Teela Hart

Surviving Domestic Violence


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I Fried Chicken and Had A Little Wine


I’m not a drinker, I hate the taste of alcohol. But, last night I threw caution to the wind and indulged in a small glass bottle of wine. You know the kind. It was a great vintage, year 2014, strait from the grocery store shelf. I do believe it was the grocery store brand.

There’s nothing like the taste of rubbing alcohol to stimulate the taste buds. I squinted my eyes and took a small sip big gulp as the tiny hairs on my arm stood at attention and I gasped for air. I banged my fist on the table and rattled my jaws. I figured I needed a chaser. I refrained from that, as I’m not a veteran drinker. I’m certain it would have been an unwise decision.

My tongue was sufficiently numbed so I fried my chicken, sipped my wine, and listened to my favorite jams.

The hideous wine was a far cry from the first Long Island Iced Tea I ever had, I was sitting in a bar at the Holiday Inn in Savannah, Georgia. Of course, that was the last Long Island Iced Tea I ever had. And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

I pulled up a chair and took a seat at the kitchen table, opened up my PC and began my search for Conway Twitty, Loretta Lynn, Tammy Wynette and Freddy Fender. I’d forgotten all about the way makers of that time. It was an easier, happier time when an air of innocence could still be found. Maybe it was just ignorant bliss. No matter, it was what it was.

I enjoyed myself, immensely and discovered that sometimes we need to fry a little chicken and have a little wine.

Take it away Freddy:

Contrary to the song.  I was not wasted.

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Warning: Bad F’n Language. Inappropriate for Young Readers


WARNING:  Under age 17 should not read.

I want to say here that I know this is a completely inappropriate post as far as some may be concerned.  I will understand if you decide not to read it.  It’s harsh, and crude and completely unladylike.  I cannot help the way I feel.  Anger seeps from my heart and out through my pen uncontrollably, but I believe God already knows how I feel.  I know that He knows that these very words whirl around in my mind on a regular basis.  I cannot and will not deny it’s access to the ink that has been provided.  Not today.

Why?

Because inside the fury is destroying my mind, body and soul.  I started this blog to cleanse the inner recesses of my mind.  I started writing because I wanted to end the silence.  Gone are the days of self-control to the denial of my healing.  Counter productive?  Maybe.  I need to ‘get better’.  This post may help, then again it may not.

F bombs and GD’s located in various  most sentences.

If you are sensitive to ugly words then I ask that you not read.  I respect that.  Many of you have moved past this, I have yet to do so. Many are gentle souls, I respect that.

I suppose one could sum up the following letter to *Jon* (rant) as —I’m extremely pissed.

Dear *Jon*

I’m busted, fuckin’ shattered into a million pieces. You’re a cold-hearted, lying motherfucker who needs to be put in his place. I don’t give a shit about you or your ridiculous life. You move across the waters of life like a goddamn angel but I know better. Suffice it to say I personally believe you’re the fuckin’ devil himself.

I have not one good, clean or pure thing to say about you today or any other fuckin’ day. You can’t put one foot in front of the other without tripping over your dick and landing smack dab in the fuckin’ middle of my reality.

You are a deplorable, despicable, self-serving, dumb ass. Your idiotic words and actions automatically trigger my gag reflex and I regurgitate this sewer sludge in mass fuckin’ quantities.  Your putrefied bullshit sticks in my throat and not one fuckin’ thing can wash it away. You lit the wick that burns a fuckin’ eternal flame of anger.

Give it time?

Fuck time.

I’m fuckin’ running out of time.

What the fuck do you have to say for yourself?

Nothing?

That’s what I fuckin’ figured.

P fuckin’ S: I’ll forgive your stupefied, non-ass on my terms, but for now, I’ll feel all the anger I please. Anger beats the hell outta fear. Fuck fear. Fuck you.

Just imagine exclamation points ever fuckin’ where.

Please pardon my french.