Whore

There’s a lot of times I open up WordPress and think to the liveJournal days where I wrote through a lot of childhood trauma.

One specific post I wish I could retrieve is the one where my father literally called me a whore for buying some modest brown, Anne Klien, 3inch heels with a dainty golden button.

I thought they would look nice to wear to church as I was no longer a kid.

One of the very first times I wore them out to some job, or acting audition (something my brain totally erased out of my mind)… He drunkenly called me a “whore” and proceed to just bash into how stupid I was for wearing them.

What I would do to read how I felt back then.

And I guess that’s why it’s good to write regardless. Just keep writing even when it’s hard and you don’t want to.

It’s one thing to screen write or do something poetically.

But writing my feelings is almost as hard as talking through my feelings and feeling them all the way through.

Something about writing, stream of conscious, absolutely existing in the present moment.

Especially looking into a blank screen. Something hits differently than on paper. Listening the jams that fuel the words. (Liquify’s new 2026 playlist)

Today I have this looming weight over my chest, and then over my spirit, and then over my breath.

I think that I’ve got it under control or I’ve done all the proper stress management techniques I have to face it.

But I have to remember it takes time. I do tend to move past things fairly quickly, though sometimes, when the things really mattered, it takes a while longer.

Am I still sad about Red?

Why?

I’m convinced he has BPD1 mixed with a heavy case of alcoholism.

But maybe that’s my empathy – being sad about the underdog.

I always want the underdog to win. To prove me otherwise. I.e: Dad.

Not even sad about the situation that I put myself through by being there for him. The hospital visits and the gang nonsense. Plus being lied to and deceived twice.

He went back to two totally separate toxic girls. This time was almost worse.

Knowing that this chick fully said she was going to quote “fuck me up” next time she’d see me.

The disrespect man. I don’t even have to go into it on both their parts.

It just hurts. But the hurt is like a dull jaded hurt.

I guess it still hurts none the less.

Feels like my heart is making the silent noise of being broken. The silent cry.

While my mind says it’s alright.

Just like Red kept saying, “it’s alright, it’ll be fine, i’m fine.”

Meanwhile nose diving into a row of bird scooters and acting drunk on camera to post online and humiliate himself?

Maybe we say we are ok…. we feel the cry, but it’s in the opposite direction.

Like secretly we aren’t ok, but we don’t know how else to treat ourselves.

Sad, it’s all sad.

I’ve cried already.

Maybe I need to cry more.

I think what really get’s me going about wanting to cry is the thought of how badly I want this future I have imagined.

And then, when I look back at myself on that lifeguard stand wanting this future I currently have…. I can’t help but to realize, it all came true.

I can’t forget those moments staring into the pool, bashing my brain into desire, wanted this exact life. And I got it and so much more.

Can’t let the future hold back from the present.

I cry because I am still that same little girl who wants all these things.

This next “aha” moment –

It’s just another one of those moments that is going to be even more meaningful. I’m looking into the pool – just trying to figure it out.

The dream job, the dream guy, the dream family.

No fighting for it. Just breathing and believing it exists.

Cry, and cryyyyyyyy because I know how badly you want it.

And they say, the frequency you give out is what you get.

So don’t play the victim they say. The law of attraction plays out this way.

Being a victim only pushes the things you want so badly, further away.

But this cry, is not a victim mindset. Or a victim cry.

It’s the desire mindset. It’s the, “I want this so bad that this exact cry, I am crying now, is the exact same cry I will cry when I get it.”

Except when I get it, I will cry so much more. And maybe that’s the looming weight over me today. Present me doesn’t realize how good it’s going to feel.

This future life is not what defines me. Nor am I seeking validation from it.

NO.

This life is just the beginning of of all the hard work I had endured to get here. I already validate myself more than anyone I know because – I KNOW MYSELF. I know my morals and my ethics and the depths that others may never experience or realize.

Who wouldn’t cry when their dream life is the life that this soul came to accomplish?

I think about riding a motorcycle. Sharing laughs with someone I love. Going to shows and catching sunsets. Cooking meals together. Encouraging our goals and creating even more goals. Working on the road. Exploring. Running a business. Totally crushing it on every front, and feeling effortlessly fulfilled.

Waking up with constant motivation.

And having grace on the off days, to just be.

Creating art in my gallery. Building a community.

Canvas after canvas. Messy hair, creative clothes. Coffee and a smoke.

Stretch, dance, laugh, skate.

Music, celebrate.

Time is not something to be afraid of. Missing out on the present is something to be afraid of.

I think when you stay in the mystery of the future, that’s where you miss out on the real gift, today.

Take on those words of wisdom.

Seriously. You always read back on your blogs and think, “who is that girl?”

I am reminding yourself who you are.

Do not doubt yourself ever.

The girl in your mom’s Volvo looking at that same green classic car every morning would want you to keep pushing on.

Remember when it was raining and you felt so bad for that beautiful car being neglected? And then one day it was gone?

Mom said something to you and you responded with, “I have to – because I have no choice. I’ll do it all on my own. I will get out of here and I will be successful.”

Well you did, but you don’t have to be alone.

Remember the tale of Baba Yaga? The little doll didn’t let the girl down. All the impossible tasks were completed, and the girl returned home a hero.

I know you’re angry, and tired, and hurt but you don’t have to be.

Someone really does love you. Your angels are looking after you.

If Red said anything at all during the time we were together that meant anything, it was that.

“You’ve got some serious angels, and they’re looking after you.”

It’s true. I am the luckiest girl.

Let’s see how incredibly fast things turn out for the better.

You have endured enough. Everything you desire is valid, and is divinely your right to have.