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Racing

by: Tmommy

Racing random ridiculous thoughts running ramped through my head.

Racing

Racing random ridiculous thoughts run ramped in circles through my mind while I close my eyes.

Words like years, time, baptism, heaven, solitude, leaving, mystery, horror, fear, lost, failing, work, school, dinner, money, taxes, sleep- De-Realization. I remember a time not long ago when I wasn’t always so anxious and worried.

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I don’t know. I don’t have the answers I need and it stresses me out.

De-Realization? What does DeRealization mean to you??

It makes me anxiuous, and makes me feel unbalanced, uneven, unreal.

Is it something the just happens with adults?? Or do Kids understand it too? What is “De-Realization” To you? In your own words?

I apologize ahead, as this template is giving me anxiety. This Format is incorrect. For now it will do.

I dont know if it comes with age or if it’s something thats been there all along, just under the surface… dormant. I dont know if its that, or if it comes with wisdom. I don’t know exactly what it is. Everything gives me anxiety. Everything.

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Is it Safe?

Everyone wants to know, is it safe?

Vaccines, shots, medicines, pills, etc.

Everyone wants to know. So how come when an addict asks, is it safe, do non-addicts question their sensibility? Because addicts, who have been addicted to street drugs were willing to, not only administer an ” I.V”, on their own, but an I.V filled with God knows what!!?

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I can get with that, but I can also get with this.

Our government is not trusted by MANY, MANY people. The reason we are/ were, ever addicted in the first place, in one way or another, is related to the government. The government runs this country. Fuck a simulation, that isn’t what this is! There are no pimpley nerds sitting behind V-R goggles eating a slice of burnt pizza dripping greese all over their laptop while they control our simulated world ( as the theory is going) – No. They are in suits and ties up in pent houses, on wall street, on our T.V screens, in OUR white house, speaking publicly, telling us what to do, and when to do it. They are all around us, Running our world.

They gave us the medical drugs. They did nothing about the street drugs. It is, was, will always be, up to us.

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So is it safe? Is birth control safe? Is Narcan safe? Is Prozac, adderall, or Naltrexone safe? What about the flu shot? The COVID-19 vaccine?? The MMRA baby shots? Zoloft? Zofran?? We do not know.

Question; Is it safe to eat shellfish during pregnancy? – This right here is solely an example of my point- the answer may sound something along the lines of this next part… “Just because I spent 10 years booting heroin into my veins does not mean I do not care. It does not mean I want to live a risky, unethical lifestyle. It does not mean I am no longer cautious. I still ask. I want to be informed. I was probably one of the most well-informed junkies back in the day.” – Say what you will.

Is heroine safe? No. That answer is simple. No, it was/is not safe, nor sanitary, for us to administer an I.V to ourselves, or others, in the Handicapped bathroom stall at our local Mcdonald’s. We know all of this. This is common sense. We did what we were always told not to do. We did what we saw, what we were shown. What we were around. What we thought felt good. We did it because it did feel good.

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Where did we all end up???

We ended up sick. Sick, confused, and in a type of pain that we did not yet understand.

Then we ended up waltzing into courthouses, these places we had never been, we walked through crowded rooms filled with judging eyes, down dark halls, and we even learned of outback basement EXIT doors that we had not known existed. “So that’s where the prisoners go”. We answered to complete strangers, people who we had never met, we answered to men and women in long black gowns who we quickly learned we were not allowed to talk to.

Then we went to hospitals. Through Emergency Room doors. Some of us got a ride in, while others desperately crawled. We were watched by more strangers, for 12 hours at a time. Laid up in our hospital beds, while our entire bodies were dying.

You sent us out with little brown paper lunch bags filled to the top with what you called comfort. You said see you in 2 weeks, be sure to attend all of our meets!

For me, that was it, I was gonna quit! We went home on our missions, took all the pills that you called comfort, 3xs a day, and we I felt the best feeling I we had ever felt. Except… wait, feeling? What do I feel?? – I woke up and had just been dead. – The feeling was the addicts little baby, jumping on her head –

Then some of us walked crawled into Detoxes, while others were literally dragged, sick surrounded by sick. We could never even remember the first few days. We had Detoxes stuffed with some kind of hope, hope we gave to one another. Hope that started with, well, since your here too I guess it isn’t that bad.. and ended with I’m clean and sober now can I have a job? I want to fix people like me… I’m cured! – — We were addictions Science experiments. We were Addictions Frog dissection. We did day programs, we went inpatient, we did everything we could think of to fix ourselves.

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Instead of applying to colleges or for jobs, we applied for halfway and Sober houses. We waited on lists, and even then we still had hope. List’s is that all we are to you?? Names on a list? Nothing more.

We heard the messages, we got the stories, we took it all in over, and over and over again. We knew the phrases and sayings off the top of our heads, we would even say them to our friends.

But it wasn’t over yet right? They said that relapsing is okay, that relapse is a part of our recovery.

So we did just that.

Then we walked were dragged back through those courtrooms, our names on more lists filled with names. Except for this time we were escorted in through that back, basement door. Held in those cold, dry, smelly spaces, awaiting our time to be judged. We were hauled into courtrooms filled with so many familiar and unfamiliar faces.

Then, You took our kids away. Our families were broken apart, split into pieces. Broken.

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Broken, some of us fought.

You gave us tasks that were damned near impossible. You wanted us to work full or part time, do the 12 steps, go to 4-5 NA or AA meetings a week, while taking anger management classes, parenting classes, and doing IOP ( intensive outpatint programs) 3 days a week!! You wanted us to have no contact with the people who had our kids, even if it was our mothers and fathers. You made us drop everything we were doing at any time, to have us come pee in a cup for you. You wanted us to be stable, with homes,and jobs and certificates, going to meetings, whilst practicing the 12 steps.

We were like monkeys in a cage. Like otters at the zoo. You told us what to do how to do it where to do it and when to do it without caring about us. About what we went through. You wanted us to do the impossible.

You dragged us through family courts, through criminal courts, and civil courts, all to make us pay. Justice. Justice?

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We went to Prisons, institutions, jails. ( familiar context?) We met many, many, faces and crimes we would never have thought. We saw things we had only seen in movies and on TV, never did we think we would see some of the things.

Then some of us got clean. Some of us are here. Some of us did the impossible and then some. Some of us are here, but we will never be OK.

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Some of us did not make it that far. Some of us had to say goodbye to each other, goodbye to the Earth, goodbye forever to our future. Some of us are no longer here.

More of us than not, are no longer on this plane.

We are in Jails. We are In Prisons, we are in Institutions, and we are dead. We are here too. We are here, and we’ve gone above and beyond proving ourselves capable. Proving ourselves to you. Proving that we deserve a say, We deserve the right to not be judged, an to be able to ask is it safe.

Because the last time we thought it was safe, when you wrote us those scripts for our broken bones, sports injuries, sprains, aches, etc – we believed you. And look where it got us??

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Y’all I don’t do political conversations or usually even anything close to a post like this…. I’m just feeling.

TODAY I’m Feeling stuck. Feeling disconnected. I don’t feel like I’m heading in any particular direction, good or bad. Just stuck. Still.

I’m unsure. I’m pissed. I don’t know. But I do have stuff I want to say. There is so much unsaid I need to say.

Ever craved to do something big? I say crave, because desire isn’t even a strong enough description of the feeling. You want it so bad , to do it so bad, yet your not even sure what it would be.

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An introduction of why I’m here.

Hi, I’m The Truth Mommy!! I’m trying to get out there and be known for giving , “the truth about momming”, and everything else I know or can tell you. I’m currently working on/towards a book.. I’m Here to journal my good days and bad days and everything in between. Hey, don’t blame me if you don’t like it, I’m just telling it like it is.
Telling it like it is, regardless of judgement. I am a recovering addict. My recovery Date is November 1- 2015. I didn’t do it without help, support, medical support, motivation, tears, sweat, pain, family support, and my amazing husband.
For years I thought I had it under control, and could get or just stay better (whether ‘better’ meant my sobriety, or my mental health depended on the time) for, my kids. Always trying to fight, for my kids. Doing everything I could, everything I was supposed to do, to bring my family home. Get better for them all, never for myself. It never seemed to be enough, but that wasn’t the case- the case was, I just wasn’t afraid enough, it wasn’t real enough, I didn’t care about me, or what happened to me anymore. No one else did, why should I? The 2 men in my life (baby daddies if you will), that were supposed to be a part of my support system, part of my family, had completely destroyed my self esteem. They both took advantage of my vulnerability, they fed off of it. I would move mountains for both of them, I’d jump when they said jump. HELL They had my children, what was I supposed to do?? That my friends, is a story for a different post. Not today Satan. This post is about ME. I can’t won’t distract myself with that type of pain, going back to that will ruin more than my entire day. I live with so many resentments. I cannot even begin.

So, here is where this story really begins, this is going to lead me to where I am today. The day I woke up, totally Naked, alone, head hanging over one corner of my bed, not even aware of the date or time, SO confused, my house completely ransacked, all of my hidden belongings, including my rent money, drugs, and jewelry were GONE. My dresser COVERED in confectionery sugar.
That was on Halloween, in 2015. Halloween is supposed to be a fun day, a special day, a day for trick or treating, dressing up silly, plowing candy, and it just so happens that it is one of my babies Birthday’s, 10/31. That was the day I knew I had had enough, I had to stop. I had to live. I was alive, and I had NO idea how. Eventually, that same day, I put the pieces together, looking through my phone, my laptop ( at the time my life line), making phone calls, frantically searching my house, wracking my brain. I remembered exactly what happened. I know exactly what happened. All I can say on here, with honesty, is that MY ANGEL was with me. He must have been because I was literally left in my apartment to die. People had been with me, people had used with me, and those same exact people had robbed me, and then left me. Those people, I grew up with. Those people, 1 of them, I had saved before with narcan. And they left me in my bed, thinking I was DEAD… to die. They were the ones who were always afraid and would run. At least 1 of them had been there for all 5 ODS that I had saved at my house. I never let or left anyone to die. F$#@ YOU for that. Later one that day, I got myself together, got myself “right”, and then made a bunch of important phone calls. I was retracing the steps I had taken the last time. The time I had 2 and a half fucking years of sobriety. The time I could say with what I thought to be my full honesty, I do not know how I EVER did that, I could NEVER EVER do it again. I could’ve sworn that I was afraid enough to never go back. That I had lost enough, to never want to go back. The 2.5 years had only come to an abrupt end earlier that year, I want to say May, is when I relapsed, but that wouldn’t be the full truth. I had relapsed long before I began using that way again. This time though, I was DONE. So here I am, more than 5 years sober. I won’t say I am cured, I will say, I wanted to live and be there for my children, and I AM.

I have more stories to tell than you could imagine. I’ve been to Prison, (not jail), multiple times, for petty things like probation violations etc. I’ll never forget how scared I was in the back of that van the very first time. My first 30 days. I never could have imaged how many more times I’d be in that same situation again, or that each stay would become longer and longer, and take more and more from me and my family. I had a baby in jail, and didn’t get to see my baby until a few months later. Can you imagine that? I held that baby for 2 days, no one was going to take that time from me, no matter how hard they tried. I am only human, not a monster. Humans should never treat others the way I was treated. Shackled to a bed being scorned and threatened for breast feeding my baby? It was inhumane.

If you’ve come this far, before you form any negative opinion of me personally, if that’s where your thoughts are, keep reading first, and you may just see things from a perspective you might think you’d never see, or even want to understand.

MIND YOU this; the day I was officially released , sometime in late November, My PO wanted me to go back to prison, she fought tooth and nail for me to finish up another 6 month bid, for NOTHING. Once my lawyer presented the LOADS and LOADS of paperwork she had accumulated and put together for my case; all of my negative tests, the meconium sample, and the inaccuracy proven of the quick cups they used, (the ONLY one that picked up a food grade of positive), once she finished her statement, The Judge, a different one from who sent me there, an understanding man with kind eyes, pretty much told my PO off, looked over to me, and with SUCH sincerity, apologized to me. he said I NEVER should have been forced to have my BABY in prison, and told my PO that holding me was completely inappropriate, and unnecessary , as I had IMMEDIATLY , willingly PAID FOR & took hair follicle test, multiple urine’s at multiple labs, and even the hospital records that showed my baby and I tested positive for NOTHING!!!!! OH AND!! This is great, my due date was 11/1/13, my one and only fail was on 10/12/13, I was sent back 10/18/13, ANDDD MY COURT DATE WAS 10/31/13 . So, yes, as you can probably imagine, at midnight on 10/31, I laid on my bottom bunk in my cell, praying to GOD to PLEASE not let me have this baby right then and there, PLEASE just get me to the courthouse tomorrow. 7 years later and I haven’t spoken of this, but I remember it all SO clearly right now, like it was MUCH more recently than that. I remember envisioning what would happen if I was in front of the judge and dramatically went into labor, or in the patty wagon on the long ride there. I was so afraid. I felt pain. Pain I did not remember, but yet I knew what was happening. So I started watching as the guards did their rounds… every 15 minutes. My contractions were 15 minutes apart. At 12:45, I gave in, while a C.O was rounding, I stood at my cell door’s tiny window waiting. When the flashlight hit my eyes, I said… ” ‘I’m in labor” , he replied, ” Are you pregnant?”, than, ” Are you sure its labor?”.

I spent 6 months in prison, pregnant. It was not my first rodeo BUT pregnant?? I went in February 23rd, and on April 20th, I was told I was pregnant. So that was fun.

After wrapping up those 6 months, I was released directly from there July 1, was out and happy , with a DCF worker and PO up my butt, I was doing everything right, everything they told me to do, I did it and more. Including calling a number for a color, ( pink), which was called for 2 random urine’s a week, AA/NA meetings, working on putting my family back together,and Let me just say – WE WERE KICKING ASS!! Hell we were on the road to getting our family back., AND add a 3rd addition. I’d been sober for 10 months, called my color super late one day as I was laying in bed stuffing my face with caramel apples and breakfast sandwiches. We had no car, but borrowed one, I did my thing, went to walk away and BAM I fail the quick cup. I seriously thought my PO was JOKING because we were just talking about how AMAZING everything was going!!

The following days and weeks were HORRIFIC. I was losing my mind. How the FUCK could this happen? How the FUCK did I fail this one urine? I went to the hospital and gave a supervised urine in the ER, and another an hour later at the lab. I even offered a hair follicle test in which my PO said I’d have to wait at least 7 days. So i did JUST that!! 8 days later, I went and paid $85 for a full panel hair follicle test. The results didn’t come in until I was gone, but it was ONLY the quick cup I failed. Anyways, after being tortured,tormented, and followed, by my PO with police, DCF, & just trying to prove myself innocent, for 2 weeks, I am sent back to prison, after I did everything possible to prove my innocence.

Listen, I’ve been pregnant multiple times, and not ONCE did I EVER use drugs while pregnant. NEVER. However, at my Wednesday night meeting, the night before that power monster of a day ,(10/12), I had devoured 3 everything bagels , and had 1 on the ride to do my urine. BRO, I WAS 8.5 MONTHS PREGNANT and HUNGRYYY!!! NOW LISTEN!! I WOULD NEVER EVER HAVE THOUGHT THAT what happened would happen!! I have always called it a myth, ALWAYS called bullshit on it.
It was actually the lab tech that did my hair follicle test who offered this information to me. Poppy seeds. Yep mmmhmm I KNOW!!

My PO wouldn’t ever believe that, she didn’t. My counselor, my doctor and my pysche , all came up with that same answer, with no persuasion or even HINTS…… Poppy seeds. Food Grade levels can show up on lab tests, they are very VERY small numbers because the food has minute traces, a quick cup can pick up the food grade levels, HOWEVER, it can NOT decipher the actual level/ amount ingested.

TELL ME, how could that whole situation NOT HAVE fucked me up mentally??
How could it not have destroyed me and made me and angry, violent, mean person?

How am I not one big walking ball of HATRED?


Well, it did for a while, and I was for a bit. SO that was that.

Now, here I am today, with my family..
“Stronger than ever, Beating all the odds that have been against me. ” As I suppose they say. There are so many times I dwell on my past, and my present. I always wonder…

Yes, there was a time where I was a bit of a shitbag, & I was living a bad life… making bad choices.
Yes I made the decision to use solely on my own at 19– I chose the places I went to and the people I hung out with. I made the decisions that I made on my own. I promise though, I never knew they would lead me to where I’ve been, and what I’ve gone though.
I never knew I would become so addicted. I never knew that drugs would eventually destroy my life, yet leave me here to suffer.
A lot of my most important friends and relationships, are dead. I’ve said goodbye to FAR too many people I love.

So theres that story. I’m ready to tell it and I want it to be heard, and known about. So share it. Tell me your thoughts. Does my story sound familiar, or are you reading this is complete awe, because you thought this sort of thing only happens on Netflix, HBO, only on TV.
A lot of people may blame me, call me a terrible person, shame shame shame – but today,
I can let that shit roll right off my shoulders. You could not walk a mile in my shoes at my age, and I probably couldn’t walk a mile in yours either.

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Welcome to My New Parenting Blog

Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken.

— Oscar Wilde.

This is the first post on my new blog. I’m just getting this new blog going, so stay tuned for more. Subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.

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Running Up That Hill…

When you realize that you’ve been smoking for more than half of your life…. The feelings of disappointment, disgust, failure & mostly… Fear… are paralyzing…. It’s too hard to sit in those thoughts.

When you take that first deep inhale, and realize that you reach a point of fullness FAR too soon… the fear is just suffocating.

When you close your eyes and picture raisins in place of lungs…. A long drawn out, painful, too soon death & a family grieving their rock, their mom….. it should be enough.

It should all be enough… so why isn’t it??

Trying to Quit smoking is hard enough… raising a family is hard enough….

Working on yourself … trying to be a better person in every way- every single day , after being a certain way for so long…. Old habits die hard.

Trying to quit bad habits is hard.

Trying to break any habits , is hard.

I began this Journey 4 days ago. 6.21.22. (but whose counting?) If that day had no significance to me already, maybe I wouldn’t have continued on. If I had not seen or felt some type of thing, some shift in my world, in my very own body, as I drove home that night… maybe my thinking would be clearer.

As I struggled to put on the Patch- I told myself I was quitting smoking, Period. I wasn’t going to fall into the fad of E cigs & Vapes again. Heck, if I’m going to smoke, I’m going to smoke a long, tasty, menthol, Newport 100. Something that I unfortunately ENJOYED smoking. This wasn’t my first rodeo, but I do hope it can be my last.

The night before I couldn’t fall and stay asleep. I was having nightmares and instead of going back to them, I sat awake over and over-thinking them.

That was when it was decided.

I threw my legs over the side of my bed and pulled myself up, sitting staring, thinking.

I got up, grabbed and opened a patch, and slapped that baby on my shoulder. This could be it. This could really be it. This should really be it. The end of an era. The beginning of a new, happy life full of lots of calming, medatative, long, deep breaths.

Anyone who says it’s easy to quit smoking, may need to be re-humbled. Although, maybe there are some people whose bodies just do not become physically dependant to anything. Maybe there are people who do not become mentally addicted, to anything at all. Maybe its an unknown medical condition. Being unable to become dependant. Unable to be addicted to one anything. If it were, that would be a disorder I could get with.

I, on the other hand, have what they call an ‘ Addictive Personality’.

In the recent years I’ve been told what I have is a medical “Disorder”. Addictive personality Disorder. In the not so recent years, when I was burying myself in my addictions as deep as I possibly could, no one called it a disorder. It was more of a problem, a burden not only to myself, but to the people around me, and it was treated as such. Figure that🤔

❄️.

I’m on this Journey. I keep pushing forward, trying to do better. Be better. I’m struggling…. There are Farr to many options and alternatives out there. My brain is overstimulated. Between the patch, Nicorette & modern day vapes. Cold Turkey just won’t do this time. . .

What are your thoughts? Are you a former Smoker? A Quitter?

Do you believe in bandaids? Weaning?Vaping ? Nicotine Gum or Patches? Or are you cold stone Cold Turkey ??

Let us know your thoughts, stories & opinions! Share in the comments

It’s okay to have cereal for dinner💭…again 🤷‍♀️

When the kiddos are coming off a 2 week EACH bout of the flu… (kidding about each, it’s been like… 5 weeks of this 😩🤦🏼‍♀️) it’s okay to have cereal for dinner. Even more than one night in a row. Even more than once a day, is okay.

When you’ve had dance classes, dance pictures, dance recital’s and rehearsals, baseball practices and baseball games, softball practices and softball games, doctor and dentist appointments, work, school, and any other extracurricular activity or normal part of everyday life- every day and night for what feels like the better half of 3, 6, 12 months…. Its okay to have cereal for dinner. For breakfast , for lunch and for dinner. It’s okay for your kids to have cereal for dinner a couple nights in a row.

It’s okay if your kids had cereal for breakfast this morning and tonight there’s nothing too “dinner-y” to cook, and you just don’t have a grocery run in you … it’s okay to have cereal for dinner too.

When you’ve worked a double, came home to get the kids off the bus/ home from school, get homework and any chores done ( a routine that I seemed to have left behind in my ‘before quarantining days’) , cleaned the house while having to make dinner… burnt whatever shmorgageboard of food you’d decided to toss on the pan…. And now have a burnt supper to serve that no one will eat and a sink full of dirty dishes, pots & pans to scour- it’s okay to have cereal again. . .

Just make sure the milk is not sour.

I’d like to add a line personalized to you all. Write when and why you think it’d be okay to eat cereal for dinner …. Not just the because idgaf kinda nights, because those surely exist as well.

Comment the kind of day/night that’d excuse another night of cereal for dinner…. Share your thoughts!! Together let’s build a story from us ❤️🙏

If you cannot comment , I’m working on it!!! Respond to me however you can for now until I get it fixed & I’ll still be sure to add your part to the post , story 💋

When I Grow Up part 1

By: F-Mombie

 I’m trying to figure this all out. What am I going to be when I grow up?
I’ve been so many things in these 33 years . I’ve been a baby who needed to be constantly held and taken care of, I didn’t do much besides sleep, eat, cry, repeat. That lasted a short while.
Then I was a toddler, needing to be taught. Craving constant attention and always so curious. I began by crawling, then talking, walking, all the good stuff.
After that I was a kid. First I stayed home with mom and learned some more. I colored, and played out scenes with Barbie’s dolls and sculpted play doh. Soon enough, still a kid, I went to school and learned to spell and write for many many years as a kid. Throughout my teenage years, I was still considered a kid. I did more though. I was much much more dependent, and no longer needed constant attention as I had for many years before.
Eventually , I was a driver. It wasn’t my job, but I did it like it was.
My first real job and my first real relationship happened simultaneously. My first job was at my local mall. I was an Ice cream Scooper at Friendly’s. I was 15. My first real boyfriend was my “friends” bf first & I really wasn’t even interested and he really wanted her to go away.

Next I was 17,and I was a coffee maker. I got a job at a nearby Dunkin’ Donuts , and worked my way to shift leader. I wasn’t sure if I liked the fit. I wasn’t sure I liked my position, on the other side of the counter, dealing so directly with the public at such a fast pace. Handling their money, and their liquid Gold. I did not know the importance of caffeine to a person at that time. I did not know that I was directly making and providing people with the actual thing that keeps / gets them going.
At 15/16, I wasn’t sure of anything quite yet, so anytime a friend needed a job, I without a doubt got them one.
I had no idea the kind of trouble it was going to get me intomore than once.
I was now a high school graduate and practically a housewife.
2 years into working behind the counter, handing people their fuel, their liquid gold, I became a teen mom. My body was trying to become a mother .
For a period of time and Simultaneously with the fore mentioned, I was a thief. Not a real thief, I wouldn’t even say it, but I mean, I stole by allowing my school friend employees to tempt and teach me with the help of my “friends”.
To “under-ring”; a thing I literally could not understand. I personally couldn’t wrap my brain around the how. So, I let helped them do it, and was rewarded with half at the end of those shifts, at my first 2 jobs.
I became an accused. Accused for stealing money? That was so not me.
I didn’t realize… that’s exactly what we were doing. I paid such little attention, that I didn’t realize one of my friends was actually stealing
from the box, right under my nose.
I told the truth, took responsibility for what I knew, and defended my “friend” to no end.
My first and second jobs both went the same, both ended for the same reasons. I knew I didn’t fit there, I needed to try something different.
At 19 I was a Customer Service Representative at a call center. I spent 9+ hours a day making and taking calls that had to do with Medicare’s A, B,& C, memorizing rebuttals and loopholes. This was my calling, pun intended.
You’d think By 21, one would be a grown up, and I really truly thought I was. I was finally back in school for a career & thought I had it all figured out. Instead, I was even more confused than before. Being confused really isn’t a bad thing, until it is.
Continue reading “When I Grow Up part 1”

Not just for kids

We teach each other how to treat each other. 
We teach each other how to treat each other.
It’s a lesson we’ve all learned, heard, at least once as a child…but maybe never as an adult.
Why do we use it to scold?? Why do we use it in our attempts to reverse something negative??
Sure you’ve heard this as an adult. You know this is a statement that is used. You already know it is true.
Do you actually understand it though?
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“Treat others the way you want them to treat you.”

A million moms before us

See? That is the first GIF that comes up when I searched, simply the word “treat”. Yes, “treat others how you want to be treated”,

I had a whole huge post / article here that I must not have saved 😩😞😒 which is a HUGE bummer because I definitely couldn’t write it all over. I struggled with the layout of this post for dayyys, so if it doesn’t look great; that’s why & I leave my sincerest apologies ❤️ will be back for more later 💋

xO. TruthMommy

Our horrible healthcare system

That song, “numb little bug”, is like the theme song. It’s what they want us all to be singing…

Our healthcare system has failed me, more times than I can count. Our justice system has failed me, as well, more than once. However, today-the healthcare system needs to be talked about. I don’t even think they know how bad they are. I know I’m not the only one, so come on!!? Why does this kind of sh?! still happen??

Later on, sometime soon.. I’m going to post about what happened to me this week. Why I felt targeted. It’s ridiculous, nonsense even. But it was able to ruin my entire day.

F. MomB
F. MomB

Heyy there, I’m FmomBiee! F – Mom-Biie … ya know? Like, Fbomb MomBie [ f bomb mom – zombie mom, it all just fits] pronounced – EFF-MOMB. – EE – my pen name, but I can be whoever you want me to be;]
Phew, now that that’s out of the way, I wanted to tell you a little bit about myself. As you know, I’m a mom , one who cusses a lot, a mom that can sometimes be compared to a zombie, a mom who cannot stand to get my fingernails dirty in the garden, or even in the kitchen even though those are 2 of my favorite places! Personally, I’m not very creative, so I like to stick to the step-by-step guides for most arts and crafts, and as far as DIY-ing?? pppffttt- Those thing’s never come out the way they are supposed to!! I am not filtered in public and I sure won’t be here on the wide world of webbed lies ;] -That’s just it though, we’re here to make , bring change, to bring Truth. In just a couple of clicks, The World Wide Web is right at the fingertips of our children. They ask Siri or Google a question, and it is instantly met with hundreds of thousands of “results” or, answers. Right ones, wrong ones, irrelevant ones, inappropriate ones, completely unrelated ones, the list goes on. We hope that we can be right there too, at the top of the results, (and not one of the top 4 useless ads), with the best, most accurate information.

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“My Season”

February & March used to be my all time favorite months, favorite seasons . If you’d have asked me 20 years ago, what time of year, or which season is my favorite? I’d have told you March. Fast forward 10 years & I’d have called it, ‘ my season.’

My season’s start and end date may or may not have always been the same, I can’t quite remember, but I do know that it would only slightly depend on the weather of that year. It generally falls somewhere between FebruaryMarch & April, sometimes May 😜. You’d have probably told me I was crazy if you heard me.



My season wasn’t really based on weather, at least not the way regular seasons are, but by Spirit, by Feeling, by the things I did and the people I saw. For years and years every time my Season came around, came a new group of friends to enjoy it with. Actually, and also for years and years, every time my season came back around, so would some of the same people. It was like, it was our season, our time we had for each other. ( or was it more like… we could only stand each other during these months? This amount of time? )

Of course, some of these people were Year rounders, and we’d venture out with our seasonal friends together, but the most important part is that this season always brought us a brandy new group of kick a$ people to go do some kick a$ $h!T with!!

I swear, I had always met the coolest people during my season. I had always had the Most fun I’d had all year, during my season. For years of my life, almost all of my teenager-hood. Not to say that I didn’t have fun, or that I never met new people during the rest of the year, and not to say I hated the rest of the year, because none of that is true. It just so happens, that I made some of the best memories of my life during my season. Because it was my season.

As a matter of fact, I met some of the most important people in my life, some of my favorite people, in the Summertime. I can still remember some of my favorite memories that took place during the summer, with some of the people that I’ll never ever forget.


I make my own seasons, and I love every single one of them, I’m just talking about this 1 specific season today because; as much as I loved it almost all my life, I now equally cannot stand it today. I don’t hate the memories or the friends or even the regrettable adventures, ( I don’t regret even the regrettable, not even for a moment, not even the ones in Randolph 😜 ) .

What I hate is , what it has taken from me.

A friend, an ex lover, 2 lovers, a best friend for life, a pregnancy, a partner in crime, a soulmate and time. That isn’t even the half of it, and I’m sure it’s not done yet.

I can’t say it has been all bad. I was given one of the most precious gift’s on this Earth in February 5 years ago. My LuLu❤️.

There are many many things, many times, many dates, many memories & many people, that I am grateful for and grateful to my season for. I am grateful, grateful for every experience I’ve ever had. Grateful that today is February 28th, 2022 and I’m here at home with my family. I’m not in jail, I’m not gone, I’m not using, I’m not in pain, I’m humble. I’m grateful to and for every day of life, but that is just not what this is about. This is about what I always thought was my time of year.

This is about why I stopped loving my season, the season of February, March and April (&sometimes May) as much as I did 10+ years ago.

I think there have been many of my seasons that have since passed without incident, but I also could be 100% wrong.

I’ve learned to take the good with the bad, to smile when I’m sad, to remember what I’ve got & to remember what I have.


So with that being said, here is what I remember.

February 2010.

The good : This was when my DH & I became us. ‘Twas a little messy at first, and it all started in a dark, cold basement, over a game of strip uno. We were both all over the place at that time, but that was okay, it worked at the time.

The bad: Well, for starters, I had just fully upgraded from pills to H the month before. I was drinking way to much ( which is nothing new). Clearly the two helped get me to this next memory. My first time in Prison. The first time I was wrongfully taken from my child, due to her fathers anger and spite. My first restraining order, a random crazy, party that I crashed, and a *67 prank phone call that I never should have made.

2012 just wasn’t the greatest year all around. i cannot remember anything specific of that atm, but I’m sure I will later when I’m much less distracted. – I just remembered as I was typing up 2013. February 2012 I had relapsed. It was when DCF came along. They intended to take my children away, but they didn’t until that May. 2012 was a really bad time for me all around.

January & February 2013 . Let’s start with New Years Eve. My DH & I had spent the entire month of December in what felt like a dream. We nodded through Christmas and that was when and why I made the decision that brought me to NYE. I made a promise and I kept it… at least for the time. NYE we got high for what I said would be my last time as he drove me to HighPoint, a place that I had often frequented in my many attempts at getting clean. I made it! I did it! I got through Detox& spent the rest of the month next door awaiting a bed at a halfway house. I was really doing it this time! The farthest I had ever gotten. I had a blast in there with the same group of people for a month. We were the “cool kids”, the ones who’d go on to the places & the ones who’d make it. I made it to the island. I was there a month, until someone got drugs & I did NOT DO THEM– I was too busy sneaking in my script of suboxone. But still, she pointed the finger at me and I was kicked out. My season only got worse from there. It was bad. My DH had left & was running harder than he ever had.

When I told him I was home, he came home, and I went right back down with him. My probation officer was looking for me & we were sleeping in our abandoned Gym for 2 weeks. It was bad. When they finally came, they came rolling deep. 13 cop cars, 5 sherif / county cars – it was bad. It ended with me back in a prison cell. That was February 28th 2013.

I spent a month before ending up in the hole for 28 days , when I got out of the hole, they told me I was pregnant. I didn’t get out until June & that was the year I was sent back for a false positive urine & had my baby On Halloween 2013, from Prison. i didn’t get out until late November.

2013 was bad. But February 28th 2013 was my sober date.

February 2014. I suffered what was one of my closest losses at the time.

A love lost. Half a decade of memories taken away in the blink of an eye. Except for, it wasn’t. He wasn’t gone in the blink of an eye.

He was left. He was suffering. He was in and out, until he was just out. That was it. He was gone. And I’d never ever see him again. Every memory we made together, gone with him, only to stay in my mind alone. It feels like they were all just dreams.

It tore me apart at my core. My heart, my soul was crushed. I’d never felt anything like this and it didn’t look good on me.

2015 On February 28th 2015, I was working overnight and after 2 years of hard work, effort, sobriety, love & happiness , I relapsed. It wasn’t until May 15th that my DH took my children and left. It wasn’t until November 1st 2015 that I once again got sober. There were attempts, but none of them as sincere. I was getting my family back. I had done, lost, and given up, way too much at that point.

2016 January 1st my family came home. Except, our home was gone- I had lost it months before, but we needed a new start. Our new place was awful, and we stayed only a month before I realized the cockroaches. February 1st 2016 we were homeless. We stayed in a Motel in a nice area for 3 weeks until we decided to leave the state and head to family in NC. But that didn’t last more than a month & by April we were at my family home in New Hampshire & a month later, I found out I was pregnant again.

2017 January one of my Best friends passed away. One of my longest friends. One of my closest friends. She was gone, and would never get to meet my baby. We would never again play Scattegories or drinking games.

February 2017 I had my amazing little girl. My 4th amazing child, my 3rd perfect little girl. It was one of the best times of my adult life. A milestone for my family. Surrounded by family, living on 80 acres in the middle of nowhere, with our own farm and the closest Walmart a 45 minute drive. As great as it was and as wonderful as we had it there, we decided the kids needed more. I wasn’t able to see or speak to my oldest child, even with all my hundreds of attempts, daily voicemails & texts- as her father turned into the Devil , it had been a year , we needed to move closer. I couldn’t live happily any longer without my girl.

So we moved to the City, now a 40 minute ride rather than 3.5 hours, from my daughter.

Her dad put me through HELL, he made me take a, however many week DIVORCE CLASS ( we were never married) before I could even get a 15 minute phone call. I did what I had to do, and worked up to being back with my oldest daughter. I found out he got married – and once again, he was back on his spite trip, his power trip.

Tooth fairy Nonet

By a failing fairy

Being her is not much fun at all

Cannot run and can hardly crawl

Into their rooms while they sleep

Without making a peep

Underneath pillows

To find a tooth

drop money

Fairy

Tooth

– I’m no good at this part…

Wish my luck 🧚🏼‍♀️

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When I Write

I try to sound the same as I speak,
to make it feel like your next to me,
Go over every word that rhymes,
thinking about them, so much time 
again, at the screen, I stare,
eyes wide open, like a glare,
in my soul, can you see? 
get off topic again,
it won't be long now,
forgetting the thought,
i watch it pass
without a blink,
blank, I stare,
whispering,
random,
ryhming,
words,
Write.
blank screen of a laptop

Photo by MART PRODUCTION on Pexels.com

a double Nonet ;   9 lines , starting at 9, down to 1 - each line descending syllables - to have as many syllables as the number of the line.           

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Truth Mom
my

Truth Mommy is becoming more of an essence than it is a personality. It’s more of a central gathering place, than it is 1 single blogger. ‘ The Truth Mommy ‘ is even the founder of our website’s own personal Parenting Style!

Truth Mommy recruits like-minded moms of all backgrounds, to come share their stories, their truths, without Judgemental glares. To read our blog in hopes that you will find some supportive words.

Tmom is an entrepreneurial mother of many, with a passion for telling stories. ” I want to document these significant moments in your life so you’ll remember. Not only that but, for us!! For me and you and all the moms who may not have seen that yet, or hasn’t had to deal with that experience yet!

Mom’s, I want YOU to hear your voice!! I want to hear YOUR voice!! YOU HAVE A VOICE AND A CHOICE!!!

#TruthMommy hashtag Truth Mommy in any of your writing. Poems, Short stories, Letters, Memes, Quotes – I want to see it all!!!

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Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

By the time I was pregnant with my fourth child, Social Media Platforms were totally BOOMING!! You could find answers to any of your questions, on a Facebook group-thread rather than scrolling though the 100+ pages of results you’d get on Google. I wouldn’t say that I was tech illiterate, but I was pretty untrained when it came to all the new updates and new platforms. I had been living as far “off the grid” and “off-line” as I was able, so I didn’t have many friends at that point. I found a FaceBook Group, for women who were due around the same time as me and joined it. We became a tight knit community and I gained many friends from it, it was great! We were all going through the same things!! We did Secret Santa, sent Group Birthday Gifts, and watched each other through so much life, ultrasounds, gender reveals, weddings, braxton hicks contractions. We saw Birth stories, baby pictures and parent baby picture comparisons. We supported each other through some really heavy stuff, some really terrible and traumatic things happened to some amazing people. We were there for it. From pregnancy, til birth, I check on this page daily. Even after my child was born, I remained close with many of the moms. It was fantastic that I was able to be myself wholly, and I didn’t have to explain myself if I forgot to call or text back. I didn’t have to apologize for living my life. That is the essence of Truth Mommy. That is what I hope to give, share with mothers. There are no limitations- Got a story? Share it.. Looking for some supportive words? My hopes are that you will find them here.

— C.MOM

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New Old Mom

momet – a NONET by a mom

abandoned ancient antique architecture

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I still stand by all the things I’ve said,

When I started, I was new too.

Over time how far we’ve come,

many things I felt wrong

still remaining strong

not the same song

I’ve been long,

old mom,

gone.

NONET: 
     A Nonet is a 9-lined-Poem - A Poem with 9 lines.
Nonet Form :  Think about it this way;

9.
8.
7.
6.
5.
4.
3.
2.
1.
 This way, one can think, "each line has that many syllables." So line 9 has 9 syllables, line 8 has 8, line 7 has 7, line 6 has 6, line 5 has 5, line 4 has 4, line 3 has 3, line 2 has 2 & line 1 ends the nonet with 1 syllable.

 Nonet's can be an exciting way to spicen up your writing. Not only does writing this way give readers something intriguing and unique to interpert, but it also puts said writer in a complete different thinking space than the norm. It can help aleviate those mundane thoughts that one just can't put into the words, just by taking you away from them, even if only for a few moments. although it Definitely takes me more than a few moments to write a nonet.
   Writing in Nonet form takes the writer out of ordinary every day thoughts, and even if it doesn't do all that, it gives every day, ordinary thoughts going onto page.. more OOMPH!! An old, maybe sometimes forgotten, yet still so COOL OOMPH!!
 Here's an example of a thought turning into a quick little Nonet, and about how much time it took to think up.
(9:48am)  first thought-  I want to write about my relationship. 
too many syllables so let's make it the title ;] 
I want to write abo-ut my old-est.   
the first one to call me their mom
we may not al-ways be close
but my girl knows I'm here 
for her, for-ev-er
a promise sworn.
i got you
my love
True.   (10:09am) 




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