A few things in the universe must have converged in the last couple of weeks.  All the cockroaches seem to have crawled out from under the woodwork, in an effort to spread around their filth.  Nasty comments, innuendos, suppositions and criticisms have been rampant.

One of the people I follow, deleted her blog.  She writes lovely, poignant poetry and one of her “friends” blasted her because they thought she had written something about them.  She has never written anything that could be construed as critical and I would have been honored, had she written something about me.

Another person I follow (summerlikestoshine.wordpress.com) like so many of us, has suffered greatly.  Like so many of us, she is trying her best to survive and posts openly and honestly about her struggles with depression.  She was told that her depression was “a choice.”

Let’s run the gamut.  Yes, everything we write is about YOU.  And yes, we all “choose” to be bi-polar.  We all “choose” to be mentally ill.  We all “choose” to be depressed.  We all “choose” to have PTSD.  We all “choose” to be locked in a frozen world of sorrow, hopelessness and fear.

We can now all breathe a sigh of relief, and save a lot of time and money, knowing that there is no further need for drugs, therapists, psychiatrists or psychologists, as we have all “chosen” these afflictions.

I recently had my share of comments that of course, were followed with the phrase that I have come to despise with ever fiber of my being.

I LOVE to hear about how much “I was and am loved.”.

I always loved to hear about how much my mama “loved me,”  after she had blackened my eyes and beaten the shit out of me.  I always loved to hear about how much Loser “loved me,” while he was committing serial adultery, getting and passing on incurable sexually transmitted diseases and telling me “if you care enough, it doesn’t matter.”

I always loved to hear about how much his drunken mama “loved me,” after she had told me I was useless in every possible way.  I loved it when Losers’ spineless daddy waited until he was dying to tearfully tell me how much he “loved me,”  after having allowed somebody treat me like garbage for thirty years.

I always loved to hear my son tell me how much he “loved me,”  just minutes after he had sent me an abusive, drunken text.

Yeah.  I LOVE to hear about how much “I was loved.”

Here’s some advice.

Don’t send lengthy comments about what essentially amounts to you telling me what a piece of shit I am and then follow it up with a flip “I love you.”  

Don’t assume that everything somebody writes is all about YOU.

Don’t tell a writer that her depression is “a choice.”

How special it must be for those select few, living in their ivory towers, making their judgments and offering their “professional” opinions.  I imagine that like us, these people made “a choice,” too.  They chose to be arrogant assholes.

Is this what you would like for us to promise?

1.  We will all make a concerted effort to make the “right choice” from now on, so as to live up to your guidelines, expectations and demands.
2.  We will never write anything else about anybody, unless and until, of course, we clear it with you first.
3.  We will conform to your rules and requests and write only about the land of Utopia and angels on Earth that you wish the world to know.

Sorry.  It’s not going to happen.

Remember, people who are enjoying the view from their high horses, sometimes find themselves hitting the ground with a loud thump.


  1. Hahaha, love this. You tell em Laure!.This has given me so much inspiration to tell those who really deserve it in my life to go and eff themselves. I needed to read this this morning. 😉


  2. Well said Laurel. Haters, bullies and trolls, whatever. One of the great things about technology is it’s given us a voice. One of the worst things about technology is everyone has a voice. People like this deserve no air time.


  3. You’re speaking TRUTH! I also “love” it when people point out how you should suck it up and forget about things (they have donr) or better yet, tell you how thin-skinned you are after they insult you. The way you express yourself rocks!👍💕

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Crap…. where did my rant go? I know you did it in purpose, because you know perfectly well you wrote this about me! OMG…. I hate the narcissistic assholes who think everything you write is about them and I hate when they think they truly know you and YOUR life. I get, you’re loved all the time on my videos or you’re blessed….fuck that. If I asked you to say those things then that’s great but I didn’t, so these idiots need to shut the fuck up….I don’t even know what I’m writing any more.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. OMG… Were you just writing about me? I hate these narcissist’s who always think you’re talking about them and telling YOU HOW WONDERFUL YOUR LIFE IS. Fuck them. They don’t know anything and how dare someone say to me…Bless You or have a blessed day. Did I ask them for their input? Nope!

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Well, I must say that I did not know you were that shy. Why don’t you open up and say what you really mean ? (that was a joke) Hold on to something, I am about to cloud up and rain myself. If I get the info I need today, I may post it today. Sit back, relax, take your shoes off and sit a spell and watch an “OLD SCHOOL” master work his magic ! It is the voodoo that only I can do !


  7. I was once told by my mother after I was deep in depression after my marriage had fallen apart due to my ongoing struggle to recover and feel my feelings, that she would rather spend time with my sister who was not quote “so sad all of the time”, so a comment you made a way back up that comment stream really spoke to me.
    We should never stop speaking out. We should use our action to demand justice, recognition, support and empathy and in the face of anything else kick shut the door on our open hearts to guard against those who have no fucking clue. In the end otherwise it just costs too much,


    • It’s funny. If somebody I knew “looked so sad” I would try to be there for them. It doesn’t necessarily mean to “chat.” Sometimes, just being in close proximity is enough to offer support and understanding.
      I finally stopped trying to pretend that I was happy….for THEM.
      I figured if they couldn’t stand to be around me, then they needed to be around shiny, happy people..like their adulterous daddy and his WTC.
      They’re out of my life now. I’m still sad. I still look sad…but at least I don’t have to listen to my own child admonish me because of it.
      People who don’t understand what it’s like for us…have no place in my life.


  8. Amen Laurel. No one, not one person can judge what another has gone through and expect they have the same outcome as you. We have shared experiences but they are own experiences and how we deal is our own as well. We can offer advice and hope but not judgement, who are any of us to judge what is the right or wrong way to handle something. Although I can empathize I can’t truly know how difficult it was for you as I read your blog and you for me as you read my blog. Just reading and offering support should suffice and hopefully give the person who wrote it a feeling of solidarity.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Great post, my family members need to get on their horse & take a ride. The seen to know more about my depression than the experts. No, I can’t get over what my husband did
    nor can I just get over it. Depression is not changed by positive thoughts.🎄🎄

    Liked by 1 person

  10. You think they’d learn, wouldn’t you? I have relatives who have trotted out that crap about “choose to be happy”…and I understand where they come from. To a point. We have a choice to see anything, any situation as good or bad, right? BUT (and this is the part that always makes the ‘shoulder’s’ stutter and then give me weird looks)..I say to them..I want to trade you places for one day, one hour, one minute. So that you know first-hand what it is like to struggle to “be happy” every waking minute of every freakin’ day and sometimes even when you’re sleeping. We can’t do that obviously, so you’ll NEVER UNDERSTAND what it’s like inside my head. Do me a favor and STFU about it until you DO understand. And since you never will… They say I’m “angry all the time”. And they don’t get that either…so my choice this year has to be to stop talking to them unless absolutely necessary. They are family and none of the three siblings of us are exactly spring chickens, and one has a very dangerous job, so of course we have to communicate. But do I have to hang out with them, pretending to be ‘happy’ because it makes them uncomfortable to think I’m angry and sad? No I do not. And I won’t. It’s too much work and it’s not worth it. My time is valuable and I’m worthy. Negativity makes the problem worse. Thanks for letting me know that there are others out there who have my exact same problem with their depression and assholes’ perceptions of it.


    • I remember my oldest daughter wouldn’t come see me or go anywhere with me because as she put it “you always look so sad.”
      I wouldn’t wish our kind of sadness on anybody but sometimes, I wish they could stand in our shoes…as you said “for one day, one hour, one minute.”
      Like I said…people sitting on their high horses…the view is lovely…until they fall.

      Liked by 1 person

  11. I had someone tell me once when I made the mistake of saying I was feeling depressed that happiness is a choice. Wtf I wish because believe me I’d choose it. It’s a fucking mental illness I can’t help it. Grrrr


  12. I’m with you on this! It’s the same as how I despise to be told to “just get over” the abusive relationship I was in many years ago! 😫 People can be so ignorant and uncaring sometimes!


  13. Reblogged this on SUMMER STARTS TO SHINE and commented:
    Solidarity here from a blog friend 💓 I really do appreciate every single person who supports my journey of healing without judgement or stigma. This post was written in response to the “depression is a choice” comments I got recently. My friend was as pissed off as I was, and I know many of you were pissed off on my behalf because you understand I don’t choose my illness. In the circumstances I’m doing pretty ok. I’m actually fucking proud of myself 💛💛💛


  14. Brilliant post darlin 😘 And I appreciate your solidarity about the “depression is a choice” comment on my blog. Feel free to link to my blog if you like 😘 I just like to be asked permission first as it depends on how personal the post is. I am a bit sick of WordPress right now and the potential for judgement, so I have drastically cut down the people I follow. I started the #if depression were a choice series if you wanted to reblog that or write your own anti-stigma post 😁😘 Thanks huni for your support. It means a lot to me ❤❤❤


  15. Choice my ass, people are judging us all the time which only makes us feel worse. Well, I’m to a point at my age where frankly I don’t give a damn what they think of me. They never know when their world may be turned upside down.

    Liked by 1 person

  16. Oh my god, wondering if that was my sociopath sister preaching about choice. She was (probably is) big on driving that one in.

    UGH! I feel the same way about that bullshit as you do.

    Take your (the commenter who wrote that) “choice” and shove it up your ass.

    Liked by 2 people

  17. Oh dang girl!!!! I love (please pardon me) to seeyou get on your horse (that horse?) and ride. A rhingbif beauty, speaking your truth!!!

    I was supposed to call you last night but I fell sound asleep on the couch. I mean out. Will try again tonight. 😊 Not sending any cute hearts, lol. But you know me. 😁😸😇

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s