I sabotaged myself from having the creative career I really wanted to have. I hate how I used men to take care of me. Why was I at the mercy of these bozos at all? I could have been soooooo much better than that.

My mother wanted to control me, and I let her. Then I was desperate to break away from her.

If only the relationship was fulfilling, i’d Be content and grateful. Instead, I’m miserable.

But, I only kid myself I’d have gone far in the arts. If it were based on talent and dedication, I’d have soared. But since everything is a dance involving people, I’d have crashed and burned. Who am I kidding?

And here goes the torture foreplay with my h. My mood is tied to sex.

This is my never-ending, broken record rant. It’s sick. I know. I’m going to let it go.

I’ll go try to meditate. Ohm.........