Tootsie Roll Eater

Making friends tends to be difficult for some people. Those awkward years in high school, those awkward years of college, those awkward years of the rest of your life. For someone with BD, it is harder than you think. I tend to attract “friends” who need me to serve them. I call these people “takers”. They are like the kids that reach in and take ALL of the Halloween candy, leaving you with a tootsie roll. This makes me the kid that gratefully chokes down the tootsie roll, and tells the other kid “way to go” for being so cool as to take all of the candy like a bad ass.

This illness causes an extreme sense of sensitivity, and insecurity. The other kids will not accept you unless you eat the stale tootsie roll. This act of tootsie roll eating gives them power over you because you do not speak up and say, “fuck you, give me one of those KitKats!” You do not have to have BD to experience this type of habitual self deprivation, you may know yourself as the tootsie roll eater. The problem with BD, is that most of us are grateful for the tootsie roll. This is not a good thing. I don’t fucking like tootsie rolls.

I allow the few friends that I have had to walk all over me. While I savor the sour, rancid taste of the old tootsie roll in order to be accepted; I still choke on a gross piece of candy. What about the BD’s that make friends like KitKats? I have no idea. Those are the super BD’s. I know nothing of them.

How do we make friends? How do you make friends?

The few friends that I have acquired, use me until I am empty. I allow it. Why? My brain has not told me yet. I recently had the blind, drunken courage to cut a friend of fifteen years out of my life. Why? Because she never cared for me, while I ran myself into the ground making her happy. This took, for me, incredible strength. Thankfully, I do not regret it. The problem with me, is that I have a hard time making friends. I do not act “normal”. I go from depressed to manic at the blink of a eye, I isolate, I have trouble communicating, I generally fall apart if someone expresses displeasure with me. These qualities are problematic while making a friend. I am a wonderfully kind and compassionate person, I will do anything to help someone who needs me, however, I am also crazy as fuck.

As I blindly walk into age thirty-two, I ask politely for a KitKat. I have yet to get one. At best, I get four more tootsie rolls. It boils down to people wanting to use you. Those that do not want to use you, struggle to understand your craziness. At least they try. I am tired of writing this post because I was recently devastated by one of my “friends”, again. I need to live with other tootsie roll eaters, that way, we can all share a KitKat.

Fuck Tootsie Rolls.



When it rains it pours. Found another tear jerking gem thanks to my buddies on Reddit.  🙂


The Passing of Mothers’ Day

Another Mothers Day come and gone; it makes me think about this flower giving, obligating and false promise making “holiday”. I have been a mother for three years and every time mother’s day comes around I feel bad that I might not have been the “best” mother all year and results in me cleaning the house from top to bottom, agonizing over my mother’s gift for the occasion and fighting with my husband about the day itself. After sweating all day doing dishes, putting on make up for my hubby and telling my son I love him every six seconds I ask myself; what really is this day of mother worshiping?

I think about my mother.

This day is a false and ignorant means to get money and inspire people to spend it.

But I think of my mother anyway; hence have I “sold out” to the masses of holiday frenzy?

I have. I bought her roses.

But I thought about her, wondering what gift could I give this woman? Well knowing my mom, only my happiness in life would do to please her. That I am still having trouble with so what to I get this woman? A promise? A thought? Roses that will die?

My mother will never know how much I love her and the moments I remember about our interactions that I hold precious to my heart. She may never know that I still have bad dreams and wake up wanting a hug. There is so much my mother will never know about my complete and utter love and respect for her.

My mother may never know how much I love her so I sent her beautiful yellow, peach and orange colored roses in a lovely square vase with a balloon from her grandchild stating; I Love You Grandma and a silly card. I had to choose the roses. I over thought a holiday that can never say how much I love her.

I guess that this is what mother’s day is about.

I simply could not get my mom off of my mind.