get the info online. What about the THREE. FUCKING. RAPE. AND. SODOMY CHARGES. IN IDAHO. Go team! It would likely be in your best interest to turn yourself in. The authorities might keep you safe. Or maybe, not. Hopefully they get to you before the homies do. Either way, you're quite literally fucked. Do you know how much  inmates hate pedophiles? Do you know what happens to them? I'm sure you do, you've served a couple of terms.
I wanted you to learn . But you don't have it in you. Fuck your life.  I'm not interested in buying your bullshit anymore. I used to love you, but now I would rather watch a speeding train shred you on the track. The way you're going, your life will end in some disgusting gas station bathroom with a fucking needle in your arm, or your neck , slumped over, covered in your own vomit, sitting in some one elses urine. Good luck with that.

Wax

Dear Javi,
I miss you. I'm trying not to get too emotional, because I know you hate when I act like a girl. So, I'll man up and stop crying. However..... I want you to call me again and get on my nerves because you want me to walk to AMPM with you. I want to hear you call me your only "seester"  again, I want you to ask me why I wear so much makeup and tell me that I have a big head one more time. But that's not going to happen. You're gone, permanently, you're never coming back.
  You would have hated the funeral. You were on display like an object, not like a person. Two weeks had passed. I feel like they should have laid you to rest long before, but, I don't call the shots. I sat next to your mama, she is so strong, she barely shed a tear while she was sitting there looking at her first born child in a casket. And then I had to get up, because it was my turn to speak. I got up there and spoke with you right behind me in that fucking wooden box wearing the clothes that I had picked out for you. I said some nice things about you, because you're my brother from another mother, I don't remember exactly what I said, it's kind of a blur.
You should be proud of me,I didn't fall apart. Well, maybe a little.  Because, I don't know exactly why people do this, but everyone walks past the casket, paying there last respects. Everyone was touching you, and I thought to myself, "Oh hell no! I'm not even going to look, let alone touch him" But when I walked past, I couldn't help myself. I leaned down and kissed your cheek. Your skin felt like wax. Like really cold, hard wax.  I will never forget the way it felt. Just like I will never forget you.
You made some bad choices,and one final stupid mistake, but you certainly did not deserve to die the way you did.
Just so you know, I'm still mad at you. I know I'm being selfish, but what the fuck am I supposed to do without you?  Little things remind me of you, like a song or a smell. My grief ebbs and flows, just like the ocean. Sometimes it seems like I'm drowning, and sometimes I'm just getting my ankles wet. There is a place in my heart where you will always live. And that place will never go away. I will visit you there from time to time. There is one thing I know for sure, I will see you again someday, my friend.
Love always,
Sarah
P. S. You still owe me $10

Transformation Tuesday

So it's Transformation Tuesday. I have definitely transformed. I went from being broke, depressed, and emotionally vacant (not to mention gross looking) in 2011  to loving my life and being fine as hell in 2014. Am I conceited for saying that? Fuck no. And if that's your opinion, crawl back into your hole and choke on your negativity. There is a huge difference between confidence and conceit. Confidence is looking in the mirror and saying "I ain't mad at that at all, let's go have a rad day". Conceit is looking in the mirror and saying "I don't like what I see, but I'll pretend I do, and then make everyone else feel bad about themselves."
If you relate more to my latter statement. Good luck and enjoy the ass whooping you're about to receive. Bitch, I don't play.
I am absolutely sick and tired of listening to some of the most beautiful women I've ever seen hating themselves. I'm tired of hearing about how you think you look fat/old/ugly etc.
You don't like the way you look? Transform yourself. I don't mean you should change the way you look. Transform the way you think. Love you. All of you. We're not perfect and never will be. Perfect is really hard to live up to, and I'm not even interested. Just do you. I'm definitely going to keep doing me.
If you're still not convinced, come have a chat with me. I promise, you don't look fat in those jeans, that pimple isn't obvious, and no, you don't jiggle when you wiggle. At least not as much as you think. It's Transformation Tuesday, but what are you doing for the rest of the week? I'll just be over here, kicking ass and taking names.
Now, who's looking forward to Way Back Wednesday?

Sunshine

Sometimes, we fuck up. We ignore what the universe is providing us. We would rather deny the sun, and live in darkness. Mark my words, it's a mistake. I recently made such an error.
My blog is all about honesty.The truth hurts, but so does life. So let's put it all out there. I'm not big on lies these days. 
I really thought that I was ready to end it. I was so depressed, so stressed. I thought "Fuck it. I'm done"
I went and bought the cheapest fifth of vodka I could find. I also spent $20 on 10 Norcos. I was really going to do it. Then, for some reason, I fell asleep. When I woke up, the vodka was still sitting there, so were the pills. Which by the way, I had crushed for easy digestion. I was so fucking disgusted with myself. Like "Really? Why would you think this wasn't a life worth living? So what, the gas and the Internet has been turned off, you can turn it around, kid."
I immediately took the bottle and smashed it, done. The pills I begrudgingly threw away as well. You wanna know the most interesting part? This didn't actually happen.
It could have. I was really feeling bad. But I'm back. I won't ever ignore the sun again. Because I have too much to live for. I have people in my life who love me. I have a nephew who hasn't met his aunt yet. I have friends, some whom I've never even met, who are pulling for me. Most importantly, I have the spirit of a Kirby. I can't turn my back on that. The strong will survive. And I am nothing if not a survivor. Mom and Dad (and everyone else) I hope you're not too mad at me for this. I hope you understand my point. You've loved my crazy ass for 32 years, let's keep it up.

A Letter to Maya

Dear Ms Angelou,
I hate to bother you while you're up there singin` and swingin'. So I'll keep it brief.
There is a part of me that does not grieve for you. Only because you have lived a life so full, so rich, painful, but triumphant. Your 86 years with us must have been exhausting, and your poor body just needed the rest. It was your time. I can accept that.
There is another part of me that weeps every time you sneak into my head today.  I feel as if I lost a member of my own family. I know that our backgrounds and lives were completely different. I would never compare my caged bird to that of a slave. However, I must say, you did teach me how to make that  canary carry a tune.
Regardless of race, upbringing, religion, you, Ms. Angelou, are a prime example of the fact that we are all the same in a way. We love, we get angry, we laugh, we yell and scream, we make mistakes. We hurt, we cry, and sometimes we get our innocence stolen. I won't elaborate on that, because I'm sure you already know.
I remember the first time I read I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings. I was 14, and it was assigned reading (I wasn't expecting much, I was an angst ridden teenager) But I saw something of myself in those pages. I didn't want to give the book back, so I hid it under my mattress. I read it probably 50 times in two weeks.
I guess what I really want to say is thank you. Thank you for being bold, and putting every piece of yourself out there for the world to see. If you hadn't, I seriously doubt that I could have done the same in the past few months. You inspired me to be bold. Secrets will choke you if you don't cough them up, you helped me get that infection out.
You will never truly die, Ms. Angelou. There will always be a little piece of you in my soul, and I'm sure you will exist in the souls of many others.
Long story short, I want to be just like you when I grow up. 
Now, get back out there on the dance floor. I'll see you at the crossroads.
All my love,
Sarah Kirby