It’s hard to honor those who don’t honor me
Those who make me feel jealous when they shouldn’t
They should make others feel jealous of me
But they don’t, and they won’t
Because it’s too hard for others to understand me
It’s too hard for them to honor me…
The way I honor them

©Diana Jillian


PS:  Feel free to leave me your links in the comments section.  I am a few weeks behind on commenting on blogs from a previous group I am in…But I will get to your blogs eventually!




Mandy’s World: Several Things

Mandy doesn’t know what’s wrong with her anymore.  She sets out to do things and never seems to finish what she’s trying to accomplish.  Instead, she is sitting at her kitchen table, drinking her coffee.

One.  She was looking through her camcorder to find some old video journals she had made from last year.  She remembers last year very well.  She was keeping an exercise journal, and recording my measurements.  She did the best she could with a recovering sprained foot.  But then it all ended.  The journals stopped when she had to go for eye surgery.  she thought she rid herself of those painful memories from her camera, but sometimes, the Universe likes to surprise you and remind you of bad times.

Two.  She saw a post where she was trying to make a tutorial on how to turn some jumper thing into a dress.  She thought it was a dress to begin with.  In the camera, she didn’t look too fat.  Though she did notice when she was talking, she had the double chin thing going on for her.  Which only tells her she’s being too lazy to pick her head up more.

Three.  She’s been wanting to get some sun.  As well as been wanting to exercise more.  She can do the yoga, and walking on the treadmill is easy, she just needs more time…or a TARDIS.  Since she got herself a part-time job, she’s had a hard time juggling all this work.  Mandy also has a husband who is sick and on kidney dialysis…That’s a story for another time.

Four.  Mandy’s been wanting to get back into the creative business again.  She wants to make her crafts again, and she thinks she may be ready to sketch or paint something.  She’s not sure or ready just yet.  She needs to stop going online as it only produces more sadness and trouble for her.  She just want to be happy and live through the characters she creates.  Nothing more.  She wants to go back to being happy after.  She’s been there once before….She thinks she could get there again.  She need to meditate more perhaps, and be on the internet less.

Five.  She see clothing and dresses she likes online or in stores and She knows.  Mandy knows she’ll never look right in that type of clothing.  She’s too fat or too “curvy” as others would refer to her.  These models are young and skinny.  Real people are not that young wearing these clothes.  Real people are not that skinny.  We are all different shapes and sizes, Mandy thinks.  Yet they make her feel like she’s less than the nothing she already is.  You start to feel confident until you look at yourself in the mirror….And then…It’s all downhill from there.

Six.  There might not be a six.  If there was a six, she’s forgotten it already.  The phone kept ringing in the house, or the dogs kept on barking, or the bird was squawking enough to distract her.  So maybe she’ll save the six for another time.  She didn’t even make it to seven, which she guesses that’s a good thing, right?

Mandy’s not blocked writing-wise.  She just feels lazy going about it.  Like descriptions.  Why does she need to describe what someone looks like?  You should be able to draw your own conclusions to what someone looks like….And if you ever had a chance to get your writing turned into a TV series or a movie–which is like a fat chance in hell, by the way–the characters are always going to be skinny and of the white race.  They won’t be Jewish like her.  They won’t be curvy or olive toned like her.  They won’t have unbelievably curly hair like her.  So what’s the point of describing someone in a story?

OK, so maybe Mandy made it to six.

Written by ©Diana Jillian 9/29/15

Troubled Mind

The picture that started it all….

The end to end all friendships….


Has caused trouble between me and a now called ex-friend…

Telling me I was troubled

Because it’s what the boy said in the movie

But he says, “Stay Gold,” upon his deathbed.

“Stay Golden,” to me, means to always be you

To be beautiful…

And to never misconstrue it to be

Any other than just that….

The thoughts weighed heavy on my mind

As I was accused to seek help

As I was told I was scaring them!!!

I am shocked beyond disbelief.

Another to use me as a scapegoat

I am hurt

I am heartbroken

I just never expected this…


Not a betrayal

Out from the one person I thought was my dear friend.

How can I be sad when I’m in a good place?

The answer is:  I’m not

After this…

It’s gone from memory…

I’ve moved on…


©Diana Jillian 9/12/15, Saturday

Hey Everyone!!!!

So you pretty much know the gist of my situation.

What you don’t know is this person is going through some stuff.  But then again, don’t we all?  I sent an innocent picture.  And it turned into something to where I need to seek professional help.  I don’t get it.  This person told me I was scaring them.  I don’t know how.  I was merely wishing them good things.  I thought it was a cute picture.  I had no idea it had anything to do with death in any way, shape or form.

This person told me I need help, and I got mad.  My inner New Yorker came out.  I dropped the f-bomb.  Which is something I do.  They got mad and said they can’t be my friend because I cursed at them.  I didn’t curse them out.  All I wrote was, “You’re not f-ing listening to me.”  Which is an odd thing considering we’re texting.

But in all truth, how many times can someone ask you if everything’s alright and you say, “Yes,” when they don’t believe you and keep on repeating themselves?  They got mad at me, and I told them they too dropped curse words all the time.  They were like when?

Um, every time you call me the N word….Or does that not matter.  I didn’t know the N word was acceptable in this case.  They then told me they didn’t know it was a curse word.  Well, my dear, it’s far worse than dropping the f-bomb in my eyes.

And we’re New Yorkers!  I don’t understand it.  You live in NY, and you DON’T curse?  Then you need to move elsewhere!  How did you survive all these years unless you’re a recluse and don’t socialize with others?  And you want to be a social worker?  Where you would have to socialize with others???  And you jump to conclusions….You won’t make a very good social worker I’m afraid.

Alright….I believe it’s officially out of my system.  A friend lost…That’s alright.  I need more positives than negatives.