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 but 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™₯️✌️

There Ain’t Enough Bottles I Could Break To Make Him Feel As Broken As I Do

I’m so tired of dating.

I’m tired of the pool of men I can get.

I’m so tired of lying to myself.

I’m so tired of using (sometimes just the suggestion of) sex as a reason for a guy to like me.

I’m so tired of not being upfront about me wanting a forever partner.

I’m so tired of crying.

I’m so tired of getting tired too easily.

I’m tired of my hands not working making it extremely painful to write.

I’m tired of the winter causing my feet to stop working and falling every morning when I wake up.

I’m tired of cancelling dates.

I’m tired of the most disgusting good for nothing men talking to me the way they do.

I’m tired of being jealous.

I’m tired of hearing, “I met someone else.”

I’m tired of saying, “I met someone else.”

I’m tired of being rejected.

I’m tired of rejecting men myself — because I know they’re not good enough for me.

You know who never made me feel like I have no value? My Dad. But he’s dead.

I’m tired of not being with G-Bear.

  • I’m tired of not being able to ask him any question about anything and him knowing the answer.
  • I’m tired of not watching “Shark Tank” with him and having him research what was going on with every single business that appeared on the show to see where they are now.
  • I’m tired of not laughing with the only person who shared the same messed up sense of humor as I do.
  • I’m tired of looking at memories of us every day.
  • I’m tired of not seeing his face in my memories every day.
  • I’m tired of feeling everything I feel in any kind of way.
  • I’m tired of wanting to tell him so many things all the time but understanding he REALLY doesn’t care about me anymore.

In tired of feeling less than.

As always, be good to each other.

🎢β™₯️✌️

Without You I’m Just A Sad Song. With You I’m A Beautiful Mess. So Stop Time Right Here In The Moonlight, ‘Cause I Don’t Ever Wanna Close My Eyes.

This is a really sad post. Like — a heart crushing — I wish I didn’t have this experience to share — sad. This is me RIGHT NOW:

Look at those dead eyes.

Seriously — awful.

Impossible to get out.

Not wanting to stay in.

The thing, you, reader, have to realize — is that this is probably — if not actually the most vulnerable post I’ll ever share.

I don’t even know how to write this without falling apart every couple minutes — so I feel like I’ve been drafting this for a very long time.

If you read my blog “religiously”, you might remember when I mentioned that a friend of mine — who I needed so desperately to be alive — died on September 3rd, 2019.

I’m a writer. I can’t help it. It’s like air to me, or music. I need it to stay alive.

So, one day, last year, on February 14, 2019, (yes, I know, Valentine’s Day πŸ™„), I wrote.

I forgot until this week that I wrote what I wrote.

But I found it, going through journals, looking for information about a chapter I’m working on for my book.

Literally and quite tragically for me, I realized I was “into” my friend who died September 3, 2019.

I guess I was feeling sorry for myself last February 14th.

And I had no intention of EVER sharing this with the recipient because how could this extremely good dude be into me at all?!

And, because, in HIS style of writing, I wrote the following, for him, about him.

And now he’s dead.

So he’ll never know.

WHAMBULANCE

I can’t ignore
What I’ve done wrong before

I’m mesmerized
When I first read your writing
I couldn’t believe your eyes
Freehand writing is so out of style

Your work challenges me
It is SO organic
It makes be feel lazy
And puts shame to me

I don’t do shit like this because all I get is blame
Although I know what I have to offer
All I feel is insane

I’ve stopped putting this part of myself “out there” because ____________.
But with you maybe I can be comfortable.

I love how much you love food
It’s cute and I want to fuel you

I know that’s a bit creepy so before you call the police
Just know in most ways this is really about me

You’re beautiful
And I’d do anything for you to know that

Everything is spinning
Because I’m losing my liquid courage

I see your mask
I know what’s underneath it quite well
I see mine too
And they’re both beautiful

– for TCW

I can’t describe what that was like for me, reader, to find this poem that I have no recollection of writing, one I’d written on Valentine’s Day, no less, written 6 months before my friend passed, and found 6 months after.

I cried for days.

Valentine’s Day without my soulmate or the love of my life — that’s bad enough.

But this person’s unexpected death, whose death could have been mine just as much as it was his?

No.

I CRIED.

I’m so dehydrated y’all. I am back to the Pedialyte diet.

I’ll never be a writer as brilliant as he was (subjectively if not objectively).

But I had to share my find because this was just fucking crazy.

The timing.

The person.

The writing.

Sadly insane.

So, in that spirit, tell the people you want to know how you feel — how you feel. Don’t be a Netflix binge series.

Because he/she might be gone for good tomorrow.

Be good to each other.

β™₯️🎢✌️

New Rules. One: Don’t Pick Up The Phone.

My sister did. About a month or two ago. I called expecting her voicemail. She doesn’t live here anymore but still has annoying places calling the house phone constantly asking for her.

It’s just so much easier making her bad decisions someone else’s problem.

Must run in the family — πŸ™‹

The house we grew up in — and — that I unfortunately am again living in — had been getting phone calls from her pharmacy.

A pharmacy in the town I thought she lived in.

Until today.

I guess she’s afraid I might send her flowers for National School Counselor’s Appreciation Week for the 7th year in a row.

See — I was trying to do the right thing.

Her prescription — for whatever it was — would be disposed of if she didn’t pick it up in the next 5, 4, 3…you get the idea…days.

So after making my Mom breakfast before helping her off to work, I tried to leave my sister a voicemail to let her know.

But she answered.

Caught by surprise and shock, she told me it wasn’t a good time calling me by an old nickname (THE NERVE!!!!! — or old habits πŸ’―), because she was at work.

Having been her SAT bitch for several years, I thought (unless she changed jobs too) she didn’t get cell phone service in the school. We never did.

We never fucking had before.

Her comments that made me feel like shit aside, I relayed the information to her and hung up.

because she downloads all this garbage and keeps passwords or whatever on her phone so the family account keeps getting hacked.

I know my Mom mails my sister her mail because my sister is incapable of collecting it for her[adult]self, although she IS capable of having it sent here.

I know my Mom still deals with my sister’s EZ-Pass despite my sister being incredibly irresponsible with remembering to keep her EZ-Pass with her.

I think my sister is still on our family phone plan but I ALSO think that should change. And the sooner the better, because that’s only caused me excruciating nights on the phone with customer service because she downloads all this garbage and keeps passwords or whatever on her phone so the FAMILY account keeps getting hacked.

I mean — if she can’t sit with the family for a Christmas card, she should definitely get on her new family’s phone plan if she hasn’t already, right?!

It’s just so much easier making her bad decisions someone else’s problem.

Must run in the family — πŸ™‹

ACTUALLY — what I don’t want to say is that it would hurt me if she plopped off the family plan. But that’s irrational. And I can’t control a damn thing she says or does.

And today, I wrote her a nice card, ever TRYING to win my Mother’s impossible to win approval on the matter of my sister. (For the record, my Mom has advised me that she disagrees with the sentiment I express in that prior sentence.) This was before I knew my sister couldn’t stand the idea that I might know what fucking town she lived in, of course.

I keep having this dream in which someone my sister and I both care about — dies — but just like when we went to real life therapy (which she quit and couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me why) she told me I “wasn’t allowed to have PTSD about” the same event she did — and I am expected to suffer silently (!!!!!) — and that’s what happens in the dream.

And EVERYONE supports her in this dream.

And maybe EVERYONE supports her in real life.

Which is why I think she thinks she is so much more enlightened than me.

Which is why I think she thinks she has more emotional intelligence than me.

We’ll see how this plays out.

Anyway — in order to send this card I wrote — I jokingly asked my Mom if my sister’s address was the same or if she had moved for like the 19th time in her life.

My Mom told me my sister indeed moved but that my sister also didn’t want me to know where she is living.

Several shocking things about that information bulb.

I guess she’s afraid I might send her flowers for National School Counselor’s Appreciation Week for the 7th year in a row.

I think that’s sick.

I feel sick.

She gets to know where I live.

For now.

Until I don’t.

Not that she’d be there.

See what I did there? I acted out because I’m hurt. We all learned something.

🎢β™₯️✌️

Editorial response to an anonymous query: Yes, my Mom knows about this post, and yes, I did read it to her.

🎢β™₯️✌️

Holy Sniyikies! I Have My First Crush Since…Since…Old Tim!?!?!? NEW RULES. One: Pick Up The Phone. Two: Invite Him In. Three: Don’t Freak Out Because You Did.

As I once said to my best friend: “We’re doing things!!!” (Love you, Humpie ❀️.)

And, with my Mom’s support and help I am doing things.

And it’s scary.

Getting better — can be — really fucking scary!

More about THAT, though, ANOTHER time.

I have an actual crush.

By way of background…”Old Tim” was my college boyfriend who I was very in love with and who I was silly enough and young enough and not yet nearly ME enough when we were together to understand we wouldn’t be together forever or get married.

πŸ˜›πŸ‘ŽπŸ’₯

But we all grow up.

Hell yeah, Eli. Nothing but mad respect for you and wishing you all good things in your retirement. I’ll miss watching you play, but you’ve more than earned this, baby.

So yeah. We all grow up. Mostly. Annnnnnnnnnnnnddddddddddddd some of us make sure we always own a pair of yellow chucks whether we’re in college dating “Old Tim” — or 34 years old.

And as I’ve gotten sicker and started losing so many people, I kind of (?????) gave up.

Until this year.

When I started doing things.

My teeth are getting better by the day.

Though…not without some truly painful tribulations. And oh, so much blood.

But I have a crush! On someone who might be available!

Who brings a smile to my face the second he sees me because he has formed a smile himself. Who tells me I’m beautiful so often that I’m starting to believe him. Who goes out of his way to be around me. And who literally wiped the tears off of my face for an embarrassingly long time as I embarrassingly cried in front of him and two other people at my appointment today, helpless, because I just couldn’t hold all of my emotions inside after a really trying day — PRIOR to my skull being drilled into — because of people just being really fucking shitty about my circumstances.

(I’m SO writing about said circumstances soon because I want anyone who might happen upon this and who might not get it — to get woke. What I go through is fucking Hell and I’m tired of people pretending it’s anything less than that.)

So, my crush.

He’s humble. Kind. Intelligent. Cute AF. He has an addictive and cumulative smile.

He’s funny and he’s really great to talk to. I could be imagining it, but I think he enjoys spending as much time with me as I do with him — and talking to me as much as I do with him.

When you’re around someone you can talk to, like REALLY talk to, and laugh with –– and you have a physical attraction to — AND you want so badly to just reach out and hold that person’s hand so you day dream about doing just that someday soon — what’s better than that?

Maybe finally getting to be blonde.

(Just kidding.)

Keep your fingers and toes crossed for me kids that I don’t fumble this connection on the 3rd down and long.

2020 is my year, baby! Now where’s my whiskey? πŸ˜‰πŸ˜‹

As always, be good to each other.

🎢β™₯️✌️