Epistolary of a Bitch Bird

December 7th:

Today was my first day of therapy. Bitchette told me to start a gratitude journal. Lucky me that meeting with that boorish woman is court mandated so I guess we’ll have to give Bitchette a shot, well not like that kind of shot. Fuck this stupid shit face thing! I hope she sticks to her word that she’ll just check to make sure I’m filling it out and not actually read it. I didn’t put that man on his deathbed, he’s only limping for a few weeks and his pride is shot to hell, but still I have to put up with this. Alas, I’m impressed with myself for coming up with such an easy name for the bitch, Bitchette the hot therapist. Go me. I guess I’ll sign the shit off with my name?

Robin.

December 9th:

Who the fuck has time to be so happy-go-lucky all the fucking time? What about parking tickets and starving children? And to make shit worse, Bitchette wants to meet more than twice a week! Doesn’t she have a husband or something? It’s not my damn fault that her stamp collection must have fallen off, but hop off my dick lady and let me live! Mom’s birthday is next week, that should be nice. I guess, maybe she’ll ask why I’m so damn pent up again and I’ll just relapse. Great and now I’m spiraling towards doomsday. Ending this bullshit swiftly, at least I didn’t end up in jail and got away with some community service and therapy. 

Robin. 

December 17th:

Mom died. I lit a dumpster fire and smashed in three car windows with my bare hands. I’ve got stitches all over my knuckles and scars down to my elbows. I’m cold all the fucking time but I swear all the bastards told me it’d be hot in hell. Pardon the blood smeared on the corner of this page, I popped a stitch thinking about mom. Bitchette let me skip a few sessions as long as I promised to stay home, did dumbass forget I’m wearing an ankle monitor? Bitch knows when I piss. I’m no scholar but I think it’s okay that I’m not grateful for anything right now. Fuck. You. 

Robin.

December 21st:

Bitchette bought me a Christmas cookie that her baby satans I assume made because the design was hideous. It was sweet and made me cry in the bathroom for five minutes, so maybe I can be nicer to whatever the little shit is. This past month fucking sucks ass, dick, and balls. I guess it’s nice that my sister really stepped up and handled the funeral, burial, and everything. All I had to do was show up sober and hold my tears in until I could sneak off to a hallway. Mom loved Christmas, I’m not sure how it’s gonna go this year. Planning to buy two cases and edibles. 

Robin.

December 22nd:

I fucking hate every single fucking thing in this fucking hell life! I drink until the world goes gooey and goosie! I lit my shoe on fire and threw it into my oven and put out a whole pack of cigarettes on my legs, and arms. Who’s counting?????? Bam Wham goes the hammer in my fucking head. God, the world sure is heavy and dark. 

R

December 25th:

Merry Christmas Assholes. Grandma wasn’t run over by a reindeer, I committed the hit-and-run and Mommy wasn’t kissing Santa Claus, I broke up many families last night. I don’t do anger well, I tend to maul others, which explains my relationship with Bitchette. Grateful for a call from the Bitchette this morning wishing me well and letting me know she left more cookies in my mailbox. Grateful for my sister, especially because she let me sleep next to her like when we were little because I didn’t want to wake up without mom. I forgot how kind my sister is. Should have spent more holidays with her and mom.

Robin.

January 1st:

Bitchette droned on and on about finding different ways to cope with mom. I’m tough and I’ve mourned her enough. Besides, she’d want me back to my usual self by now anyway. Community service isn’t that bad at the retirement home. Those saggy people have some crazy stories, I like them. The war stories are my favorite and Slyvia tells them the best. I didn’t turn back to my typical crutches at midnight, instead I lit a cigarette and counted all the stars I could see through the city’s smog. If only the dickwads in the government could fix the skyline, then I’d be grateful. 

I’m grateful it’s cold tonight. Mom loved the frost. I love mom.

Robin.

January 2nd:

Fuck you for dying mom. I know it was a freak car accident, but why couldn’t you have just lived and held my hand in the hospital? How the fuck am I supposed to find the silver lining in this shit cake, Bitchette? Please point it out for a sad fuck like me.

Robin. 

January 3rd:

I saw a dog on a leash with flames today. It was cool. I’m grateful the owner let me pet it. 

Robin. 

January 4th:

I met a woman in the grocery store today. I told Bitchette about her. Bitchette asked if she was pretty. Obviously! Who the hell talks to ugly people? Her name is Hope. Feels made up, maybe she lied to me because I look dirty and homeless or something. Can’t trust people these days. I started reading the news on my phone every morning because I realized I do care about what the assholes in the government are doing and I want updates. My sister called me today because she missed having me at her house. I’m staying with her next week just to spend time with her. She is interesting to talk to and I think she’s very funny and because this is my journal, I guess all the other fuck faces that read what they shouldn’t be, have to agree with me too. I’m grateful for my sister’s warmth. And Bitchette. I talk about her a lot too. She’s smart.

Robin.

January 7th: 

I started this gratitude journal one month ago today. I’m grateful for Bitchette, well, Olivia. That’s the lady’s name. It suits her quite well. I’m grateful for being 14 days sober. Sober of hard drugs, cigs exempt, and violent anger. Therapy wasn’t so bad. I have a date with Hope next week and my sister and Olivia are helping me not fuck up. I don’t really pick fights anymore and I count my breaths in my head and not my drinks on my arm. Character growth much? I curse a lot, Olivia has learned to live with it, but I’m really trying to cut down for my sister. I’m doing more community service, I’ve started working at a greenhouse. I plant trees all over town. A purple weeping willow is in the park for mom and a maple is on the edge of the woods for my sister. I dropped off some seeds and flower pots for Olivia and her kids to plant together. I’m grateful for everything I was able to write today. I’m grateful I can even use the word.

Robin.

January 10th:

I’m running late to dinner with Hope. I’m really nervous and I don’t want to write too much and overthink. I’m grateful for steak and golf pencils. 

Robin. 

January 13th:

Hope is my girlfriend. I moved in with my sister into a larger house. I need my family, I missed so many years and I have the chance to get some time back. Olivia is allowing me to pick and choose when we meet. We meet once a week and the ankle monitor has given me a little slack. I can leave the state if I want to. I cried for mom last night and listened to Silent Night on repeat. She loved that song. I’m not sure how long I will keep up with this journal, but it’s nice to write out my feelings and find the good in them. I’m glad Olivia made me keep a record of all the good things. I’m so grateful for Olivia and I’m ashamed to have not called her by her real name in the beginning. I’m grateful I have good memories of my mom and the sister she gave me. I’m grateful scars heal and skin forgives. 

Robin.