Mick Jagger Abuses Women For Fun

And if you save yourself
You will make him happy
He’ll keep you in a jar
And you’ll think you’re happy

He’ll give you breathing holes
And you’ll think you’re happy
He’ll cover you with grass
And you’ll think you’re happy now

You’re in a laundry room
You’re in a laundry room
The clues that came to you, oh

And if you cut yourself
You will think you’re happy
He’ll keep you in a jar
Then you’ll make him happy

He wasn’t playing at a fantasy, he wasn’t joking. He painted the bruises on the bondage model himself. Google his history with women, especially Marsha Hunt and Marianne Faithfull. He’s a psychopath and hurting women is his outlet. Now it’s time to pay the price, I’m his karma. I’m not these submissive undignified bimbos he’s produced trash children with. Via: The Guardian

Currently Fighting PTSD

I wanna get back to normal, currently I’m working on finding pleasure in the things I once enjoyed again, before going back to the psychiatrist (who told me my life is cinematic from birth, that’s how unique and crazy it is). It’s hard not controlling your mental state. It’s hard living in fear. I’ve gotten my appetite back, which is good, my sleeping is better, still self-isolating, still have a long ways to go. Once this toxic person is out of my life and I get my financial freedom, I’m sure it’ll get better. I will never interact with Mick Jagger again; fun fact domestic violence cases get fee waivers, now Mick has twenty days to respond.

Looking back at all the proof: missing my friends wedding, Chris Evans, the lies about his heart problems, the fake moves to our home, leaving me in poverty, letting me go to Poughkeepsie to cancel the hotel, asking me for money for Charlie Watts funeral, breaking into my social media, his racist white trash family, not caring that my friend died and SO, SO much more, gaining my trust after I told him what happened to me, only to abuse it, because I’m just an object to him, not a person…I never want to see, or speak to him again. People say, oh he’s old school, what they really mean is he’s a domestic abuser which was acceptable in the old days. He abuses due to his psychopathy. I was tortured mentally and emotionally, I’m not the same about people. Right now self-care for me is healing, one step at a time. How do you take care of yourself currently? Why? Via: Good_Vibe_Girl_Gang

Jo Wood Is Queen

Honestly, this is where Ronnie Wood messed up, letting Jo Wood go. He got his karma when that stripper he left her for beat on him. Jo is the only person to overtly stand up for me and to Mick Jagger. No wonder he wasn’t in their wedding. I will continue to protect her, children included. While I will one hundred percent be dragging not as hot, or iconic but two faced, complicit with racism, rape, stalking and murder Sally Wood, call it like I see it. You got me fucked up, they don’t make shows about bitchy English people (is that what she is? I honestly don’t know) the way they do about those on the Upper East Side that’s on Gossip Girl, Cruel Intentions and The Nanny (CC Babock henny). We are easily the most wrathful people to exist, hands down. And I won’t just be hanging with anyone, it’s called exclusive, standards, stars not spectacles and definitely no basic-whites (white people who think they’re cool, but they aren’t, you’re a dime a dozen, not unique, probably don’t have cool black, or colored friends cause we don’t just hang with anyone, boring, not interesting, cruel because of it). Jo Wood is a party icon, model, photographer, never forget it. Via: Disclosure_Team, Muses Podcast & Groupies Outrageously Gorgeous

Standing Still

Shawn Theodore

I didn’t like where I was coming from.

My roommate was a legit psychopath. Not in the everyday misused adjective type of way, but the real deal. Reading through the list of symptoms, she hit every mark, sending a wave of chills through my body. Goosebumps made fear visible. She thrived off sex, drama and literal filth. Dirty tampons, half eaten dinners, pizza boxes, hair extensions, blow dryers, used sex toys, to be pulled off the floor and used again immediately. Let your imagination run wild. Yes that was there too.

I didn’t like where I was going.

No one would let me enhance my service skills, by allowing me to be a server. Except this place. I am so grateful for the opportunity, but this restaurant is a plantation. White men using black spaces. I can’t get through my shift without being inebriated. On top of the drinks the bartender provides, I hide bourbon in my coffee, I hide a flask in my make-up bag. It’s like I’m trying to kill myself before this place kills me. When will I be free?

You are exactly where you need to be.

Says the proverbial universe, but why am I here? Why is god punishing me? The world hates me.

I am at a complete loss, when suddenly the clouds break. Looks like we can have that picnic in the park after all. My roommate gets into legal troubles. She’s screwed over every roommate, except me. I’m her karma. I leave the plantation with reparations.

You were never stuck, you were being rerouted.

Trust the universe it’s wiser than you.