I Tried


I tried not to love you.

Armor surrounded ventricle…no block
Cordial pleasantries exchanged…no fool
Bodies stand-in in nature…no matter
Bombardment of truth…no waiver
Time-lapsed days…no change

The art of pretending gave me no solace

For me
It doesn’t work that way.


No One Ever Thinks “I’m An Addict”

I boasted on how clean I was.
How I never had any addictions.
How can anybody get hooked? On a drug? On alcohol? On anything?
That’s weak.

Just don’t try it.
As a woman who could quit drinking when she wanted, quit smoking when she wanted, quit meds when she wanted. I had the control. I showed willpower where others showed their lack of.
Their inferiority.

I knew my tendencies towards an addictive personality. Passed down the blood line. I knew not to go there with things I couldn’t trust myself controlling. Temptation and a rebellious nature have no business playing together.

But I failed.
I chose a drug…

I chose love.
A drug that has left me clinging to life. Not seeing myself in the mirror. Succumbing mentally and physically to its power. Selling parts of my soul for a taste of its magic. Bargaining my mind & body for its seductive touches. Counting the clock until my next hit. Trading respectability for its shallow promises of forever. Feening for its presence.

Cold sweats…fever…anxiety attacks…phantom aches…nausea…moments when I can barely breathe…times when all I can do is rock myself to sleep…nightmares that jar me awake. Keep me awake. Love I knew, I thought I had. Love that blinded my judgment. Love that was once fun & recreational became something dark & tainted. Love that played tricks with my mind leading me to believe it was good knowing it was the exact opposite. The highs so good…time paused.

But when the highs subsided…the lows told every truth I’d forgotten.

How did I let it get this bad? This desperate? How did I let myself get here?

Tears surface. I suppress them as I write.

The conscious pain lies beneath my core; I dare not acknowledge it. I’m keeping myself clean. I haven’t used in a few days. Not long enough but I have to start somewhere. I think about it every single day. I want it so badly sometimes I would kill for it.  I tell myself maybe I can just have a little. I can manage it. I can quit whenever I want. But I can’t. I don’t trust it nor do I trust myself with it anymore.

Never will I judge another addict. I never thought I was until I realized I was.

Happy Endings: The Plague of the Potty Mouth


This one time at band camp…

I tried to quit cursing. Sadly, I have been cursing almost since I could talk. I remember my first curse word being somewhere around the age of 5. (We didn’t have all these good parenting guidelines in the 80’s. There was still smoking in the car with children, riding on the back of trucks with no regard to safety or a kid bouncing completely the f off. If you grew up like that, you understand.) My first time cursing someone out was around 7 or so. . It was normal in my household. My daddy cursed like a sailor. My mom cursed. My siblings cursed. My grandparents cursed. (Sparingly but still) Sounds like I didn’t have a chance. Lol

I knew who to do it around & when to play innocent. For years, I remember having a full explanation of why cursing was imperative to the English language & my use of it specifically. Something about adjectives and adverbs, expressive additives that made nouns sound alive! It was a damn shame.

Then one year, I decided to give it up. I wanted to see if I could give it up. To try speaking “like a lady”. To express my thoughts without expletives. It was hard at first. I mean…haaaard. So many words. So many stupid people. I mean, you could create new curse words out of the old ones or just make up anything. For example, fucktard, son of a sap sucker, ass-monkey…I could go on & on. Through this journey, I discovered the reason behind my potty mouth. Not only an inherited, learned behavior, I learned curse words are derived from anger.

Internal anger communicated outwardly through speech. Of course, they are also used for colorful descriptives but for me personally, it was more than that. I challenged myself to locate the anger and its origins. I challenged myself to stop. To find other words and extend my vocabulary. Find another way period. It was so fucking peaceful. (Sorry I had to) F you became you bless you. M-fer became mamma jamma. It was humorous to some but very freeing. I could vocalize my feelings without cursing and express myself clearly. “I’m upset with you for blah blah blah…”  instead of: “You *%^$#, I’m so $%$#^ mad at you..ugh $&!#.” I was surprised & proud of myself for making it a whole two years. I learned to not let people get me to the point of cursing them the H-E-double hockey sticks out.

And then…my dating antichrist (shoutout to the Bert Show @ Q100 for the term) called me one day & I decided to answer thinking I was mature enough to have a meaningful, calm conversation with him. His particular, unexplainable level of  absolute bouchery reached under my skin, stroking my epidermis & sent those familiar words flying out of my mouth. (Think Scott Disick.) I thought I was good. (I should have ignored the calls a couple more years. Cheers to trying to adult. )

That ruined my non-cursing streak to say the least & I’ve been off and on the train ever since. Totally fine with it. Now I know I’m capable of quitting anytime! I’m older and have slightly more cTontrol over my emotions & mouth. Slightly. I just don’t want to right now. Like any diet, moderation is key. I’ll keep it to a few words here and there & if absolutely necessary, drop some bombs. Ladies can curse and I’m still a f’ing lady.


*Written in response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt, Happy Endings.

Blogging U: Who Am I & Why Am I Here?

Sooo I decided to embark on Blogging 101. To create an introduction. I have been signing up for the last year and never did it. I wanted to challenge myself, one, & two, hold myself accountable. To write more consistently. To stick with it.

Who am I? The short version: I’m Tiffany. Originally from small town Georgia, like literally cows & deer & the everybody is your cousin. For as long as I can remember, I’ve danced to the beat of my own drum, coming out to play when I felt like it. An extroverted introvert. Hence, my move to Atlanta & also New York for a bit. I decided to burst out of the closet a few years ago (it was hot in there…) & it has been weirdness ever since. I started this blog to write about my feelings, where my mind goes…over sadness, over randomness, over whatever.

Words are always floating around in my head. I write down whatever comes to mind. Sometimes that can be words or random sketches with commentary. Sometimes I feel like one day I’m going to forget everything I’m supposed to remember; at least these really pivotal moments in my life and I want to remember them. Putting it on paper makes it concrete.

As a child, I was told I shouldn’t talk so much, keep things to myself, don’t share personal things. Into adulthood, I have absently continued to do this very thing. To my mental detriment and I got to a point where I was over it. I don’t mind being bare. And why not in front of a bunch of strangers! Strangers don’t judge you, not at first anyway. They’re just curious. About you. Your story. Writing is exposure, vulnerability, openness, and freedom. I’ve lost my voice & keep finding it again.

Reading this blog, you will hear about my humdrum/drama-filled life: rainbow-flagged, joyful, crazy, spiritual journey, love and love lost, my thoughts on what is going on in the world, and my thoughts on WTH is going on in this world,  & specifically, my world.

My hope is to connect with readers, writers, & wordsmiths who share my love of expression, who enjoy a good laugh, or a good purge. To continue to grow my writing. My hope is that my writing touches hearts, opens minds, heals souls, evokes smiles, and reminds that love is present even if destroying everything in its sight or creating the most beautiful oasis in this life.

Writing is therapy. Writing is fun. Writing is my no filter expression. Writing is who I am. Writing is why I’m here.






Video Diary #2 Used To Be Mine

“She’s imperfect but she tries

She is good but she lies…

She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie

She is gone but she used to be mine.”

I remember watching the movie, The Waitress, years ago, which has now been adapted into a play and the soundtrack written by Sara Bareilles. One of my favorite singer/songwriters. The story is about a waitress with a beautiful heart whom everyone loves except the person she loves, her controlling husband. Her love for him overshadows the love for herself. She is better to others than she is to herself. Like those of us who want to see the good in everyone, we hope that the good in us will somehow make the ones we love value us more. She struggles to find her voice as it has been silenced for so long. Through her gift of baking, she realizes her passion, her dreams, and begins to imagine the life she always knew she wanted but never thought she could have.

Sometimes little parts of us die when we go through things but if we can push through hard enough & long enough, we spark the flame that ignites the fire in us. We may be broken for a while. We may lose ourselves for a while. Hopefully, for just a little while.

Seeing the parallels to my own life, I was immediately drawn to this song. Inducing those raindrops that fall only from the eyes. At first listen, it sounded like a love song of love lost and it is. Listening more, I discovered it was a song of losing oneself. The person she used to be. I misplaced the girl I was a long time ago and I miss her almost daily. I see glimpses of her sometimes and get excited. It gives me hope that one day soon she will return even better than before.

Seasons Change


…I stopped to stand in the leaves
They looked so pretty there.
Shades of yellow– lemon, dandelion, mustard, butterscotch
I’d hoped for the crunch beneath my feet
It was my favorite part
But it wasn’t time for that yet
And with the weather so wet and rainy
Admiring nature’s beauty
came in at second best
For a minute, the worries that worried me worried me a little less
Leaving the present moment for a daydream of laying in a pile of these
Soft entities that once belonged to the trees that bore them and now belong to themselves
For me to walk by
And capture them in their best light
Alive but wet, and well

Video Diary #1 Would You Still?

If I showed you my flaws

If I couldn’t be stong

Tell me honestly, would you still love me the same?

I’ve had this song playing consistently at random intervals over the last few weeks. Literally everywhere. What message is the universe attempting to relay to me? And it got me to thinking…

Does this type of love still exist? Do these type of people still exist? Rarely are situations perfect. Never are people perfect. With this truth and if perfection was never going to happen but was still the goal, would it make a difference? If they have everything to offer or nothing at the moment, is that enough? Is that person any less worth loving?

Is there unfaltering loyalty these days? Can we depend on another to be there no matter what? To love us when it’s beyond hard. What about when we don’t even love ourselves? Can we say that we’ll have that home we call him or her? Does love now change based on condition? situation? mercury retrograde?

Or are we prone to flee at the first sign of uncomfortableness? A situation we’re not used to, not equipped for: job loss, poverty, illness, addiction, family clashes, etc. Can we push through? Is the bond strong enough?

If we were honest, would we still love the same?


Roses are Red…

Image property of https://www.forepiphanyssake.com

Even with its withered leaves, the beauty remains. The rose.

A random stroll
On a chilly Fall night
Her face illuminated by the street lights
Mine illuminated by her gaze
Two grown teenagers looking up at the sky
Star gazing, plane chasing
“Wait, which way is the airport?”
We became human compasses gauging east and west until we decided, that way
Wondering where they were headed
Some place we should go I was thinking

Suggesting we walk the neighborhood
“Let’s see how far it goes”
We made it down the hill
And just around the corner
Until the chill only an anemic can feel
Said no.

She stopped
at the bush on the corner
A bush in the neighbors yard
Of roses
She kinda loathes flowers, roses especially
So I’m looking at her
Trying to pick this one rose
Almost fighting with it
I laughed and said
“They do have thorns you know
You have to pick it with your…”
When she yanked it free from its vine
Showed me her fingers like a child with a boo boo, “See.”
And handed it to me.

From a random bush
On a random night
In a random moment
She gave me love
in a single red rose.

Conversations With That Girl Who Stares At Me

Are you happy?
Why not?
Because I’m sad.
But why are you sad?
Because I’ve not yet found happiness.
What makes you happy?
I don’t know anymore.
When’s the last time you were happy?
Yesterday. I wished it lasted longer.
What about it made you happy?
I was with people that loved me even to the point of annoyance but they loved me and I could feel it.
What’s missing?
Everything I think.
Are you in pain?
I think.
How do you plan to fix it?
I don’t know yet. I don’t know.
I have more questions…
Let me find the answers.

Puts down mirror…