I Can Play That Game

I’m not friends with you on Facebook, but I know you’ll see this anyways, because some of my friends are your friends on Facebook, and they’ve shown me the stuff you’re posting EVERY DAY.

I’m sick of it.  It’s rude, it’s immature, and it completely proves my point.

But no one believes that you guys were so bad, because you sucked up to every adult you met.  And now?  I can prove it.

And this:

“Your recent blog “Rated R” was recently messaged to me by a former classmate. Normally I don’t get involved with dramatic crap, I think anyone has a right to put whatever they want on the internet, and you do. However when you say, “yet I was catching shit from every girl in my class,” I feel the need to defend myself. I would first like to say, Cassandra, never did I once give you shit to your face, which means nothing…but also did I NEVER say anything rude, degrading or anything along those lines BEHIND your back. I never heard another girl in our class say anything either. I am out of the loop a lot because I don’t like drama, but please don’t lump us all together and make us appear as the bad guys. I am completely oblivious to the “mental rapes” that I put upon you every day as well.

I’m not looking for a response here; I just wanted to say that your post definitely contained false information. As for you making fun of all of us, “You look like you’re a new breed of human with that skin color, those faces you make aren’t attractive, and mustaches aren’t cool, you fucking idiots.” …it somewhat contradicts the entire point of your post. Give respect get respect, right? I would also like to state, that lucky for me, I could give two shits about “being cool.” I am glad that you are judging us and still care if we are cool or not though.

I’d also like to say that if anything, I could turn everything in your post around. I have heard many nasty things that came from your mouth about me, and you were never nice to me nor did you ever attempt to be friends with me. I actually thought you were a very decent girl in high school, and I respected you. You were smart, funny and you did look good, and I never said anything that would have made those facts incorrect.”

Why did you send me that message?  Are you feeling some sort of guilt now?

I look forward to all the other things you say about me on Facebook.

* And yes, I left your full names in on purpose.  Enjoy. <3 *



The thing that I always wanted happened with my blog.  I started getting massive amounts of traffic, and I have loyal readers (who have been upset with the lack of posts…I’m sorry…it’ll change).

But while I appreciate all my readers, and all the support I get from you all every day, something’s changed.

This blog is no longer for me.  I write everything down, and end up removing bits and pieces because I feel like I need to censor myself.  That’s not even close to what I wanted to happen.

I’m not the type of person to hold back on what I want to say, especially on my own personal blog (popular though it has gotten).  Sincerely…Cassandra has always been a place that I could spill my thoughts and feelings without worrying about being questioned about them.  But now, I’m getting messages calling me out on what I write.  (And for everyone who contacted me about my explosive rant, or who didn’t contact me, but talked about me on Facebook, you proved me right.  Why would you send me messages defending your actions if you didn’t do anything wrong?  Are you feeling some guilt now?  I’m going to cut myself off before I start a rant, but seriously, you proved me right by posting all of that extra shit.  I can post screen caps if you want…I can really embarrass you if you want to go down that road.  Grow up, you fucking idiots.)  My family is getting phone calls about my posts and right now, I’m afraid to write what I’m feeling, and without my outlet, I’m having a hard time healing.

I hate that I feel like I’m not allowed to put down what I feel, and I hate that I’m afraid of the repercussions of writing how I really feel at the moment.

I’m not exactly sure how I should fix the problem.  I’ve been avoiding blogging for this reason.  It’s hard for me to cut so much important stuff out and still make you understand how I’m feeling.  I need this outlet because it’s the one place that I felt comfortable telling everything, and not leaving anything out.

I need my blog back.

That Summer

I’m back home.

It’s a strange feeling, knowing everyone I pass, knowing roads I haven’t traveled on in a year like the back of my hand, seeing the familiar but distant mountains.

Everyone keeps asking me the same thing, “How does it feel to be home?”, and I answer the same every time; “It’s bittersweet.”

I’m so glad I’m here and I get to spend so much time with my nephews, but at the same time, this massive change is bringing all of these emotions to the surface.  But the emotions don’t scare me as much as the memories.

You think you’re fine, and then one day, you realize that you’re not exactly okay.  It comes in waves; regret, loneliness, confusion, they all take turns cycling through my head, and late at night, I sit alone in my own head.  Even when I’m too exhausted to stay awake to think, my dreams dip me into those past days.

On the drive over, I had too much time to think.  I withdrew into my thoughts when Krista fell asleep, and for hours, I was immersed in things that should have stayed tucked neatly away.

I crave this change, yet I shy away from it.  I haven’t changed the time on my computer because I tear up when I try.  I haven’t changed things on my Facebook page because I have the same problem.

I think about how last summer started and am shocked to see how similar this summer is.  I think about how last summer ended and have a hard time breathing when I realize that this summer won’t end with the same thing.

It’s unfair to everyone involved that I keep drowning myself in that massive ocean.  I keep pulling myself out, but I can’t help but let the waves lap at my toes.

I’m Not

Dead or anything close to it.  I’ve been busy (if relaxing as much as possible counts as busy) and away from the internet for a long time.

I have these visions of sitting down and writing out a blog post about the past few weeks, but I’m not sure if I’ll get that done before I move.

I’ve made the decision to not continue attending college here (or anywhere else for that matter, at the moment.  I may/may not go back to school to finish my degree next year – it depends on a lot of things right now.), and I’m moving back to Wyoming (for the summer) in less than 48 hours.

I’m going through all my things, and I’m seeing all my old memories.  So many memories of Kyle and I together.  It hurts to think about it.  But wading through all the haunted memories is easier with a new future lying on my bed, his eyes following me around the room as I pack my things up, a faint smile on his face.

He’s sleeping now, head resting on one hand with the other hand lying curled in front of him, fingers grasping momentarily before relaxing again, eyes wandering beneath closed lids, mouth twitching slightly, and I keep looking at him, seeing someone so different than who I was with before.

It’s disappointing yet liberating to see the way my life has changed, the different direction it’s going.

Tonight is one of the nights where I question if I’ll mess up again.  It’s getting scary noticing that the amount of people ready to catch me when I fall is getting smaller.


Extremely explosive language in an overdrawn (and overdue) rant.

To every fuckface in the internet world-

Hiding behind a screen name does not make you tough, and it does not grant you the right to talk down to anyone else in this world.  I highly doubt you would say a FRACTION of the things you say online in real life.

At this point, this isn’t directed only at the fucking idiots online, it’s directed at every single person who has tried to tear someone else down.  I know I’m not completely innocent, but I have the decency to keep most awful thoughts to myself.  And here it goes, my mind is sliding, and I’m ridiculously angry.

Who the FUCK are you to point fingers, and post personal shit online?  Who the FUCK are you to dedicate an entire blog to a woman who has been fighting her entire life?  Who the FUCK are you to fucking post hateful comments and send hate mail, and to hate someone you’ve never met for no good reason?  Who the fuck raised these people?  Who bred this hostility, this violence inside them?

You are useless.  You are a fucking waste of space.  You’re breathing my fucking air, and you’re tainting it with your disgusting existence.  If I could kick you in the fucking throat, I’d smash the shit out of your windpipe.

The more I write, the angrier I get.  The more I write, the more I think about how badly I was treated throughout high school.  This rant about haters mistreating a good friend of mine online, has turned into a huge FUCK YOU to everyone who has ever said a bad thing to me.  I take it personally that these people attack my friends, and I find it pathetic that they think they’re in the right when they post bank information and shit that’s FUCKING ILLEGAL YOU STUPID CUNTS.

Just a few weeks ago, I was going through old pictures of me from high school, and I realized that I was cute.  That I was smart and funny and I looked good.  Yet I was catching shit from every girl in my class (and in the entire high school, really), and I was going home crying most days, confused as to why I was being treated so badly.

Seriously?  Were you so threatened by me that you had to smash my self-esteem?  Send me home in tears?  I was fucking cutting myself when I was 13 years old, I was in counseling around the same time, and I can tell you, I needed that shit to escape the mental rapes you fucking people put me through everyday.

No wonder I still hate your fucking guts.  Don’t fucking add me on Facebook, don’t smile and tell me how much you missed me when you see me in person; I’m not falling for your sugary sweet bullshit that you shovel to everyone.  All of you are disgusting; you were fucking nasty in high school, and you’ve only gotten worse.  You look like you’re  a new breed of human with that skin color, those faces you make aren’t attractive, and mustaches aren’t cool, you fucking idiots.  God luck finding a job when your profile picture is you drinking out of a box of wine.

Any who, back to the fucktards who hide behind screen names-

Fuck you all.  I would literally hunt every single one of your 12 year old asses down to slaughter, but in this country, that’s illegal.  I think it’s sort of funny how you dedicate that much time to hating a single person, but obviously, you have nothing better to do with your time, and all you are is a pathetic excuse for a human being.  I’d wish you good luck in your life,but I don’t think you’ll ever have one.  If I was leader, I’d cut you into tiny pieces and scatter you along the side of the road for the birds to snack on.  But alas, I am not, and I will settle for one final FUCK YOU.

As If

As if the last hair change wasn’t drastic enough.

After waking up yesterday and being really off, I realized that I needed a change.  The one thing that I can change without needing permission (not that I really need permission for anything I do, but I digress) is my hair.  And change it I did.

I buzzed it off while listening to dubstep and bouncing in front of the mirror.  I left a lot of the top, but after watching “V for Vendetta”, I wanted to buzz it all off (but I restrained myself).

I like it.  It’s so soft.

(This is the part in the movie where I’m institutionalized.)


The last few days have been so good, but like a little kid on a sugar high, I knew I had to crash sometime.

Last night, I felt so much like myself that I got my Hellhat out, and was working on it while I watched TV.  I knit probably 3-4 rows before I felt really tired, and crawled into bed.  Getting in bed only made me feel irritated and uneasy.  I fumed while I listened to the guy in the room above me make a massive amount of noise, and I was this close to going up there.

I didn’t even attempt to stay up late like I usually do, and instead, fell asleep, having uncomfortable dreams that make me a bit sick to my stomach to think about.

I’ve forgotten the small details; the color of your eyes up close, how your skin feels, how you smell.  It hurts to know I can’t form a coherent image in my head.

It’s so easy to stay in bed all day, to cry into my pillow, listen to songs that I can relate to.