The Beast Inside

They say, “You’re not good enough.”

They say, “You’re not smart enough.”

They say, “Quit.”

They say, “What’s the point?”

They say, “If only you were…better.  If only you were funnier.  If only you were prettier.”

They say, “No one cares.”

They start off whispering little messages of doubt.  They quiet for a bit and allow the negativity to marinate, to percolate on their acrimony.  Then they start again, louder, full of malice and greed, seeking to pull out every ounce of self respect and esteem, pursuing to leave me buried in self-loathing and malevolence.

Then they scream, “Just run away.  You will never be enough…”


I take a deep breath.   I see myself in the mirror.  The girl staring back at me is strong, smart, beautiful.  She is fucking good enough.

I look around at my surroundings.  I count my blessings.  I reach out to my daughter and pull her into an embrace where she wraps her chubby arms around my neck and squeezes me until I can hardly breath.  I listen to my son tell me joke after joke and relish in his sense of humor and the joy that he gets from making me laugh.  I take the hand that my husband stretches out to me and wrap my fingers around his, holding on to the foundation that we’ve created.  And I smile.

For a while, the voices will quiet.

They will return.  They always do.  But they won’t win.  I won’t let them.

Because I am strong.  I am smart.  I am beautiful.  


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Beyond My Mind’s Eye

In the 11th grade, I found my English teacher fascinating and brilliant.  She not only taught, she inspired, she motivated, she encouraged, and she believed.  One day, she called me up to her desk.  I was certain I was in trouble.  She had just separated my best friend and me, so instead of passing notes the traditional way, we were forced to write notes big enough to read from across the room, particularly hilarious notes that day, if I recall, which resulted in unsquelchable laughter.  (That’s a word.)  When I arrived at her desk, she handed me a short story I wrote inspired by Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein and said, “You have the gift of writing.  I hope you’ll use it.” Continue reading

A Stalker, But No Ninja

Aussa Lorens is a bonafide Hacker Ninja Hooker Spy, and I may or may not have a huge cyber crush on her.  I’ve had a long spell of writer’s block, and in a recent conversation, I mentioned rather casually that I once had a stalker, which led to her insisting that I blog about it, so here it is….my stalker story. Continue reading

Boys, Booze, a Benz, and the A-Team

It was a Saturday night.  I spent an hour in my bathroom, spinning my short blonde locks around a small curling iron achieving Carrie Bradshaw bounce.  I threw on a low cut purple top over a white cami and my favorite pair of jeans, pulled on my  black high heeled boots and made a quick quality check in the mirror.   Continue reading