#overit: my tragic life in small stories (tw: self harm)

First and foremost, this weather has me feeling some type of way.

One day it’s 90 something and the next day it’s 50 something and raining. Like, no. Stop.

On top of that, this office has bad vibes because people are snitching on each other, telling lies on people, and just being overall shady and I’m not here for it. It’s messing with my good juju.

I’m telling ya’ll, if I didn’t have this blog to get my feelings out I would have an overload of saltiness that would just spill off onto the wrong person.

Let’s talk boys.

Mr.5’7maybe really tried Hippieme (my world/freedom/woman loving alter-ego) the other day ya’ll.

I recently got a tat inspiring the women to let their tatas do their thang and to break free from the bondage of bras, and homeboy thought it was his place to comment.

He goes on to say that he disagrees with my tatt because girls with “ugly boobs” need to wear bras.

Boy bye.

I start telling him that boobs are boobs, they’re all different and beautiful in their own right, and that women’s bodies should not be fucking dictated by what pleases the male gaze (excuse me…my sociology is showing).

He goes…and I quote:

“Nah fuck ugly titties. If a girl got ugly titties she needa eat better and taker her ass to the gym and wear a bra until they look better.”

Why man? Just, why?

Maybe it’s my hippie ass brain, and my “feminist” qualities, but the female body is so extraordinary in function and when it is minimized to how it makes others feel, it really shits on my parade man.

Boobs are sacks of fat on our chests that may or may not produce milk for our possible offspring; they’re not there to be “cute”.

How would I sound if I said that all “ugly” dicks needed not to be used unless they had their fair share of bench presses?

I would sound fucking insane.

At the end of the day, bodies come as they are and the souls inhabiting them have the right to choose how they want to present theirs, even if it’s uncomfortable to others.

There was a dean of color where I did my undergraduate studies that would NEVER wear a bra and homegirl would have to talk to incoming freshman at every orientation, meet with students, and attend huge ass meetings with important people on campus.

Do you think she gave a damn about whether her boobs were “cute” or not?

Hell nah! She was making her muthalovin six figures without one single fuck to give. 

I’m saying all this to say, unless I get a tatt that says your name, telling you how to live your life or what to do with your titties, don’t waste your time giving me an opinion on my shit because I’ll end up putting your business in my blog.


You’ve been fairly warned.

Still trying my luck on Tinder because I suck at all things involving normal human interaction:

In this week’s Tinder escapades:

  1. A white boy told me that he loved my lips and that “they must do wonders”.
  2. A different white boy asked me where I was from because my name was so “foreign and interesting”. When I proceeded to ask him what he meant by a “foreign name” he replied, “A name that’s unusual and not typically American”. This white boy had locs.

Yesterday at work my anxiety paired up with my depression and smacked me around a bit.

My co-worker asked me if I had sent a request for a pt’s images, and where I had put another pt’s new records (they were the same records she already had but prettier versions of them).

My short term memory loves fucking with my life and I couldn’t remember what I had done with the records, nor if I had requested images.

The problem was, the images were needed before the patient could be seen….today.

Clearly, I FUCKED UP.

I’m usually hella organized and on top of my shit as well as everyone else’s because I like our practice to be a well-oiled machine, and fucking up like this was a big no-no for me.

Thanks to my homegirls anxiety and depression, I started freaking out and my mind automatically went through some fun mental distortions…

Catastrophizing: I was going to have this negative perception of me at work until I got a new job.

Overgerneralizing: Because of this mistake I was stupid and it was obvious I couldn’t do anything right even after working here for a month.

Black & White Thinking: Obviously everything I do at work is bad because I didn’t do this one thing correctly.

Fortune Telling: My co-worker would tell my bosses of the mistake I made and they would fire me.

I started dissociating and immediately felt the urge to cut.

I ran to the bathroom with my weapon of choice in the chest pocket of my jacket and cried for a good 10min… all because my mind kept telling me I was dumb, unworthy, and needed to punish myself.

The good new is, I have an appt soon with a drug doc (psychiatrist) because obviously my “happy pills” aren’t keeping my brain in line.

The sucky reality about that is…. happy pills don’t fix everything; I just need a new brain.


Why did I hear over the radio that there will be a season 2 of 13 REASONS WHY!?!?!?!

I’m guessing the first season didn’t fuck people up enough, or maybe the number of people they wanted to screw with was too low.

Whatever the reason, I’m not pleased…. but best believe I will put myself through the torture of watching it when it comes out and possibly suffering another flashback session…no biggie….

Keeping on the trend of sucky realities…..

I just went to the bathroom, had a good look at myself and realized something ya’ll…..

I’m a butterface


I don’t know what happened man!

I thought I used to be cute but then…. idk….

My body got decent and my face got…. what’s the word…… not…. cute.

I know there’s a better word out there for this new lifestyle but I can’t put my finger on it.

Anywho. I think it’s because my hair is growing out so I look like a 45 year old recently divorced single mother of 4.

…and every time I try to comb it out or brush it back it doesn’t help…it just looks more… 45-year-old-ish.

Not to mention all the pimpletas (yes I speak spanish, don’t hate) in the world decided to have a family reunion on my face like it’s middle school again.

…and don’t get me started on these bags under my eyes ya’ll. I’m over here walking around looking like I ask people if they want paper or plastic for a living because ya’ll … I HAVE ALLLLLLL THE BAGGSSSS.

A couple months ago I really thought I was mid-glow-up but then life said….


Maybe a glow-up is  just not in my destiny man.

Maybe I was meant to repost all my #skingoals, #bodygoals, #melaninonfleek, and #lifegoals, on tumblr with no hope for my future.

I must accept the cards I was dealt…. and the fact that none of them cards were the instagram baddie wild card.

It’s cool though….imma be alright.





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