🚨 PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT FROM YOUR LOCAL FERAL HOUSECAT (Heather Joleen Miller) 🚨
Listen here, you beautiful little weirdos…
If you’re on my friends list…
YOU’RE MY PEOPLE.
Congratulations.
You have been emotionally adopted.
There is no opt-out button.
If somebody hurts you, I will immediately transform from “socially awkward potato” into Heather with a folding chair.
Need to cry? Call me.
Need to scream? I’ll scream with you.
Need help hiding a body?
…Let’s start by discussing better life choices.
Then we’ll move on to hypothetical landscaping projects.
(For legal reasons, Karen… that’s a joke.)
Now…
I am BROKE.
Not “can’t buy Starbucks” broke.
I’m “my bank account is held together with duct tape and overdraft protection” broke.
So don’t ask me for money because we’re all riding the struggle bus…
…and the damn thing just got repossessed.
BUT…
We can absolutely give each other pedicures and start selling feet pics.
Listen…
If some lonely millionaire wants to finance our grocery bills because he finds our left pinky toes enchanting…
Who am I to stand in the way of true love?
I know SEVERAL awesome photographers.
We’re one weird business plan away from financial freedom.
😂😂😂
But seriously…
I love every single one of you.
If you’re still here reading my feral nonsense…
Thank you.
I’m rooting for you.
Whether you’re chasing your dream job…
Or you’re just trying not to have a complete mental breakdown in the Walmart baking aisle…
Both count.
And if your brain decides to become a complete asshole…
Call me.
We’ll stumble through this haunted-ass escape room together.
We’ll cry.
We’ll laugh.
We’ll wonder whose dumbass idea adulthood was.
But you are NOT doing it alone.
I’ve got you.
And to the people who’ve had me lately…
Thank you.
The last ten years have kicked my ass.
Cancer.
Then cancer again.
A broken back.
Multiple sclerosis.
Financial stress.
Watching my kids make spectacularly dumb decisions because… well… they’re kids.
And everything else life decided to pile on in between.
My brain has been playing the world’s worst game of “Let’s Catastrophize EVERYTHING.”
Suicide isn’t funny.
It isn’t attention-seeking.
It’s terrifying. I think about it every single day, MULTIPLE times a day. I am hanging on by my finger nails mentally peeps!
Fighting those thoughts every single day wears a person down in ways that are hard to explain unless you’ve lived it.
Medication helps.
But sometimes…
People help too.
Honesty helps.
Feeling seen helps.
That’s why I write.
I’ve been told my posts are too long by more people than I can count.
To that I say…
I’m sorry…
…that reading appears to be such a burden for you.
😂
You’re under absolutely ZERO obligation to read them.
BUT DUDES, DUDETTES I have stories to tell.
Some are ridiculous.
Some are heartbreaking.
Most are both.
If you make it all the way to the end…
I appreciate the hell out of you.
Thank you for laughing with me.
Thank you for crying with me.
Thank you for reminding me that the voice in my head is a lying little bastard who needs his ass kicked!
Now go drink some water.
Take your meds.
Eat something besides caffeine and spite.
Text someone you love and tell them how much they mean to you.
And remember…
Some loud, sarcastic, stubborn, weird, feral woman in Nebraska is cheering for you harder than your intrusive thoughts are rooting against you.
I love you all, my peeps. ❤️
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