šŸ’‹For The First & Last Time. Ever. šŸ’‹


Describe a man who has positively impacted your life.

🚨WARNING- THIS POST CONTAINS GRAPHIC CONTENT THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR ALL READERS. PLEASE EXERCISE CAUTION AND DESIST AT ANY POINT YOU BECOME UNCOMFORTABLE. THANK YOU!! 🚨

No. I didn’t read anyone else’s answers before sitting down to write this.

However, I’d tend to speculate there are husbands and historical figures. I of course could write all about a remarkable former linebacker with black curly hair and the patience of a saint- as he absolutely is a major positive force in my life(šŸ‘€ā¤ļøšŸ«µšŸ§ø)…

Instead, I’m going to take a sharp turn left and talk about the no so good men, events and the one woman that impacted my life my positively than any man could. By no means am I writing this article with sexism intended, but…

I’ve only known ā€˜Men’ to leave a wake of grief, sorrow and pain.

Before we go any further- a gentle reminder- This blog is intended as a public, interactive shadow journal. I am one person, speaking on my own behalf based on my own views of personal history. The events I am about to describe are factual things that have happened to me. It is not an indictment on anyone, and should not be used for that purpose without written consent.

ā¤ļøIf your sensitive- SMEARGLE says stop here! ā¤ļø

I am a female who has survived in the world of men. Despite being constantly reminded that I lacked a penis, I have outperformed and outplayed most men at their own ā€˜games’.

In my world, there are only a limited number of things I can’t do compared to my male counterpart.

But does that mean that I deserved to be punished?

Society says yes.

From the opening curtain, I was a script that forgot to be cast. The stage crew was all present, even the leading lady showed up for the first 10 hours. According to society, my bastardized state was acceptable enough to not make Tacoma Children’s Home. I was adopted directly from the hospital nursery.

This may not seem like much to most people, but… my biological father knew I existed and never showed the fuck up.

For the next 18 years, both Gary and Darlene found it acceptable to live in the denial of their pasts instead of face the consequences of their decisions. Bio Mom openly lied and denied my existence until her passing last year.

Living about 20 minutes away from each one of them individually, I was busy building my identity built off the history of strangers. Clinging to it because it was the only thing I could legitimately call my own.

I was today only when I decided to no longer be hateful about the actions of others in the past…

…but because of the unseen scars and still hidden moments my attitude towards those specific individuals I eternally hold on to the anger.

My adoption was never hidden from me, but on the same hand- my questions were never fielded or fully answered. It wasn’t until I had progressed past the point of caring at 37 that I was afforded the opportunity as if it was a gift.

By this point I had already been divorced from the most dangerous situation a person could ever be in. I was separated from my second husband and had just started discovering my own vulnerability as a single mother. I was also in a toxic relationship with a man who decided it would be totally kosher to fuck his friends boss at the Teays Valley Park and Ride. Of course it was following the rather sloppy blow job from the obsese 19 year old neighbor girl.

Keep it classy, J.

For the next year, I struggled to keep a home and support my two children. I had a nice townhouse in Pinch, WV. Just as we were starting to function as a beautiful unit, I went hormonal and needed that dick.

This relationship would have us lose our home, move into his parents house in the middle of nowhere spending 10 hours a day with the most toxic woman I’ve met since my adoptive mother.

Needless to say, they were not ready for a special needs child and a mother just trying to raise him. It took exactly 2 weeks before he broke it off via text and had his parents move us out of the house… he couldn’t even be there because he was too much of a coward.

This then caused me to move back in with my ex-husband. 24 hours after arriving, I laid on that cold hardwood floor in a pile of blankets and had my first heart attack. I was 39 years old.

Of course, patterns repeat. In my state of absolute defeat and weakness, I laid on the air mattress my parents Amazon’ed me and scoured the internet for any positivity I could find. Knowing only the desperation of needing to be wanted coupled with the stress and anxiety of staying in a place where I was openly indentured – I did what I’m so terrible at and I entered into probably the worst relationship of my life via Facebook dating.

I spent the next 16 months of my life being physically and mentally abused by a meth addicted schizophrenic truck driver with serious mommy and daddy issues. It got so deep that I spent 8 of those 16 months receiving beatings, black eyes, and threats of being left at a truck stop in the back of a 2020 Freightliner without the ability to call for help. I tried once, I have the cigarette butt scars on the back of my calf to show it.

I learned that these type of men require XNXX’s most disturbing porn while they are being serviced in order to even be aroused enough to get off… if it even happens.

Have you ever been blamed for an unsuccessful 3 hour blow job? I have. I have even been subject to extensive gynecology testing because he was incapable of getting me pregnant. I thought it was bad enough when my first husband tried to abort my 19 year old with a coat hanger because he was certain the child wasn’t his.

Admittedly, he was right. For a man who was a child rapist and notorious cheater it’s a wonder it was the first time he’s recognized his own game. I had royally fucked up, yet I learned how much meaningless conquest is in this world. I was 19 when I got pregnant with the first of three. They are the only thing from that time in my life I am truly proud of and love.

Fast forward 20 years, and here I was again. At 39, I was allowing myself to be locked up and beaten down. Broken for the purposes of a single man’s sport. So, at 8pm on April 8, 2021 I left.

I promised myself on that dark Kentucky by-way that I would never be treated like that again. I drove that 04 Kia and cried.

I cried for my freedom, for my past and for the possibility of the future. Screaming at the windshield with all the frustration built up over the last 16 months. On the exhale, I’d whimper to myself, ā€œIf I can just make the Mississippi. I’m free if I can just make the Mississippi.ā€ It seeped out like a toxic mantra, convincing myself to believe.

The hours drug on, but only one song had downloaded to play… it was Don Williams ā€˜Tulsa Time’. As I crossed state to state with my eyes on the Mississippi, the addicting up beat and the destination in place… I drove.

I went from Chapmanville, WV to Memphis TN in under a day. It wouldn’t be until I hit Fort Smith, AR that I would finally pull over to rest. Blocking all the the three from car windows, I lightly slept for about 4 hours. I hadn’t even thought about eating. Yet a box of mystery berry pop tarts and honey granola bars lay in wait on the passenger floorboard.

The most positive force in my life was laying across the front seat of a 2004 Kia Rio- emaciated, exhausted and -for the first time in 20 years- alone.

Arriving in Arizona on April 11, 2021- I was skin and bones. So compartmentalized that I wasn’t even comfortable in a civilized home. I spent the first three days sneaking out to sleep in my car because I couldn’t bear the feeling of a normal bed. I’d lay across the seats with my mother on the phone and sob.

ā€œI hate it here. It’s so lonely and hot, and I have no people.ā€ She’d do her best to calm me down, and tell me to keep trying because if I don’t give it a chance I’ll never be able to tell.

After 3 days, I went to the employment agency and got a job. I went to work, and tried to refocus. I had been handed a great opportunity, but because I was so mentally broken I messed it up. At least this time it wasn’t a relationship.

Here I sit after nearly 3 years, reflecting on the shit I had to go through to become the most positive impact in my life.

If you managed to make it this far, congratulations. You’ve made it to the actual answer to the prompt. The person who has most positively impacted my life, is me.

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