I'm a Heartless Bitch because my mother told me so. I'd never fixed the label on myself until she so bitterly informed me of her contempt for my independence of thought. She has always considered my behaviour to be somewhat antisocial, though my interests have fallen more along the lines of maintaining the status of a raving individual. I've never wasted my time on relationships, juvenile or otherwise, knowing that time spent on achievement is time well-used indeed.

Here I am now, 18 years old and no longer the verbose hell-raiser my parental units loved and loathed simultaneously. Rather, I'm a young adult presence to be reckoned with, aghast with drive and initiative. I'll be graduating in a month with a $17,300 scholarship and still some of my fluttering acquaintances cannot wait until their wedding days. I can't wait to earn a Doctorate.

It's a shame the title of bitch, still considered a curse word in some respects, is assigned to the women who least deserve a label: the strong femme fatales who defy labeling and passivity in itself.

Yes! I want to read more from Real Life Heartless Bitches

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