Family?! Where?

My Mom just told me I have a substantial stomach and I feel really horrible about myself because of it.

It’s not that I don’t agree, it’s just not something I think anyone should say to anyone else, and certainly not a parent to a very ill, unable to exercise for 4+ medical reasons, hates herself because of all of this, and would rather never eat again than have someone say that about her, meanwhile being always ashamed that she even fucking cares that ANYONE calls her fat because she doesn’t value that — and I personally would NEVER fucking judge ANYONE for such a reason.

Ugh I feel beyond sick.

As a side note, I was born with a teeth defect.

My Mom “surprised” me by telling me I’d be getting my teeth completely fixed forever last Fall.

It turns out, even a miniscule amount of time in a dentist’s chair, let alone an extended amount of time, can AND likely will trigger PTSD in sexual assault/rape victims — which my DBT therapist told me about — after — through no fault of her own (because how could it have been?!?!?!, honestly, she didn’t know) it was too late to stop the process.

So I go in, they hold me and my tongue down for 6 hours at a time, while I can’t move, escape, cry, leave, move, talk, bite, fight back, etc. as I remember being held down and raped.

Time.

After time.

After time.

After time.

Oh.

And I get infections from it.

And I can’t take “normal” antibiotics because I’ve had c-diff — so I have to take rare ones — and pray to God they work and won’t make me sick.

Infections galore.

Barfing galore.

PTSD galore.

Wanting to implode and disappear forever galore.

Wanting to step outside of my body galore.

So — I have a chronic terminal illness or two or three that make my life miserable daily, and my Mom is at this moment focusing on things like perfect teeth and what she described as a substantial belly.

It’s not like I have to go to my sister’s wedding because I’m not invited.

And it’s not like I have to look thin (and thus by usual standards) for any other reason because quarantine.

So fuck it.

I’m going to eat and FTW.

Be good to each other.

#β™₯️🎢✌️

I Been Sober, ‘Cause There Ain’t No Hangover Like You. Girl. No No No. “Baby Can You Come Over?” I Always Find Those Words At The Bottom Of 100 Proof. Yeah. Girl. I Been Sober Since You Broke My Heart In Two. Because Drunk Me Can’t Get Over You.

I think I have to make playlists for each of my friends.

Because as I’ve mentioned in prior posts, music is one of very few things that keeps me breathing.

This feat is going to be one of the hardest I’ve faced.

Music is so personal.

It could be the last thing my friends remember about/hear from me.

I can’t think of many more important things than that (or any at this exact moment).

This is coming from a place of COVID-19 preparations, of course. I like to be prepared. So I must.

Whoa.

Okay.

New mission.

New missions aren’t always bad.

But this one is especially important to me, and this: difficult.

As always, be good to each other.

β™₯️🎢✌️

Diesel.

Continuing with my morbid posts as of late — I pose to all of you a question.

Do you think it’s normal for someone with suicidal ideation to alienate the people closest to them?

I can think of reasons which make sense of this type of distancing.

If you alienate everyone you care about then it’s easier to:

  • Justify not having a reason to live.
  • Feel like everything truly is hopeless.
  • Accept the idea that everyone is truly against you.
  • Make it easier to “leave” everyone behind.
  • Etc.

I keep thinking about one reason, specifically, though.

If one can convince oneself that they’re the one alienating everyone they ever cared about — they can alleviate the pain that comes from the truth: everyone’s just not into whether you live or die.

Thoughts?

Urges?

As always, be good to each other.

β™₯️🎢✌️

And last night I blacked out in my car. And I woke up in my childhood bed — wishing I was someone else — feeling sorry for myself — When I remembered someone’s kid is dead. Jesus Christ, I’m so blue all the time. And that’s just how I feel.

I’m singing at a funeral tomorrow

For a kid a year older than me
And I’ve been talking to his dad, it makes me so sad
When I think too much about it I can’t breathe
And I have this dream where I’m screaming underwater
While my friends are all waving from the shore
And I don’t need you to tell me what that means
I don’t believe in that stuff anymore
Jesus Christ, I’m so blue all the time
And that’s just how I feel
Always have and I always will
I always have and always will
I have a friend I call
When I’ve bored myself to tears
And we talk until we think we might just kill ourselves
But then we laugh until it disappears
And last night I blacked out in my car
And I woke up in my childhood bed
Wishing I was someone else, feeling sorry for myself
When I remembered someone’s kid is dead
Jesus Christ, I’m so blue all the time
And that’s just how I feel
Always have and I always will
I always have and always will
And it’s 4 A.M., again
And I’m doing nothing
Again

“Funeral” – Phoebe Bridgers

Friends: How IN pain must one be to hurt oneself?

You tell me.

Please.

I can’t speculate.

I’m not a good source to speak to that for basically EVERY reason.

But I wonder.

I’ve ALWAYS wanted this to be an honest and raw space where I share my feelings and am open to accepting yours.

That being said — all I want you to know is that I see unlimited ways for one to hurt oneself intentionally. In fact, as a writer most of my summer was spent researching EXACTLY that topic, specifically as it relates to men — and believe me — it fucked me up so much I’ll never be the same.

And maybe that’s ok. And maybe it’s not. I don’t know.

Here are my findings regarding how people (100% non-judmentally — for real) cope with life and existence in my own personal experiences only:

  1. Sex.
  2. Alcohol use.
  3. Phone use while in someone’s company.
  4. TV addition.
  5. Addiction to sex with people who are not me.
  6. Intentionally putting oneself in a situation that one KNOWS will totally make their life worse but choosing it anyway.
  7. Scars (from the before times).
  • **Author’s Note**: As I continue to think about this particular post this list may grow longer and change order. Just deal. You’ve been warned.

And P.S.: I’m saying that’s the order in which I saw and watched these people (again, mostly men) experience self harm from most potent to least.

I’ll answer any questions you may have regarding same.

Finally, everyone except one guy I “met” up with, had weed and offered me some. Every. Single. Man.

Except the dude who was in a sober program who I lied to who I met up with and got drunk πŸ™„classicallyπŸ™„ without his knowing just to not have to sleep alone after my friend died.

Fuck me.

And guess what.

I’m glad.

Fact.

Marijuana IS infinitely better for EVERYONE than alcohol.

Look on the (United States) government’s website.

Seriously.

Look.

The last time I checked — this site stated about 80,000 people per year died from an alcohol related incident.

And guess how many people died from using marijuana! 0. Zero people die in a year from weed. But don’t trust me. Check your government’s website to confirm.

Oh. And by “me” (stated above) I MEAN not me. Asking for a friend.

Promise.

β™₯️🎢✌️

I Miss You. But I Miss Me More.

People are dying.

I mean, we basically all are anyway, right? Yes. We all are.

But I’ve accepted that the probability of getting to do the things again that I wanted to do is slim.

And I’ll most likely never go to the places GDW and I talked about. (To be fair — that probably has more to do with me than him anyway.)

I have coloring.

I have books to read.

I have cards and presents to mail.

I have gardening to do.

I have 2am walks to continue.

I have horror movies to watch.

I have writing to finish.

I have the best fucking music to listen to and get me through.

And above all — I have to take care of my Mom.

It’s life, baby.

No one gets out alive.

So, as always, be good to each other.

β™₯️🎢✌️

I’m Over “EatPlayLove”. Take A Look In The Mirror. And What Do You See? Do You See It Clearer? Or Are You Deceived? In What You Believe. ThrillsOverSeas.

“Some people got the real problems.
Some people out of luck.
Don’t ask my opinion
Don’t ask me to lie
Then beg for forgiveness
For making you cry
Making you cry.

— Rag’n’bone Man “Human”

Let me start by saying…I hate this more than so many things. It makes me so unhappy. And the entire reason it’s happening is because my now “I’m dead to her” sister thinks I hate her.

I could never hate her.

I love her so so much.

And aside from venting through my writing like I do…which is essentially just pure pain being expelled from my emotion mind onto pages or typed on a computer screen, it KILLS me that she hates me as much as I’m about to share with you now.

Oh, um, soooooooooo, also, at present, my sister is absolutely out of my life, I’m told.

And now, unfortunately for everyone it touches, she is — as well, (her last two living family members excluded) — I think.

It’s 100% her decision. And it’s on a permanent basis, I’m told.

SO IF you ARE lucky enough to be a “friend” of hers — and you tell her about it, let me tell you something very important: you’re a garbage person. Morally, I’m fine with her reading it. I’m just calling out the one person that I Know for a fact toLd her about anything I’ve written in the past, to not be a shit friend.It’s not your place.Leave it alone.Or be a shitty person who wasn’t raised well.

As far as I know, my now “I’m dead to her” sister, doesn’t read this blog.

SO IF you ARE lucky enough to be a “friend” of hers — and you tell her about this post, let me tell you something very important: you’re a garbage person.

Morally? I’m 100% fine with her reading it. I’m GOOD. I lose zero sleep over what I write: what I write is my truth.

I’m just calling out the one person that I Know for a fact toLd her about anything I’ve written in the past, to think before you speak, and maybe not be a Crap friend.

At least consider it. What you are doing to a family. What you are doing to someone who always supported you and your husband in the past when I could have chosen to be selfish and not supportive. Just think of that, “friend” of my now “I’m dead to her” sister.

It’s not your place.

Leave it alone.

Or be a shitty person.

It’s your Catholic soul, girl.

Whatever anyone thinks about me writing the truth about this, I’ll say once again that I’ve promised to tell the truth here, in this blog. So I really hope you believe me when I say it hurts me to share this news.

Dead men tell no tales — and neither do I. I’m dead. She killed me. Shit happens. She is being expunged from my home as I write, even.

When I tried to reach out to her— THE last way I could — via USPS — some inspirational cards, a poem, “Still I Rise” by a hero of mine, Maya Angelou, a story about every single good act mattering.

Remember, I could NOT send these to her home address — since she doesn’t want me to know where she lives, though, don’t forget I actually do AND it IS because of HER, ironically.

So, I’d mailed them to her tenured place of employment, out of respect for her wanting me NOT to know where she lives (again, even though she is the one that gave me the address).

Her birthday is April 3rd. I was going to send her a card saying this, but now I’m honoring her wish for me to be dead.

And then! The cards came back to me, unopened. “Return to Sender”.

I’m SO sad imagining her having a “secretary” as she called these women, write “Return To Sender”, for her.

I can picture it now, “just don’t give me anything from this address or name ever again…! (Slams office door…comes back out)…unless it’s flowers or chocolate!”

Anyway, that’s when I knew (for certain), she was gone (read: dead) forever. (Her words, not mine.)

Her birthday is April 3rd. I was going to send her a card saying this, but now I’m honoring her wish for me to be dead.

Dead men tell no tales — and neither do I. I’m dead. (Just to her though.) She killed me. Shit happens.

Upsides[?], you ask? She is being expunged from my home as I write this, even.

Anyway… About that April 3rd birthday.

For at least the past 3 months I’ve been making her a very personalized Spotify playlist with songs I thought she’d love. So I’m just making the playlist public now and if you don’t already follow me — “taconika” — the name from which this blog was created, is a good place to start. I hope you will follow my playlists and you enjoy them. I do.

But I keep telling myself, “hey, it’s NOT YOUR choice.”

I’m especially sad that I won’t get to give this meant to be personalized gift to her because we used to share a deep bond over music.

I have more memories about us with music than not. So…yeah. My heart is breaking.

But I keep telling myself, “hey, it’s NOT YOUR choice.”

Sidebar.

I didn’t go to the Christmas Eve service at my old Church — something I’d never ever missed once in my entire life before this past year. Not even when my Dad was dying in the cancer shit hole that I can’t drive past to this day without going insane. (He wanted me to go to Church that year, for the record). He would die 17 days later.

Anyway, I did this for my Mom this past year…so my Mom could spend time with her whole family for at least part of Christmas.

My now “I’m dead to her” sister wouldn’t have shown up with her [don’t even get me started on how shit he is, making them a perfect match, actually] fiancΓ© if I went.

My now “I’m dead to her” SISTER — COULD HAVE BEEN BETTER. She could have acknowledged what was actually a very heartbreaking sacrifice for me. That I made for my now “I’m dead to her” sister, even though she’s a person who hates me.

And let’s talk about me being dead. (My Mom says my now “I’m dead to her” sister doesn’t want me alive because she “doesn’t want to be around someone who hates her so much”.) Not only do I not hate her, but I think she’s scared and pathetic. And mean. And cruel. Or maybe just stupid. Common sense had never been a strong point for her.

My sister COULD HAVE thrown the cards I’d sent IN THE GARBAGE.

But INSTEAD, this person who is supposed to influence young minds in a positive way, had someone at her job actually write, “return to sender,” and refused the mail.

WASTING STAMPS, (WHICH IS — NO JOKE — A REALLY FUCKING HORRIBLE THING TO DO IN MY OPINION), IS BAD ENOUGH. THEY’RE IMPORTANT TO ME AND THEY WERE WASTED ON HER.EXACTLY LIKE ALL OF THE TIME I WASTED ON HER. Which was a lot of time. Years worth of time, if you add it all up. Just gone.

Me. Gone.

Because my dead sister, and my Mom’s alive daughter, should have been BETTER. In so many ways that it sets my brain on fire and there’s no place left in me to put that.

Me. Her number 3 fan. (Mom and Dad get first dibs on that call.)

My God.

If my Dad were still alive….Everything in my life would be better. My family was always great. I can’t speak for my Mom, my older brother, or the basketball thrillery. But for ME, it was always great.

I always had EVERYTHING I needed…until my Dad died.

And that’s NOT because of my Mom, for the record.

My Mom is everything to me.

Which is why I mourn my sister.

Because my now “I’m dead to her” sister, once again, should have been BETTER. In so many ways that it sets my brain on fire and there’s no place left in me to put that. I’m at capacity.

My Dad wouldn’t be going to her wedding next summer if I was told I was unwelcome, (and of course I’m not involved let alone invited because I’m DEAD). Dad would’ve taken me to a movie.

My Dad loved his children so very fucking much.

But he loved me the most. I’d give references for you to confirm that, but, that’s just weird, and I’m clearly not weird. I was the best. I’d let you ask him if you could. But let’s just say I have it in writing. Literally.

So I wish “this” wasn’t happening.

My now “I’m dead to her” sister being gone after making unacceptable and incredible decisions that my Dad would have definitely stood by me during.

Just like he did during my worst breakups, before he died.

So there’s a system now.

Speaking of cards….

Sometime’s I just want to scream at my friends who never call or write.

I get it. It’s because they’re married with children and have these perfect lives — the lives I’ve always wanted, anyway — while I wasted MY time hung up on a gay dude who is now married to his first boyfriend.

And years ago, I basically made it known to my soulmate that I’d be backing off when the love of my life appeared, because I didn’t want to hurt the love of my life.I didn’t want ANY feelings I had for my soulmate to interfere with the love of my life who I thought I’d be with forever, as I’ve said in previous posts.

And now the love of my life is disappeared.

But, yeah, anyway, I want to scream at my friends, (gay ex-boyfriend/soulmate included), “I’M STILL FUCKING ALIVE, SO SINCE YOU CAN UPDATE FACEBOOK, GO ON INSTAGRAM, TWEET, SEND MASS EMAILS, OR SNAPCHAT, then you can text me back!!!!!!!!!!!”

Then I realized I’m Narcissistic asshole [and have been watching Eminem’s final battle from “8 Mile” far too often on YouTube].

Rinse.

Repeat.

Or do I just have really really really shitty friends. (That wasn’t a question.)

I do have some.

Not all of them.

I want to do shout-outs but the number is so low I’d be embarrassed. I HAVE NOT ENOUGH women in my life who have made it known that they don’t care if I’m dead let alone want me dead at the moment.

No men except for my my Brother. (And that’s touch and go.) It often depends on how often I kick his ass in Mortal Kombat. Rip!

Speaking of fucking awesome things, my Mom surprised me with a new Xbox One the other day!

So the deal is because now I can barely get out of bed, and when I was employed as an attorney, I had bought my Brother an Xbox One for Christmas the year it came out, but he uses it almost every night in his room, so we don’t get to play it together much anymore.

However!

My most magnificent Mommy heard me say how much I missed playing with him, and he helped her set up this new Xbox One (which I didn’t ask for and I don’t feel like I deserve) but I’m extremely grateful that she bought for me.

Here’s the deal.

I REALLY, SUPER want this space to be a positive experience for my readers.

And I want my readers to know that I appreciate things and I feel like I am blessed in many many ways and that Xbox One is just one tiny, and perhaps silly, but extremely meaningful example of how much I’m blessed, though a material thing, part of it.

Seriously, how cool is my Mom?!?!?!!

So, yeah.

I was raised to make sure anyone I knew who was in bad shape should be cared for and checked in on most — that I should count my Blessings and reflect.

I was taught that it matters how you treat not just your friends, or the people you thought were you friends, but, anyone.

Apparently, many of my friends weren’t raised the same way.

Oh, another random thing.

I realized how attracted I am to certain types of men physically — but I’m also incredibly attracted to women who break gender norms.

I wrote my undergrad senior thesis on stereotypes, so I strongly feel like it’s ignorant to ignore them.

Stereotypically, basically everyone who is near my age AND works at Trader Joe’s, woman or man, I find to be fucking sexy as hell.

Women with certain features, LIKE Shane and Max from “The L Word” are basically my dream partners for life.

I discovered this past summer that I’m Demisexual.

But that’s not all I am.

I AM also supremely attracted to specific types of women.

Just like I am supremely attracted to specific types of men.

Both, in an “OMG you’re sexy as fuck love at first sight” way.

And I’m happy for me.I’ve been watching “The L Word” lately, as I said, (ShaneπŸ’—πŸ’—πŸ’—πŸ’—πŸ’— and Max πŸ’—πŸ’—πŸ’—πŸ’—πŸ’—), and I think they’re by far the sexiest women on the show.

I was looking the actresses up on IMDB, and in interviews, etc., and I love what Daniela Sea (aka Max on “The L Word”) says about her sexuality: “But I…don’t believe that gender is just binary, and I never have, so that’s what pulls me to sometimes politically identify as a lesbian, and I still feel like women are so suppressed. I don’t feel like we’ve come that far. But I also feel like there are people all along the spectrum, so in that sense, I feel like I e would be more bisexual or just, you know, open-ended.”

I LOVE that.

PARTICULARLY in school, the progression of my learning about sex went like this:

1. Everyone was either a girl or a boy and they would all get married to whatever sex they weren’t themselves (heterosexuality). Then.

2. Hearing “you fag!” asking my parents what it meant, and learning about homosexuality which shocked my world a bit but I was all good with it once I understood how completely normal it is, and that I’d previously been fed lies by my schools, so I wrote about and then presented about suicide rates among gay people in high school because of the bullying that truly left me upset.

3. And finally, bisexuality, in college. Transgender and Transexual people were not explained to or understood by me until I read a novel in law school (it’s called “Golden Boy”) and then I understood that my own gender and sexuality was normal and I own that shit.

Life is not nearly as simple as labeling. Especially not to the limited straight, gay, or bisexual trifecta of “options”.

Since then I’ve learned how limited these terms are, and how little I understood my own gender identity or sexuality let alone everyone elses.’

I would have classified myself as a “tomboy” back in the day.

I did, actually.

I always chose comfortable clothes over traditionally “sexy” feminine ones. I was obsessed with colorful sneakers, especially Converse once I “discovered” them.

My now “I’m dead to her” sister, had ALWAYS teased when we were growing up about how I dressed and would be perceived if I wore “those shorts” or “that shirt,” and teased me about how I was a loser because I didn’t shape my eyebrows, etc., and just trust me…the list goes on.

Stereotypically, (according to my life experiences only), athletes, who play, like basketball, or baseball, or soccer — pretty much any team sport — in my experience, were always bullying those of us who dared to be comfortable in their differences, and nearly tortured the ones who were just trying to keep their heads down.

And the things my sister said to me were no exception.

I have friends on a variety of parts of the sexual identity/gender spectrum which I think is fucking amazing.

Lastly, if you’re a friend of mine and reading this, send me a text/message/call, will you? Because I’m on my last legs — so to speak — and I don’t mean mentally (though that’s pretty touch and go, too).

As always, be good to each other. Be better than me.

🎢β™₯️✌️

He Said That He Would Heal Me But He Only Gave Me Problems. My Drug Dealer Was A Doctor. He Tried To Kill Me For A Dollar. Dollar. More. More. MORE. Re-up. RE-UP.

“Best friends with the thing that’s killing me. Enemies with my best friend. There’s no healing me. Refilling these. Refilling these.

“So God Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference… wisdom to know the difference.”

— Macklemore “Drug Dealer”

🎢β™₯️✌️