Mistre
As I reside in the wasteland of suburban consumer-bots, being true to
my Heartless Bitch soul is no small task. I offer my "Declaration of
Rededication to Heartless Bitchiness", not only as a bid for HB status on your
site, but as an affirmation to my own unbound and resilient Bitchy-assed
self.
I am a Heartless Bitch because I have given myself permission to live as I
will, to define (or refuse to define) who I am, and to choose for myself what is
of value.
Please do not ask me social "interview" questions intended to quickly
compartmentalize me in your mental storehouse of networked mannequins. No, I
don't have a card. The car I drive, the purse I carry, or the shoes I wear do
not indicate the depth of my character or my intrinsic worth. Likewise, please
don't deliver a soliloquy of your curriculum vitae as a means to impress me with
just how exceptional and accomplished and superior you are. The hard truth is
that we are all just short-lived bags of meat stumbling around on this pretty
green planet, and the only things that make us interesting or special are those
which cannot be defined by a degree or a paycheck or a job title.
My greatest accomplishments in life can't be put on a resume: surviving a
bleak and bereft childhood without becoming a sociopath; being a strong and
loving single parent (sans child support or good example); fighting my way
through shit jobs and community college to support myself and my child; moving
across the country without knowing a soul to better our living circumstances;
being utterly alone, totally scared shitless and doing it all anyway; fixing my
own psyche, changing my own tires, unclogging my own toilets, killing my own
spiders, and painting my own damned toenails. I don't need a safety net or a
pigeon-hole or a personal assistant to feel confident about myself, and I don't
have the patience to sit still and feign enthusiasm while you jerk yourself off
about your six figure salary and the new pool at your country club. So relate to
me as an unpretentious, unadorned, genuine human being - or kindly fuck off.
If what I choose to say or do angers you, worries you, disappoints you, or
embarrasses you ­ please understand: your hang-ups are not my problems, and
your expectations are not my directives.
If you want a friend, I'm a real friend ­ as only a Heartless Bitch can
be. But I am not an emotional toilet. Don't think you can squeeze me out like a
tube a toothpaste, borrow my strength and vitality when life (or that drunken
asshole you live with) kicks you in the head, then forget my phone number when
everything is rosy. If I only hear from you when you have a problem, then you're
a tapeworm. Go crawl up someone else's ass.
Don't fuck with my reality. I'd rather know an ugly truth than be mislead
by a pretty lie. Just lay it on out there, say what you mean and don't paint the
turds. There is nothing that will make me hate you more than if I have to waste
precious moments of my brief and singular lifetime trying to sort through
endless piles of your convoluted bullshit for the occasional corn nut of
truth.
As we judge others, we reveal ourselves. If my frankness makes you feel
awkward, if my earthiness makes you blush, it may not be the fault of my
impropriety, but that of your own insincerity.
I am under no obligation to live my life in such a way as to make you feel
better about yourself.
Country: United States
Yes! I want to read more from Real Life Heartless Bitches
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