Inside the Mind of: Marilyn Monroe

Hi, you there… *wink* Want to buy a girl a drink?

Don’t skim. Look at me, fork out the cash hunnie!

Ugh! It’s so hard to come across some good booze these days. Don’t judge me. Don’t you ever judge a woman that drinks or a man for that matter. You don’t know everything there is to know about anybody. Look at me. How can you blame me for drinking when my troubles and torments are so many that the only thing that reduces them to a tolerable size is the rim of a glass with fermented liquid relief inside?

Anyway, nothing angers me more than being dead. I was just beginning to reap real success in my career and I felt good, I felt real good (at least for that week) and then I just died, just like that. I had work to do. I had so many plans in the pipeline. And on top of that I haven’t gotten any in forever.

I had plans of meeting Hugh Hefner (after all he does owe me for the rocketed success of the Playboy Magazine), releasing some personally directed and filmed shows and writing THE tell-all book that would have jaws dropping for generations.

Broadway didn’t pay jack shit and I wasn’t getting the recognition I deserved. Going blonde made my career but restricted it so much as well. To this day, blondes aren’t taken as seriously as brunettes are. The f*%%ing hell! Are you forgetting this bombshell was born brunette?

Shut up! Don’t tell me about being conceited. I am what you would now call a Boss Bitch. From agents to husbands trying to control me and preventing me from getting what I should and what I deserve…I had to break my glass ceiling. I had to be successful. Sure, say all you want. I didn’t have to pose naked to pay my rent? I did. OK? I did. That was my second low.

Did I regret doing it when I did? No.

Did I regret doing it when the nudes came out? Yes

Did I regret it after my name was plastered over the press and ‘Marilyn Monroe’ became the most uttered name? No.

That was furthering my cause.

Why get into legality? Marilyn Monroe is my name. Come on baby, ‘Norma Jeane’? Does the name Norma Jeane get your horses going? Is that the kind of name that you could moan?

Sex is my thing. I grew up not knowing my father, bouncing from home to home and being sexually assaulted by every male figure in my life. I grew up not valuing the things about myself that I should have. I never really learned how to show affection but underneath all my shyness and superficiality I sure knew how to make love.

I was drawn to men that I felt I had some form of control over. And as you guessed it, it was always sexual. I showed single men, married men and a particular president what mind-blowing love making was like. Sue me for being human and falling in love here or there and wanting a normal life with a husband and family with a picket fence and well-tended flower garden that was cared for by someone else (of course). It was just not for me. My men just never trusted me to be faithful. Honestly, it was based on their inability to keep up, literally and figuratively.

That added to the strain of managing my goals and career, grieving miscarriages and tormenting images and scars from my youth caused my depression and insomnia. My mental health went downward and I feared I would end up like my mother….stuffing a child in a bag to go home with. Soon, the combination of sleeping pills and alcohol was the only concoction that would calm my nerves.

As I am sure you know, my health got worse and I was constantly ill but a broken heart was my terminal illness. The man I loved, I couldn’t have.

I cannot understand why I was so harshly judged for playing up my sexuality and wearing breaking fashion that fit my body type. Its all that I see happening now and it got me my Golden Globe. Maybe I was born in the wrong time.

Or maybe, all you skinny b!tches need to be thanking me for paving the way.

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