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 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™₯️✌️

Stronger Than I Was. But Imma Still Be Humble When I Scream “Fuck You” Cause I’m Stronger Than I Was.

I’m rewatching “Glee.”

I’ve only ever watched seasons 1-3 — or I guess whatever episode it was when Kurt’s Dad almost died (the show aired 10 years ago so if you’re pissed that I didn’t give you a “spoiler alert” notice — get woke πŸ˜‚πŸ˜πŸ˜).

Cory Montieth’s death (who was the lead male character in “Glee,” for those of you who don’t know) killed me inside

For real.

I think about him often.

He died from a heroin overdose — after being to rehab AGAIN — another person struggling so hard to feel JUSTOK” (because being “just ok” is quite literally too much to ask for or express; I’m well aware). I read an interview once in which he talked very openly about his drug use prior to “Glee,” telling others that the show helped him get away from all of that and how grateful he was.

And, like Heath Ledger’s death, because he was JUST trying to sleep — needing that SO badly (coupled with the added bonus of my having been on many of the same medications as he was) when he ingested the wrong mix of everything — you know — the ones that killed him — also continues to destroy me as much.

So I’ve avoided it.

But we all have Demons.

I’ve never [intentionally] judged ANYONE who many of you might consider an addict. It’s not fair to them.

To quote Lady Gaga’s song, TIL IT HAPPENS TO YOU,” made for the movie “The Hunting Ground” about sexual assault on college campuses (a must see in my opinion, as a survivor and as a human being) but is just as applicable in my opinion to drug users, (emphasis added):

🎢You tell me it gets better, it gets better in time
You say I’ll pull myself together, pull it together
You’ll be fine
Tell me what the Hell do you know?
What do you know?
Tell me how the Hell could you know?
How could you know?

You tell me hold your head up
Hold your head up and be strong
‘Cause when you fall, you gotta get up
You gotta get up and move on

Tell me, how the Hell could you talk?
How could you talk?
‘Cause until you walk where I walk
It’s just all talk

‘Til your world burns and crashes
‘Til you’re at the end of your rope
‘Til you’re standing in my shoes
I don’t wanna hear nothing from you

From you, from you, ’cause you don’t know
‘Til it happens to you
You don’t know

HOW I feel
‘Til it happens to you
You won’t know

It won’t be real
How could you know?

No it won’t be real
How could you know?

Won’t know how it feels
‘Til it happens to you, happens to you
Happens to you
Happens to you, happens to you
Happens to you (how could you know?)
‘Til it happens to you, you won’t know how I feel.🎢

I’ve been so dangerously desperate so many times that OF COURSE I’m going to empathize with them.

And I’ll probably continue to cry, quite literally, for them both from time to time.

But.

I’m facing fears in 2020. And I’m going all out.

THIS is going to be my year.

Perfect teeth.

About to get my hair done by the ONE and ONLY Master so I’m obviously excited out of my fucking mind. Not this exactly but my closest friends know she’s my hair inspiration.

Trying to OWN my treatment and continuing to make my Counselor and Group proud.

Getting more proud of myself for my dedication to “get better,” (which is NOT what we call it in the program but you get the picture), even.

Have the best Mom.

A Brother who fights me constantly but loves me just as much as he fights.

The friends I have are amazing in every way I should hope for.

People care about me more than I thought they might.

So let’s go, 2020.

Time to live a year with no regrets and complete positivity instead — (I know — NOT my strong points since the Hell that was law school, but I’m doing the work and will continue to).

I will keep doing me.

I’m not perfect.

I cry.

I lie to myself.

But now I KNOW that I lie to myself AND understand the consequences of that — and THAT’S?! — all up in my healing process, not to mention part of my program. And I’m accepting and owning that shit twenty-four seven.

And I will not be silenced or shushed or made to feel that I should apologize for ANYTHING simply by being a woman.

Thank you to everyone who has supported me this year.

So Happy New Year.

And as John Wick might say — and I mean this in THE best way — “BE SEEING YOU.”

🎢β™₯️✌️