Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the tag “anxiety”

Misery Is Terrible Company

When the pain becomes too great

and all of the old vices fail to satisfy

and you’re silently screaming for help

but it falls on deaf ears

and all the fat people are now

thinner than you

and you’re an obese cow

who no one ever wanted to buy

because you always gave the milk for free

and what that means is you’re a slut

and you’ve been used and discarded

and you’ve forgotten how to put

one foot in front of the other

so you try to talk the talk

until you can walk the walk

but you fail miserably and trip

and fall on your face

but who cares

because your front teeth had a big gap between them anyway

and you have no outer beauty left

but it was only a disguise for your inner beauty

which has now also abandoned you

and misery is your only companion

and loneliness dances in the shadows

to a tune of your own composing



my heart has been replaced

by a large stone

which sits heavy in my chest

pumping only doubt and denial



steeling my being

against the inevitable moment

when you decide

I’m not worth it



Rush Hour


My mind is a crowded city street at rush hour




a gridlock of thoughts

caught in a traffic circle

going around

and around

and around

My mind searches for peace

dreams of vistas

where snow falls deep enough

to blot out all sound

a burning white spot in my brain

to erase the anxiety

which never seems to take a vacation day


Crazy Cocktails and Their Side Effects

A few days ago I cried uncle to the anxiety (with an undercoating of PTSD), which has plagued me for quite some time, and made an appointment to see my doctor.  I had recently talked to a few people about their struggles with anxiety, and the meds they take to help deal with it.  I don’t like medications, because I seem to be ultra-sensitive to some of them, plus most of them can exacerbate the exact thing we’re trying to get rid of, and that just makes no damn sense whatsoever.

My doctor knows I don’t like to take pills, and often has to convince me to try them, so when we sat down to talk on Monday, and I broke down in tears over my inability to deal with this fucking anxiety, he suggested Lexapro, an SSRI-anti-depressant, which is also supposed to have anti-anxiety properties.

I suggested Ativan, which he isn’t particularly fond of, but I had to admit to him that a friend had given me one to try during an anxiety attack, and it helped calm me down within 20-30 minutes.  And seriously, if you have anxiety, you know what blissful relief a reprieve from torturous cyclical thinking can be.

Needless to say, we compromised:  he would give me the Ativan for “as needed” situations, and I would try the Lexapro for a long term solution.

Now mind you, the last time I took an anti-depressant, it was something called Pristiq, which I had to stop taking because of the ridiculous cost of it, and I almost slit my wrists when I was trying to wean myself off of it. I literally locked myself in my bathroom, and called my mom to come over and talk me off the fucking ledge, because of that shit.  That’s when I said, “NO MORE!”.  Didn’t matter what came up, I would plow through depression without a pill, because I was never going to subject myself to worse depression from an anti-depressant.

Fast forward to 5 years later and two doses of Lexapro got me looking like the town meth whore with some damn teeth grinding and jaw clenching and my inability to keep my damn tongue still in my mouth.

What. The. Fuck.  *Google Lexapro and teeth grinding*

Sure enough, the meth mouth shuffle is one of the side effects of Lexapro.  So doc, I tried, but I’m not doing this shit.  I’m not going to keep walking around doing this, grinding my teeth down to stumps and giving myself migraines, in the hopes that the side effects will wear off.  If this is what happens after two doses, I don’t want to see what happens after a third, or a fourth.

At least I still have the Ativan to calm my brain, even if it doesn’t help stop looking like the town meth whore.



I Give Up

I’ve decided I can’t do it anymore.  As much as I hate taking any sort of prescription medication, I will go to my doctor next Monday morning, and prostrate myself at his feet and beg him to give me something to help my anxiety.  My psyche, and my body, feel ravaged by the effects of anxiety.  I worry I will never be able to have a successful relationship again, or I will irreparably damage the relationships I currently have, if I don’t do something.

Here’s hoping he hears my cry for help.

The Creature Within

The rumble of the thunder reminds me

that I used to be fierce

I felt the fire in my belly

and I was strong and unafraid

How long has it been now

since I was that person

I can’t recall

She still resides within me

and rears her head

now and then

only to disappear again

when the anxiety returns


Cleaning Day

i scrub and scrub and scrub

my skin wears thin

from the scraping of the brillo pad

it makes no difference

i am still dirty

i add cleanser

i am still not clean

i put the bleach bottle to my lips

and drink

because i realize the dirtiness

has penetrated my soul

oh how it burns on the way down

and i know that must mean it’s working

but it doesn’t clean me

and only leaves a hole the size of a quarter in my stomach

you stupid bitch

i say to myself in the mirror

you disgust me

the scars he left have dug their filthy tendrils

too deeply into me

they are ingrained

maybe he was right

no one else will ever love me

The Hex that is You



you’re all just smoke and mirrors

and I choke in your presence

fearing you’re

a mere reflection of the worst parts of me

and that


I’ve conjured you into being

like some sort of voodoo priestess

I have drawn you to me

by being broken and bent

and you

seeing all the worst in me

know what I will do for love

or that thing

you disguise as love

dress it up

teach it to speak more better

(the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain)

take it out on parade


it never fails to be what it is

a sick, twisted display of your narcissism


Specter of Self

I doubt my existence in this life

everything is rote


I’m unsure how I get to work

I sniff my armpit to make sure I put my deodorant on

food tastes bland and boring

my breathing is shallow

my blood feels like syrup in my veins

my hands have no grip

and I can’t feel the bottoms of my feet

color blind

I see nothing but various shades of gray

I am not among the living


depression has made me a ghost again





I make myself sick
with my desperation
of wanting to know

tell me
show me
prove to me

I have to know
how much you care

I re-read
I pick apart
searching for a hidden meaning

Wanting to know
what you mean by
telling me you care
telling me I am your oasis
telling me that some days I am the only thing which brings you joy

I feel like I tell you
in no uncertain terms
how I feel about you

But always
the word I really want to say (and hear)



*This piece has been sitting in my drafts folder for over two years. It’s a good example of the anxiety I go through when I become involved in a relationship. Or maybe, it’s only when I become involved in a relationship which I know isn’t good for me.  I need to do some cleansing. . .of my possessions, of my writing, so this is the start. Honestly, I think this was still in the drafts folder because it’s complete drivel.

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