“Rock bottom” is an iffy little concoction of words. It doesn’t slide off the tongue easily I mean, it literally means “at the lowest possible level”. But we can’t actually define it or explain what it represents. It’s an intangible phrase much like LOVE and HATE and BLISS and SATANIC. What the shit does any of it really mean anyways right?
Me? I was waiting for you to ask! (Don’t act like you’re not interested in my predictably twisted perspectives honey. Don’t even play boo-boo!) Love? Love is buying my favorite coffee and surprising me with it just because I’m fucking adorable when I’m over-caffeinated and you just get a kick out of watching me instantly go from raging malicious lazy bitch to productive and giggly let’s-go-to-the-end-of-the-stars-together-baby bitch. Also, because I should never have to argue about stopping for coffee for the fourth time in one day, AND because no respectable woman should EVER have to resort to bribing or compromising with a half-assed blow job in exchange for coffee.
Speaking of WHICH! (Fair warning: This is going completely off topic and down an abysmal rabbit-hole of inappropriate content) I would LOVE to know who the fucking genius was who fell and accidentally tripped with her (or his?) mouth wide open and managed to shove a huge cock down his/her throat and then kind of kept going. Did they NOT gag or stop breathing and were they NOT repulsed when the :::surprise!!!:::: warm chlorine-tasting stuff crawled down their throat?! Was it not so sticky and physically difficult that it was just a GIVEN to never do such a thing again? I mean fucking seriously. Let’s be real here.
How did this go down? How did the word “spread” that this was an acceptable act of goodness in the world and that we should 100 percent be doing this shit to other people? The first person who discovered HEAD should have been fucking crucified because this was a HATE crime. In a raging response, some group of anti-cocksuckers should have established some Martin Luther King worthy type of boycott movement for the sake of all humanity who suffers from gag reflex and a double-chin-complex that NO ONE needs to ever see from a top angle.
So of course i just googled the history of the “blow-job” and found some info here: The Blow Job . The legitimacy of that content shall remain unknown because I don’t have time for much more of this fucking research paper on sucking dick but anyways, here is what they say:
The first blow job (or at least, written mention of it) appears in Egyptian burial chambers where one can read on the walls extracts narrating the myth of Osiris. After being murdered and cut into pieces, the goddess Isis tried to put the pieces together but could not find his manhood. Resourcefully, she fashioned one out of clay and used her mouth to ‘breathe life into him’ through it.
Well fuck you Isis. Really? You decided to “breathe life” into him through a penis hole? You were an asshole not a goddess bro. It’s called CPR you dumb bitch. What kind of shit was Zeus teaching you people? So petty girl. So petty.
But ANYWAYS, for coffee- anything fucking goes right?
As far as Hate well that’s easy for me. Hate is the act of putting away the laundry. Bliss is a bad fucking joke that has no punchline, and Satanic is (come on guys this is an easy one!) any-fucking-existing-form-flavor-smell-taste-presence of Pumpkin Spice.
What about rock bottom though? Tough one. To one it might mean being a homeless drug addict diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer. It could just as easily mean the moment 3 months ago when I stepped on a scale and felt such shame that I swore the Earth was going to open up from beneath me and swallow me into a dimension covered in lard and surrounded with obese hysteria. I mean- to each his own after all right?
For a little more of my sad ass background-I’ve been inexplicably self-conscious for as long as I can remember. No matter how many times I am told that I’m pretty and funny and smart, my reflection whispers “bullshit” to me over and over and over again until literally nothing and no one could convince me otherwise. The reflection does NOT lie my friend. I am not blind nor gullible to fake compliments. Spare me. While I totally get that I’m not “fat” to most of everyone that I know- it is not about what they feel about me. Ultimately, what matters is my own interpretation of myself. And what I see, is a five foot two inch borderline obese potty-mouth chick with an oversized head and teeth. I see spider veins. I see cellulite. I see asymmetrical facial features and wrinkles quenching in thirst of Botox that I can NOT afford (unless I….. yea no never mind. Gag reflexes…) :::clears her throat:::
I’ve suffered from low self esteem since my adult teeth decided to overcrowd my mouth in so many directions I used to be asked (true story) how much the entrance tickets to the circus in my mouth were- a low blow that haunted me so intensely that I went and had cosmetic surgery when I was 18 to organize said “carnival in my mouth”. I do not own a single picture of myself smiling prior to being 18 years old (nothing from maybe the ages of 9-18). I refused to have much of a social life because I was SO ashamed of my smile. My circle was tiny and my friends obviously never said anything about it to me and my current love, who was my high school sweetheart still claims he doesn’t even remember it being so bad, and that it never even bothered him. But it bothered me in levels that I can not even explain.
Can you imagine being 14…15…16… and having to walk into a classroom early enough to be sure to sit in a specific area of the class, at a certain angle, so that if by chance you were forced to read or speak… no one next to, in front of, or behind you would look at you and notice the extra tooth that was hiding in back of your front crooked teeth like a fucking fugitive trying to escape death row? It was so exhausting to be so ashamed all of the time. I mean I was a cheerleader for fucksake and I avoided being in the front row of any routines up until I just ended up quitting altogether. It was sad. I was hard on myself for a very long time until I decided to take control. But this was only the root of it all.
I grew up constantly walking in on my mom forcing herself to puke because she was “too fat”. It was only later on in life that I realized she was sick and really hated herself. And I hate myself sometimes for letting that genetic fucking self-hate rub itself off on my DNA like snot on a tissue. So when I realized recently, that I was starting to really hate myself because of my weight and that it was starting to cause issues in my relationship and in my personal endeavors- I knew I had to fucking stop it.
I started to fuel my love for dance again through the Vixen Army Workout which is this amazing movement for women to work off their drama and get in awesome shape while having a BLAST doing it.. and I also cheated and starting taking Phentermine which I’m probably getting addicted to because as opposed to the typical tachycardia and out-of-control-hyper shit feelings, this stuff helps me focus and makes me wanna get things done! It’s like this civilized, controlled, totally legit “I got this shit” kind of high that makes me feel like I’m on top of the world. That’s probably a bad thing. And many are judging my choices, saying that I’m gonna “gain it all right back” but no. Because I am the boss of me not you. Besides, I just told you I started a workout routine BEFOREHAND assholes. I’ve lost 15 pounds thus far, and everything about my life is just- different and better and endorphins are swimming through my traumatized nervous system like taking over shit. Endorphins are BOSS. You NEED to get yourself some endorphins like ASAP.
Seriously though- Do you know how stressful it can be, to have a closet full of clothes and to feel so disgusted with yourself you just want to stay naked in bed all day because all you want, is the freedom of feeling amazing in a simple white tank top and torn up fucking jeans but NO. Instead, you feel like a god damn hippo who ripped right through her jeans. And so the only solution to THAT kind of emotion is wrapping your lard up in a huge blanket and sitting on the couch with a brand new bag of Tostitos and left over nacho cheese dip. It’s so pathetic you know? How weight can so heavily change our lives for the worse or for the better. But that’s what happens to us sensitives that are set up for depression and self inflicted “rock bottom” phases.
Have you ever hit “rock bottom?” What was it if you care to share and how did you fix it? Also- have you ever had to bribe anyone with a blow job for coffee? How AMAZING was that coffee though right!?