Happy mid-December 2019 y’all! What a year. I tallied 4/365 days this year that I felt “well” and that were good days for me in 2019.
I’ve always been terrible at math — something every law professor I ever had made a joke about in at least one lecture during the semester, which I always thought was odd as Hell — but I digress.
I had less than 1/52 weeks of “feeling good” time during this year we called 2019 (so far, anyway 🤞).
But I am SO grateful for those 4 days.
I keep telling and retelling the following “story” lately because it continues to be relevant and because I think it’s funny. And it is funny because of it’s veracity.
One day, longer into our relationship than I would have expected, my ex said to me, “you know…I used to think you were complaining and mad and yelling all the time, but then I realized that’s just how you talk.” Why did that guy stick around so long?! 😂
So when I say I’m grateful for the 4 days, you should believe that I’m not complaining or being sarcastic; you should believe me.
It could have been worse.
I could have had 0/365 days.
This is another post about my ex.
But in a way I have not yet written about him.
I love movies.
I’m not a harsh critic, so I enjoy so many of them.
I still have a Netflix DVD/Blu-ray delivery plan — and I read you can’t even sign up for that anymore unless you’ve been a member of said plan for quite some time.
(I’m not even going to fact check that because I’m a middle child and like to — excuse me — need to feel special.)
I also love reading, especially books.
Something super bizarre, even for me, started happening a couple weeks ago.
Or maybe I just noticed it was happening a couple weeks ago.
This thing makes my heart ache, and my stomach queasy.
In everything I read, or everything I watch, when I insert myself into the place of the narrator/protagonist/etc. (which I think a lot of us do at least occasionally, right?) and whenever I’m assuming the perspective of a broken-hearted person, a hopeful person waiting for THE ONE they love to come back, or even worse, a person mourning a dead character — I’ve been mourning my ex of 5 years in the place of the missing character.
It’s always his face I see in that slot.
You know. Up in that good ole mind’s eye? He’s the one who broke my heart. He’s the one missing. He’s the dead character I’m mourning. He’s all those characters in my mind.
And, like I said, this is new to me. At least consciously.
I’m not talking about for a split second either.
I’m talking about the love of my life (don’t hate me for calling him that LB (if you’re reading this), I know and don’t necessarily disagree with everything you’ve said to me and I love and cherish your support♥️😘 but it’s where I’m at nevertheless) being gone, and my brain reminiscing about my long lost love.
My only long lost love.
The last man standing.
And yet, he’s alive! Which is a great thing!!!!!
But it’s driving me crazy.
I mean…this is me. Happy. At the dentist!
(He’s actually just a really great dentist with a really great staff.) That doesn’t make me any less crazy though.
Because I’m not used to giving up on things when they’re still possible.
I NEVER have and NEVER will be able to do that. I can never give up on someone I love.
(Just like I haven’t given up on my sister. I may be dead to her, but she’s not to me. Another day on those shenanigans.)
Remember the Godmother [the one my Mom supported my Dad in choosing for me] who disowned me this year? I called her two Sundays ago and opened the door. Whether she even touches the doorknob or not is yet to be seen (the call went straight to voicemail, and I haven’t heard back) — but at least I tried.
What else can I do?
But she’s a great example of someone I love who I didn’t give up on. She slapped me in the face — I think because I embarrassed her, very sincerely unintentionally — but I can’t continue living in good conscience knowing I didn’t at least try.
Like I always say — where there’s a WILL — try to get in it. I’m VERY much kidding. That’s awful and I just thought of it right now. My ex and I had the same sense of humor, and I’d venture he’s the only one who would not judge me for that tasteless joke.
I’m a 34 year old single woman and I still do things like this:
so I don’t know what you expect from me.
When I’m using my rational mind — I don’t even think mourning him is all that crazy.
We dated longer and lived together longer than some marriages last.
So, actually, it isn’t so crazy that he could have been my lost love who I mourn.
It happens to people committed to each other for fewer years than we were together all the time.
I’m about to spill a secret, so listen up; I NEVER didn’t think I’d be without him after I was with him.
From the start of the relationship I felt that we would ALWAYS be together, until I died. I swear on my life.
Maybe call that taking him for granted, because maybe I did.
The thought that we’d break up for real was not in my vocabulary of thoughts.
But it was in his.
I hope this passes.
Because unless he comes back, which I refuse to give up on, or lose my optimism about, until I’m actually dead, in one way or another, I’ll always be his.
Queue the lyrics to my song of choice for this revelation:
🎶I met you in the dark, you lit me up
You made me feel as though I was enough
We danced the night away, we drank too much
I held your hair back when
You were throwing up
Then you smiled over your shoulder
For a minute, I was stone-cold sober
I pulled you closer to my chest
And you asked me to stay over
I said, I already told ya
I think that you should get some rest
I knew I loved you then
But you’d never know
‘Cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go
I know I needed you
But I never showed
But I wanna stay with you until we’re grey and old
Just say you won’t let go
Just say you won’t let go
I’ll wake you up with some breakfast in bed
I’ll bring you coffee with a kiss on your head
And I’ll take the kids to school
Wave them goodbye
And I’ll thank my lucky stars for that night
When you looked over your shoulder
For a minute, I forget that I’m older
I wanna dance with you right now
Oh, and you look as beautiful as ever
And I swear that everyday’ll get better
You make me feel this way somehow
I’m so in love with you
And I hope you know
Darling your love is more than worth its weight in gold
We’ve come so far my dear
Look how we’ve grown
And I wanna stay with you until we’re grey and old
Just say you won’t let go
Just say you won’t let go
I wanna live with you
Even when we’re ghosts
‘Cause you were always there for me when I needed you most
I’m gonna love you till
My lungs give out
I promise till death we part like in our vows
So I wrote this song for you, now everybody knows
Finally it’s just you and me till we’re grey and old
Just say you won’t let go
Just say you won’t let go
Just say you won’t let go
Oh, just say you won’t let go🎶
James Arthur – “Say You Won’t Let Go”
I’m not done looking for a replacement.
But I’m also not accepting resumes while I’m working my program right now.
So, this is just some food for thought that I’m hoping someone reading this relates to during what can be a difficult season for many of us.
🎶♥️✌️ and as always — be good to each other ✌️♥️🎶
Topics I Want To Write About For The Hundreds Of People Who Read My Posts (And I’m Very Grateful For That Truth) ASAP:
The purpose of this past is for one reason only.
I can’t handle being rejected.
I tried to figure out a great metaphor to provide you with a visualization of this feeling.
I fail often.
People think I am not aware of my shortcomings, ironically.
I find this incredulous.
My shortcomings are the only things that I am aware of, in fact. Every moment. Every day. In my sleep, every night.
The purpose of this post is for one reason only.
For your understanding.
It’s astoundingly obvious to me now.
I lash out at everyone and every thing that rejects me.
I spit evil at everyone and every thing that rejects me.
I want to make everyone and every thing that rejects me feel the emotional pain that I feel as a result of said rejection.
If I pretend to hate(???????) you (those who raped, sexually assaulted, or otherwise abused me (and those that protect and defend them) excluded of course) —
That is me reacting to your rejection of me.
🎶If you need a friend
— “The Promise” by Sturgill Simpson
I’ve been wanting to write about my online dating experiences since they started.
And then, when I thought I had one crazy but great story, I had another one before I could even write about the first one.
I started needing to take notes🤣🤦!
You get it.
I currently identify as Demisexual.
I’m not going to tell you the definition, so if you care you should look it up.
Regardless of identifying as Demisexual, I’ve been searching solely for a man to bond and hopefully mate with.
Don’t get me wrong.
I think women are hot and beautiful and gorgeous in so many forms.
But I’m not physically magnetically attracted to them the way I am to men.
(Still, I’d rather look at a naked woman over a naked man 2/3 times.)
For a few years I was confused.
I HAVE been totally and COMPLETELY in love with a woman, questioning whether or not I am gay, or bisexual.
Then I met a dude who identified as Demisexual. He explained it to me.
And it finally all made sense.
I’m not asexual — something I believed I might be on and off since high school.
But I’m not.
I also am not into ANYONE who I don’t connect with deeply.
Thus, I’m Demisexual.
I wasn’t going to explain that.
🎶 Do you want to run away together?
I would say it was your best line ever.
Too bad I fell for it.🎶
– The Wreckers “Not the Good Kind”
I have got to stop being with the liars. More soon.
Be good to each other — 🎶♥️✌️
Maybe you’re a target that I can’t break through.
Maybe you’re the trigger that I can’t undo.
Maybe you’re the end of my “acting out.”
Maybe you’re the person that I’ve fought “being about.”
I hope I can be your faithful someone; because love doesn’t die for me — not at all.Loving you might hurt me — because it’s so very hard when I fall.
Hey hey y’all 👋😁!
(Since I was threatened I was tempted to take this down…but FUCK “men.”)
So here goes.
My Ode to Tinder
Everyone thinks they “know” something about tinder.
Except mostly they don’t, as I explain its grandeur.
In my experience, it’s straight up assumptions.
Calm the fuck down; I’m only huntin’.
Even a good friend judged me hard when she heard; she’s been a feminist for some time and I expected more from her.
“That site is only for sex; you won’t find anyone there!” Actually it’s not; but you sure do care.
I remembered how she laughed over the phone. She’d changed a lot recently; then left me completely alone.
But here goes my experience so far, I hope you enjoy it; I’m fighting with legal right now, a man I rejected trying to destroy shit.
I will agree — a lot of members need to grow up; but just leave it alone, man, I’m already drowning in muck.
“I’m not looking for anything serious right now
But I can tell that you are… ”
“Oh thank God you asked me, straight up! Guess how much I can tell you about who YOU ‘are’!
Your assumptions are so literally and incredibly on par.”
“All I’m saying is chill the fuck out, I don’t want you three nights in a row.
“Holy Shit, I have to get this Bitch out; I won’t want her tomorrow!”
“Oh calm the fuck down, nothing’s happening anyway.”
“What do you mean!?!? I thought you wanted to stay!!!”
Meantime, you go to old friends for help; you’re hoping to make your full case before they explain how they felt.
Unfortunately, they’re mostly just looking to fix a me that ain’t broken. If I had it my way this shit wouldn’t need to be spoken.
And the best part of all is, the dude I’d complain about this shit to just died. By mid-September I sat alone at his funeral and cried.
People on Facebook pretending they knew him recently. Jesus Christ, you haven’t talked to him in years so let this man rest again, peacefully.
Him being gone has fucked me up more than anyone knows; when I look in the mirror it’s his reflection that shows.
I cry about it EVERY day, so what’s the solution? They want to send me away — it’ll give them absolution.
But every night now they know I can’t sleep alone; so after 8:00 P.M. men incessantly hit up my phone.
“So who’s this guy?
“Who’s this chump?”
“What the fuck do you care?
“The second I met you I was already dumped.
“I appreciate your candor and compliments, I really do.
“Especially since my online persona is so different than what really makes sense to few.
“You can listen to my voice. You can even observe my actions.
“But don’t say you don’t give a fuck then get all jealous in reactions.
“Report me to Tinder; that’s real fucking cute.
“Oh, shit; I forgot.
“Women are supposed to stay mute.
“Do I ever lay in bed lonely at night?”
Not a fucking chance, haters. You can’t take THIS light.
“My intentions are pure.
“Ok. They’re not.
“But that’s not what I’m doing this for.
“Honestly, a scary person from that scene will sneak by.
“‘Oh, did I rejet you?!’ PLEASE don’t fucking cry.
“It’s such a shame and I get you had to bring me down too.
“And I know you know that, which is why I ain’t choosin’ you.
“Now this right here is my holiday spirit: Fuck you? Never.
“I need you to hear it.
“But I can’t lie forever.
“FUCK your hold on my shit.”
“I’m going to deal with my injuries in the AM…but don’t you dare wake up acting kind.
“If you take enough drugs — then and only then — maybe you can try to be mine.
“I should be more upset that my project was fucked with.
“Except honestly, most days, it fucks up my shit.
“So just give up your end.
“Give me kisses all the way.
“I’m not worried about this today.
“It’s the night that won’t bend.
“So call me a slut, call me a whore, keep asking where my pussy has been.
“You think I give a FUCK about your uninformed opinion?
“But if you tell me your story and you try honestly —
“Oh wait, that’d be the man [almost ready to be] sleeping in the bed next to me.”
^ JK that man doesn’t exist yet but I’m taking applications and I’m pretty great if I do say so.
How do you love someone who’s been torturing you emotionally/psychologically too many times to count? I think THOSE two things are the reasons I CAN be distracted.
Distraction kills my anxiety. In fact, it’s the ONLY thing that kills my anxiety.
I’ve lost my eidetic memory.
It’s 99.9% official.
Thanks, disease! Cheers to the Fibromyalgia: which CAN’T be treated, or cured correctly for — etc. etc. etc.— because I, and hundreds of thousands of people wake up EVERY day with SOME kind of bullshit.
I DEFINITELY lost a person I love (and was PROBABLY in love WITH) on 9/3.
That’s a link to a music video for a song for which I find fitting for the above.
I ALSO haven’t been writing my book and/or writing my blog and/or writing ANYTHING WORTH ANYTHING AT ALL for some time now…
Except for this.
WHAT the ACTUALLY fuck?!
I’m depressed. And I can’t deal with ANYTHING right now.
I look at my phone when I wake up — and THEN??? I feel even MORE dead inside.
I ALSO sulk at the number of (triple digit) men asking me per day — BECAUSE I ALWAYS THOUGHT MY BREAK-UP WITH THE LOVE OF MY LIFE — would end in a RETURN.
I’ll never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever EVER — have the ability — nor capacity — to get over, (let’s call him “Gar”, though I’m certain it doesn’t matter).
So, I’m acting out. Spiraling status = ⤵️
I AM, however, working on a project that I think will perfectly compliment my first book so well that perhaps they can be released at the same time.
I don’t care. I just want to be published by NOT myself.
I KNOW I can’t be with Gar. Because apparently, the love of my life, Gar, CAN’T or WON’T be with me.
Sorry for my inexplicably and annoyingly random desire to write this.
Cheers to TCW. I’ll miss you all the time.
“You know, I used to think that you were the best thing that ever happened to me, but now I think that you might maybe be the worst thing and I’m sorry that I ever met you.”
– Silver Linings Playbook
I imagine on what would have been our 6 year Anniversary today, if he actually ever thought about me, which I’m certain he doesn’t, G-unit would be thinking something similar to the words of that quote.
R.I.P. the only relationship I ever actually believed would make it.
No matter how many dates I go on — or how much I interact with any of the 300-3,500 guys on EVERY given day doing WHATEVER they CAN to be with me — it unfortunately doesn’t keep G-Unit away.
I feel like fucking Bella in “New Moon” when she aches for Edward and looks thinner than ever and starts doing destructive shit in order to get him out of her mind and/or bring him back.
I’m also really sick of people telling me that I can’t think in “what if’s?” and “maybes.” YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE! AND YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I NEED. SO STOP.
I’m giving myself the gift of dreaming about saving my relationship if I only had any idea what was going on with my body, my mind, and every other fucking part of my fucking daily life three or four years ago.
You don’t know what it’s like.
Maybe I would have remembered things better.
Maybe my inability to “get going” would have been understood if not forgiven.
Maybe my need to rest or sleep wouldn’t have solely been blamed on my depression.
Maybe I’d have been able to get a healthy job.
What if I hadn’t needed to self medicate?
What if knowing I had Fibromyalgia changed things that were previously misunderstood AND so frustrating that there was no coming back from them after awhile?
What if I had been diagnosed sooner than just about a year ago, after it was too late, and had been treated correctly years earlier than I was?
What if I hadn’t taken his support through everything for granted?
What if he hadn’t broken up with me/left me one day before our 5th Anniversary. (Flowers ARE expensive after all when your girlfriend is your best florist.)
I’m just going to repeat something real quick: I’m really sick of people telling me that I can’t think in “what if’s?” and “maybes.” YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE! AND YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I NEED. SO STOP.
No matter what, I love and miss you Gar Bear, and I
hope know you’re killin’ it — handling your bars♥️
On a completely different note…every member of my family has now expressed that they rather I were gone.
And an unwanted burden.
I mean Hillary, (that’s my sister by birth), flat out told me I am dead to her.
Hard to come back from that.
So, in that vein, it’s good Summer’s ending.
I guess I’m embarrassing because I tell the truth. The truth here. The truth in my writing. And the truth in the book I’m working on, where I play the villain.
Sorry I’m such a disappointment, Mom.
But I’m not embarassed by my mental illness and they shouldn’t be embarrassed by me either.
I’m a person.
I’m hurting, physically, every second of every day. And I’m hurting mentally, more than I can flat out say.
I hope everyone reading this has a significant other, family, family member, or anyone else, who loves them, and wants to be around them.
This endless list of John Does I’m dating is empty and meaningless.
But maybe that won’t be forever.
“It’s not your home so you should get all your shit out!!!!!!!”
That’s what I want to say to my Fibromyalgia.
I was just reading one of the many forums I belong to for support, and everyone was commenting on and connecting about how our sex lives have changed due to Fibro.
“What sex life?”
There is also a lot of guilt for those of us it affects because of how it affects or had affected our relationships, sometimes tearing them apart.
TMI trigger warning: after a year and a half of telling me it didn’t matter to him, my ex told me he needed sex or the relationship wouldn’t be worth it anymore. Since I couldn’t promise that to him, and I hadn’t even been properly diagnosed yet, that was effectively the literal breaking point.
So, about nine months later, I went shopping. And took this picture of myself. I like the picture, and I like my Converse. I’m pretty sure I noticed for the first time that I lost weight.
I reentered the dating scene with a vengeance. I have talked about some of that, I think, in prior posts. But the one thing I really can’t get over is this double standard of bullshit that exists.
The men I’ve met:
It’s that last one that is killing me.
I classically enter abusive relationships. They’re not always physically abusive. But they ARE almost ALWAYS psychologically abusive.
Apparently I haven’t learned much after being out of commission for eleven months. I had wanted to take my self-care extremely seriously and to give myself time to heal as a person before jumping back into that dating pool.
And I can get dates, I’ve learned. I can get a ton of dates. Literally over 2,000 dates, and growing.
But, what do I do when the guy I am the most interested in (so I give in to his requirements) not only has me eating out of his dog’s bowl begging for more (while he’s insisting we don’t know each other very well so we should “keep it light”) loses his fucking mind? When he starts changing the words I say to start some kind of fight? When he tells me I’m doing something I’m not actually doing? When he literally tells me to “get out” of his place mid-conversation because he’s decided he’s done with me in that moment and that his needs are more important than mine? And finally, when he tells me that he won’t get tested for STIs even though he wants to have sex because the last thing that he has to hold on to shit about his ex is that she maybe didn’t cheat on him.
Newsflash: you can both be cheated on AND still not get STIs.
None of that sounded extremely healthy to me.
But Jesus Christ.
That’s where I was.
Falling. Too fast. Too hard.
There’s obviously something about him that I really didn’t want to let go of, but maybe I should have much sooner.
I universally idealize the men I date to the point where I’m then idolizing them. I know I do this. I want to be wanted so badly, that I give up vast parts of myself in order to keep partners around. I play the guessing game.
I’m supposed to be in my friend’s wedding in just over a week. I tried on all of these dresses, and now the one I picked doesn’t fit because I lost some weight. Ok. A lot of weight, for two months.
My friend called me fat. So I stopped eating. I don’t enjoy eating anyway. I also stopped caring about myself for awhile. So. Yeah.
Plus, also, I can’t deal with my Fibro right now.
Let’s call this guy I was most interested in, “Binny.” Binny was supposed to come to the wedding with me. He said he would. He claimed he’d help me get through it regarding my Fibro problems. The idea of him being there even gave me hope that I could actually do it without too much stress.
But he fucked it up.
I have another post coming very soon. It’s my commentary on how internet dating has changed since I’d been online dating ten years ago.
It got different. Almost overnight. Like Binny became a totally different person.
He went from asking me to send him texts all night long while he was sleeping (he goes to bed early for the only respectable job he’s ever had, and I am always up late) and all day while he was at work so he would have something to look forward to reading, to, asking me if I ACTUALLY felt that sending him 25+ texts without a response was “appropriate.”
What the actual fuck?! He literally flipped the switch on EVERYTHING. And I have dealt with gaslighting before, but Binny was the King of the strategy of making one (me) feel absolutely insane.
I really don’t know why I can’t get him out of my head. I REALLY fell for him. Well, I guess I really fell for the idea of him.
In the beginning, he told me things I’ve heard so many times before.
He cited to me the reasons that I’m amazing.
The ones who I can never seem to “keep” are the ones that fall the hardest for me the fastest. And I knew once I realized he had, it would never last.
It’s really like these guys can’t believe I care about them so they start to treat me like garbage to level the playing field, except I never see it coming until it’s too late. Way, way too late.
Binny vaped. Guess what I do now. I vape. Do you think that’s healthy behavior? I don’t.
But, I also don’t give a fuck anymore.
That’s where I am.
I don’t give a fuck.
For the record, I don’t think this is a good place for me to be.
So, that’s happening.
You win, world.
I was trying.
To grasp onto something.
Believe in someone.
Trust that something could go right.
A thing can fade quickly.
And that’s okay.
Except I’M always THAT THING.
He said he felt sad that I had originally had such horrible sex, but he’s an idiot. An OAR concert gets to me in a way no sex ever could.
I’m not saying sex sucks.
I’m not even saying I’ve ever had bad sex.
I’m saying I probably shouldn’t have compared the two. 🤣🤣🤣
It’s, essentially, a testament to the band, that if I had to choose between enjoyable sex and any time they play, I’d take the concert every single time.
In a previous post I mentioned I really didn’t take many pictures except with my friends prior to OAR coming onstage:
Aaaaaaand the video above the above picture is the only video I took that day (which is not visual perfection) because there, alone — I was just rocking the eff out — didn’t care who thought I was a dork, nothing, just happy to be with my favorite band and their amazing fans!
I was out, enjoying ME, (as much as my Fibro allowed).
Also in the news of my life…😎🤣🤗😊😘😍🥰…
Sunday, June 23rd, I met a man who wouldn’t be the worst guy to marry. Or maybe not. I’m wrong all the time.
I opened up my heart to new opportunities.
I went on some very bad dates. I enjoyed them for the most part (because even the bad ones were hilarious), but at the end of the day/night/whatever you call it, last Sunday’s was hands down the best I’ve had in six years.
But I also met another guy who I have so much in common with and am happy to be spending time with. And maybe he’s why I’m wrong in the long run about the above mentioned date. Maybe I met the guy I’m going to marry on June 29th.🌜🌛🤷
I know I’m doing things the way that is honest and good. But I did get the best hug tonight. And human contact, and good hugs, are so freaking great, right?!
Segues are weird.
These are the lyrics to O.A.R.’s song “All Because of You” (which they did not play during the June 6th show but the song IS on their new album, The Mighty): the lyrics will be in italics and my thoughts will not be in italics.
🎶Take, take, take the little moment
Don’t, don‘t, don’t forget to hold ’em
Stay, stay, stay a little longer – take a moment to appreciate what you have with your significant other, holding your SO means a lot and it’s worth spending time on, don’t be so eager to leave
OR maybe the song’s just about how music is amazing, brings everyone together, and helps the world heal.
I just think it’s super romantic, and, after dissecting it so succinctly, I realize I’d have to write an essay about it to really do it justice.
I’m in trouble. I feel a storm brewing inside me, and it’s going to be something.
When I listened to this song the first twenty times I basically decided it was amazing and then beyond amazing and then wanted to dissect them because I want to probably make this my wedding song. Until they come out with their next and this my next favorite song.
Happy Birthday to me!!!!!!! I’m officially 34 years young today!
I’ve been having a really amazing upswing since last week. I hope it keeps going!!! I’m feeling so optimistic!
Last night I went on my first date in six years. Let THAT sink in for a second.
He wasn’t Adam Driver, but, hey, nobody’s perfect.
(If you know anyone who looks exactly like that and is single please let me know ASAP because I would truly yield to everything for all of him.)
It was fantastic. Another guy who was basically worshipping me after everything I’ve been through in the past few years? Yes, please, and thank you. He even was great with my Fibro pain.
Except — who goes out on Mondays? 😉 (It’s a reference to a Chainsmokers song if you didn’t get that.)
He was good looking. He had a stupidly-over-the-top car which always makes me think someone is overcompensating for a PERSONALITY trait.
I’m talking to several guys right now — as it goes with dating apps.
I needed to move way beyond Voldemort. Oh…shoot. I mean He Who Shall Never Be Named Again.
Right now it’s raining outside and it sounds and smells amazing. That means my plants and flowers are being watered.
Random. I know.
I’m owning it today. I don’t think I’ve had a “meaningful” feeling-good-about-it birthday since my sweet sixteen.
I’m not complaining. I’m just telling the truth. None of my friends have EVER thrown me a party or even asked what I might like to do to celebrate, or have taken me out to acknowledge the occasion. Again, not complaining, but I can’t say I’m not disappointed.
But! My best friend sent me this gorgeous floral arrangement with the sweetest note and it made me cry. It was such a thoughtful gesture, and to be thought of, on any occasion — but especially remembered of my birthday — is SO special and amazing. I love you 🍌— ❤️😘💛 — you’re truly the sister I’ve never had.
So I went on this date, and I’ve never felt more confident or in control going into a date in my life.
Because now I know.
Now I know what I will and will not accept.
Now I know what I will and will not tolerate.
Now I know what I’m looking for: family = a happy life ABOVE one’s career.
Now I know I’m my best self.
Now I respect myself.
Now I’m not eff-ed up about my Dad like I was when he died six years ago.
Now I am old enough to decide whether I’m going to go back to my date’s condo the first time I meet him or not — (I didn’t.)
Now I am sure enough with myself to allow myself to kiss on a first date BUT ONLY IF I WANT TO — (I did).
Now, I’m understanding that my looks and personality attract a DIFFERENT potential mate who called me WHILE I was driving to THIS first date to tell me he wasn’t nervous because he knew he’d “win” [me]. (Hot, but only because I’m attracted to this other guy.)
Guys are literally begging for my time.
AND, I’m being 100% honest about everything that I wasn’t ready to be honest about with HWSNBNA. (And that’s not his fault.)
But not only did the guy I think I’m the most interested in text me during the date…but the guy I went on the date with was texting then calling me as soon as he got home.
This shorty got game, y’all!
Happy Birthday to me!!!!!
I feel AMAZING!
Thank you to everyone who has given me support during this time and encouraged me to get back out there.
I love you all ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰😘😘😘😘😘🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶 it’s “All Because of You.”
As my 34th birthday approaches I’ve been thinking about how stagnant I’ve been feeling. That is…until last week.
I’ve been going out alone a lot. I’ve been meeting new people. I’ve been cementing old relationships. I’ve been trying really hard to figure “it” out.
“It” can’t be figured out. (Just ask Stephen King…am I right?) So I stopped thinking so dratting much and started doing. Just doing and doing and doing.
It looks good on me y’all.
I’m going to stop thinking so much about good-griefing EVERYTHING for awhile and see how that crapola goes.
Happy — whatever day you’re reading this — day!
This a post about how people need to get woke when it comes to me 🤣✌️ I am one of millions of people who live with — and get treatment for — mental illness. I have Major Depressive Disorder, but more prominently, I have nearly EVERY type of Anxiety that EXISTS.
For all of my diagnosed Anxiety Disorders, I have medication, therapy, and coping mechanisms — all common, among other treatments for those of us with Anxiety Disorders.
One way I cope is with distraction.
Distraction currently helps me more than any other thing when I’m “thinking myself into insanity,” which IS a phrase I just made up, but it’s an accurate description.
Unfortunately for future generations, (handwriting matters, kids), but fortunately for me, it’s very easy to find an immediate distraction basically everywhere these days. That, also, however, has enhanced my distraction level to Threat Level Midnight.
My obsessiveness is strongly attracted to comedy.
And — because of my anxious perspective on everything, I’m often judged for my obsessions.
At least until I can finally convince everyone possible that I’m actually a genius 🎉🤣.
I’ve been writing out the word, “okay” for many years now, and then I watched Silver Linings Playbook for the 729th time (I promise this is relevant to the theme of this post and not just another plug for that being one of the best movies ever — and I am reading the book it’s based off of for those of you wondering) — and asked my Mom if the story about where the phrase “OK” comes from is true (because fuck googling shit myself; that’s what a librarian is for!/THANK YOU MOMMY) and she confirmed it is a correct origin story and so now, I always write “OK” because I feel it is the most grammatically correct in origin.
I am an incredibly OBSESSIVE person about pretty much every single thing I do in my life.
This makes me feel alone, all of the time.
I’m SO observant that I can’t ever shut it off, which causes me to do “things” to alleviate hearing the little voice in my head on repeat saying “do it BETTER, you’re a waste of life!”
Though I know I’m actually not.
ENTER the FIRST crutch/lifesaver/distraction that worked in helping me NOT turn to self harm:
“Will Turner: This is either madness…or brilliance.
Jack Sparrow: It’s remarkable how often those two traits coincide.”
– Pirates of the Caribbean Curse of the Black Pearl
Flash forward to my early thirties and Rick and Morty and I are introduced.
It’s interesting that my two favorite distractions are high functioning alcoholics who have more knowledge than they’re comfortable with and more feelings than they can handle.
Story time y’all!!!🤗🤔🧐😬🤭🤯😱😈👿😇 Shout out to my fellow humans with mental illness(es) who ARE able to (eff you, insanely expensive health insurance and co-pays) and therefore ARE getting help.
Once upon a time, when I was about to graduate from high school, I had a bunch of life situations PLUS chemical imbalances that cause(d) me to be properly medicated by professionals.
I said to my Mom at the ripe age of eighteen, “Mom, if you don’t take me to get help, I think I’m going to kill myself.”
And the next day, she made the appointments, because she was, and has been, and always will be, the best Mom EVER, to me.
Also, when I was eighteen, I saw the movie Pirates of the Caribbean Curse of the Black Pearl, for the first time. And then eight times in theaters after that, and then hundreds and hundreds and HUNDREDS of times on DVD after that. It was THE ONLY thing that grounded me and allowed me to get through my life during that time…Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow lived the life I wanted to live — I needed to live — I’m STILL trying to live.
And if you think this is unimportant, understand that it’s Canon to my existence. To this day I am surprised at how much I wanted a permanent tattoo that I could look at whenever I wanted/needed to which is highly visible, and directly inspires me, and reminds me to be a better, truer, version of myself — it’s EVERYTHING.
I have a slight bruise on it right now because I’ve been doing way more than is appropriate or acceptable for my pain levels — BUT I have a secret for you: life’s not fair. Boom. Roasted.
Peep my tatt!
So whenever I look down at my normally unbruised forearm, I remember what I’m trying to do with my life — obstacles be damned.
It stands for everything I need because it is the EXACT replica of the tattoo Johnny Depp got himself AFTER starring in “Pirates,” AND because of that it feels…correct.
It stands for the character, Captain Jack Sparrow.
It stands for being myself unapologetically.
To be as good as you can, but break some rules.
Do what is best.
Let people think you’re a legend in some way, for some reason.
Treat everyone well if you can.
ALWAYS be looking for the Horizon.
ALWAYS expect that my friends will have my back.
ALWAYS navigate whatever the fuck life hands you, and keep the MOST positive attitude you possibly can about all of it.
BE one step ahead of everything you possibly can.
Appreciate the possibilities of everything that’s NEVER been done, or explored, or conquered (those waves and our Sun connecting to the Horizon).
Be as free as a Sparrow.
And if people don’t like me? — then that’s on them.
“This is the day you will always remember as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow.”
– Pirates of the Caribbean Curse of the Black Pearl
“I’m dishonest, and a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly. It’s the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they’re going to do something incredibly…stupid.”
– Pirates of the Caribbean Curse of the Black Pearl
To “take what you can — give nothing back!” – Pirates of the Caribbean Curse of the Black Pearl
(Gary and I used to take shots of apple cider vinegar and say the above beforehand because talk about gross 😝🤢🥵! But it made him laugh and it made me happy. THAT’S how I roll with ish.)
The point is, I HAVE to have the confidence to unapologetically “do me” while being and believing that I’m a good person.
Fast forward to now, through a whole bunch of crazy changes that I credit to both of my parents for navigating through — and driving me — wherever, whenever — and protecting me in every way possible and +++++++++++ etc. — and — I’m still in therapy and on medication to control what needs to be controlled.
I want to say to everyone who suggested that I “get help” or “get more help” or “get better help” or to quote that member of “my [ex Church],” DIRECTLY, “get the help you so desperately need,” — ***YOU’RE*** not paying attention.
I DO get help — regularly.
This is me with help. So in my traditional fashion: eff you for judging me, a-hole.
You should NOT assume you know my life and what I do in a day — BECAUSE YOU DON’T — and what’s worse — you haven’t even asked.
So here we are, folks.
So, Rick and Morty.
Rick and Morty is another Pirates of the Caribbean Curse of the Black Pearl for me.
I didn’t know what Rick and Morty was until Gary tried to convert me. He showed me some clips from various episodes, and I was so unimpressed initially! But then it became my new Pirates.
As in, I watch it so constantly and obsessively that I feel embarrassed to admit the extent of my obsession.
And it’s a pretty rough show in terms of believing in ANYTHING other than nihilism (which I understand is a sentence that is inherently contradictory). There’s lots of violence, cursing, and dark humor. But I relate to the ideas expressed in the show on a very deep level.
I’m a dark person inside with a very dark mind and an even darker sense of humor.
I often listen to the commentary all day long as I take care of business. Business is writing, for the most part, with a little coloring to boot.
I will watch the same episode over and over and over and over again.
The reason I titled this post as I did — is because during one of the above mentioned commentary episodes — Dan Harmon (also of the show Community if you don’t know) specifically says that it is quite important to him that fans of Rick and Morty know that he doesn’t think it’s bad or weird or anything like that if they want to obsess over the show — that those of us who do — shouldn’t feel shame or judged (which is really effing nice to hear for a change).
Dan Harmon says in the season two, episode two commentary track, “I have always felt it’s very important to send the message, whenever you can, to viewers, that they shouldn’t be ashamed of themselves to the extent they want to obsess about your show. It’s like, well, we work on it all day and all night too. If you want to, as a viewer, wanna obsess about it, like, you can. Like, we’re never gonna say to you, ‘you’re stupid, it’s just a show.'”
So — I now feel justified in my obsession.
So I won’t be ashamed of this:
So there you go! Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much proof.
Basically, now I feel just a little bit more OK.
In conclusion, my point is that my anxiety breeds obsession, which can be a healthy way to distract someone (me) whose anxiety is crippling them (me). I am no longer ashamed of my obsessions because they help me in ways that are so much less dangerous than the ways I used to choose.
And since I’ve heard that FINALLY at least one more human (Dan Harmon) unapologetically allows for obsession, I feel vindicated, less insane, and OK.
So, please STOP suggesting I need to get “help.”
You don’t know my life any more than I know yours.
Think about how you’d feel if someone said to you what you’re saying to me.
In the spirit of being a bridge burner, (my speciality), you’re beyond rude, (AND — INCREDIBLY insulting) at best.
A question about whether I’m getting help or not is still intrusive, but I’ll take it to the alternative suggestion that I should (when I already do).
Sooooooooooo, shut up — OR — be better!!! 😘😇
If we all stopped judging each other and trying to “fix” or change each other I think things would be better in general.
Food for thought.
Finally, my Mom has been wearing a friendship bracelet every single day that I gave to her because she’s the best Good Griefing Mom in the whole Dratting world.
I know people say this a lot to other people when someone close to them dies, but I think the older you get, the more you really do live the whole, “hug your parent(s) tight tonight if you’re lucky enough to still have them,” thing.
Pretty much the exact speech J.K. Simmons gave when he won the Oscar for Whiplash.
✌️ and ♥️ to ALL!
Something AMAZING happened.
As soon as I wrote my last post about my ex, Gary, I felt better. Well, like I said, I also reached out to him to no avail which also helped, I’m sure, but mainly I think I’m done fighting for “this” alone.
And actually, it feels so silly upon reflection.
Not like in a, “write a letter but don’t send it” kind of way, because I’ve essentially been doing that for months.
But in a, “Dude. What you are saying to yourself is ridiculous. He’s only one guy,” way.
In a, I’ll never stop fighting for my dreams, ESPECIALLY, at such a critical point, way.
In a, there’s a reason the guy at (________ <— store name here) spends as much time with me as possible when I go in and maybe it’s time to stop acting uninterested, way.
In a, there’s a reason why a small group hangs out with me after every class, and then a specific guy hangs back even after that to speak with me alone even longer, way.
In a, I look really good these days according to everyone in my life so BELIEVE IT and feel good about my body and beauty for a change, way.
In a, smack smack SMACK (third one for good measure) across my own face for even thinking of giving up what I NEVER would have before, way.
In a, I’m FINALLY free from something that kept me in a self-loathing prison, and maybe being away from Gary isn’t a coincidence, way.
In a, I realize I’m healthy enough to surrender to love while recognizing that’s something Gary could never do for me, way.
In a, I have put it out into the universe enough now, and I’m just going to stop caring and start throwing his stuff out because I have NO place in my life OR my heart for it ANYMORE, way.
In a, I won’t keep doing this to myself, way.
In a, I deserve what I want just as much as anyone else so I’m putting down that past and racing toward making those goals happen, way.
✌️ and ❤️ to ALL!
I’m lovesick. It hurts. I’ve tried. There’s no getting over it this time.
Mother’s Day is a difficult day for, like, almost everyone I know.
Segues are weird.
My two best friends lost their Mothers tragically, and not long ago, and I ache for them both on this day.
My Mom lost her Mom at eighteen.
A close friend and one of my heroes lol lost her Mom this year to Parkinson’s.
Someone I volunteered with at the Rape Crisis Center — back in the day — had no less than five miscarriages. Once, she delivered a baby to term, only to have it die from SIDS three days later.
My Godmother abandoned her station (read: me — she abandoned me) this year because I asked her publicly to stop saying things to me like, “stop throwing yourself a pity party.”
I have fucking Fibromyalgia+++++. It’s hard not to complain and be angry, even on a good day. You know, the days I can walk. It’s not a fucking game.
I’m tired of placating her backwards-thinking-ignorant-of-anyone-else’s-situation ENTIRE immediate family’s views on EVERYTHING anyway. It’s a full time job in and of itself. (Again, don’t be an asshole if you don’t want me to call you an asshole.) I’m NOT my Mom. I can’t always be the nicest quietest person in the room. I can be that person. But not even close to always. Sometimes, if I’m going through it, and you push me too far, I just stop giving a fuck.
I know I could be better.
But I’m not.
I’m just killing relationships left and right.
Don’t think that’s lost on me, oh haters who read this blog.
My brother has never really been into planning anything.
And when I called my sister last week, because I missed her, she told me she decided she wants me out of her life forever. Cooooooooooooooooool.
For the past five years, the love of my life (quotes gone now — as opposed to months ago — because it’s a fact that he is, I’ve realized) and I, celebrated both of our Mothers according to their schedules.
Gary. The love of my life.
Our first Mother’s Day celebration, (I think it was Mother’s Day), that we spent at his parents’ house, was a truly magical one. We were still in that honeymoon phase.
Thinking of that this year, the first time I can’t have it, breaks my heart twelve ways to Sunday. So Mother’s Day was a bit hard on my heart this year, to say the least.
I loved Gary so much.
That first year.
I still do. I never stopped. I just got stuck.
I think about him every single day. I write letters to him whenever I wish I could talk to him or tell him something. They’re all in a journal.
And maybe he hates me and I’ll never hear from him again.
THAT — would be really inconvenient because I still have so much of his stuff. He was going to come back for it. He said he’d be back for it. But he NEVER came back. So I have everything. (Including things, like, his deceased now(?) Grandfather’s hats.)
But mostly, it would break my heart FOREVER. Not in a hypothetical way.
In a, “maybe I’ll be lucky enough to stumble upon someone who gets me enough to build a life with, but I will always carry a huge emptiness inside,” way.
In a, I would literally do ANYTHING to make it work, way.
In a, willing to move to the city with him to accommodate his work schedule, way.
In a, taking all the blame for everything and signing a relationship “pre-nup,” way. (And that’s saying a lot because I’m a lawyer.)
I love him with everything I’ll ever have.
And I’m terrified it’s too late.
I even texted him today for the first time in months and months.
I didn’t get a response which is actually preferable to a “go away forever” response.
Maybe I’ll get that go away forever response eventually.
But for now: I hope.
So, for Mother’s Day this year, for the first time in my life, it was just my Mom and me.
And we probably had one of the nicest weekends a mother and daughter could have.
No family drama.
We kept it low key, but significant.
I put a lot of effort and thought into everything I did for her (as I try to do for everyone in my life) and she appreciated it all.
I am so sick right now.
My Fibro has kicked into overdrive. You don’t wanna know about it here.
But I gave two good full days to the weekend. I know I’ll be paying for it for days. I know, because I already am.
I have four important things I need to do today and I’m all out of 🥄s already. (Look it up if you’re curious; it’s a Fibro thing. My attempt to explain — would be terrible.)
I regret nothing.
Because I know I only have one Mom.
And I’m so lucky to have one who is 100% in my corner about EVERYTHING.
It’s no secret that O.A.R. is my favorite band. I have written about them a lot. They “recently” dropped a new album called, “The Mighty,” which is only ten songs long, but I love almost every single one, if not every single one, which is a rarity when it comes to me and albums.
But the title to this blog is from a song off that new album.
🎶All because of you 🎶
I took my Mom for a drive on Saturday and we listened to the album because it was gorgeous here. My Mom loves the band too, she always tells me when I have her listen. Now if only I could get her to a concert!
✌️ and ❤️ to ALL.
I think there are, like, stages of grief, but I’m too depressed to look it up.
I’ve been staying away from my posts because someone said something very hurtful to me and I was all stubborn about it since I have already confessed I have a lot of healing I need to figure out.
But, I won’t be shut down.
My Brother said something cruel. That’s all I’m going to say about what his actual words were.
When I responded to him that I was really hurt, he replied, “YEAH? WHY DON’T YOU GO BLOG ABOUT IT?”
Not cool, Bro.
Perhaps FAIR. Maybe I deserve that — after pointing fingers and making admittedly untoward exclamations about others in my now deleted but recent post.
But DEFINITELY not cool, Bro.
This space isn’t a joke. Those who take it as one, well, I guess you’re the bullies. I don’t know.
Writing is me, and hate comes and goes about it, but that’s just life.
FACT: My Brother really hurt me when he said that. I can’t stop replaying it in my head. Because, as I’ve written before, when someone says something to me, I believe him/her (at least initially), and if it’s something bad — well — it sucks. I’m hurt.
BETTER FACT: Oh my goodness — to all of you who have been mailing or handing me friendship bracelets since the now deleted post about my Sister!!!
^I am so freaking touched and I feel so incredibly loved! I felt so bad about myself for saying things that were true but hurtful to not just me, that I NEVER IMAGINED those of you who have sent me bracelets you MADE read a different story than the one I came to resent.
I’ve only put one (a beautiful blue one!) on so far (pain, hand, wrist, life problems abound), but I WILL try to post a picture of them all ASAP.
Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you so much for your time and consideration and love and notes.
^YOU have ALL helped me realize that haters are gonna hate, but we’re all just DOING OUR BEST, so thank you for understanding MY pain, AND helping me through it. I’ll NEVER forget your strength and support.
FACT: I am going to try my damnedest to STOP calling ANYONE a “bad Christian.”
Anyone who DOES THAT, is not only DEEPLY TROUBLED, but also just incredibly cruel — and — frankly, not someone who should be judging anyone, like EVER (including me here).
Like, get help, now. You’re not okay.
I shouldn’t have done it when I did, because it’s not for me to judge. I’ve repented and apologized, and asked for forgiveness, and I am at peace with that.
The. End. But.
^Shame on those of us who dared assert such a thing. Upon deep reflection I was truly shocked that I had stooped so awfully low that I dared judge others like that. No one should do that, in my opinion. Myself included, of course! I am ashamed I did.
I had this one person from “my Church,” tell me I was a “bad Christian.” 😆😅😂🤣!!!
I care just enough about “his” opinion to say all he does is use and/or hate on others, so I don’t respect him and barely regard him. Maybe he’s hurting, like me, so he hurts others? Not worth harping on, but my “bad Christian” self GAVE TO HIM, at my own expense, so I did nothing to him directly to deserve that in my opinion. Maybe he doesn’t know what I did for him. Maybe he’s just too blinded by attention to care.
But, just as I pray for all people in that Church, I’ll still pray for him. Oh! Just remembered. He’s the “minion” mentioned a few posts back. (Not worth looking for. TRUST.)
I may be done calling people bad Christians, but I’m not going to pretend people don’t hurt me.
I’ve been trying to say — if you don’t want me to write about you — don’t be shitty in front of me or toward me.
You’re literally giving me content to write about! Stop!
“My Church”, as a reminder, (means the Church I went to my entire life, SINCE BIRTH, until June 2018 when Pious Peter emailed me what qualifications I needed to earn as a member, sending me definitions of who qualified as a member as “proof,” cc-ing the wardens, and, even though I fell under each membership category for qualification, in a private conversation dismissed me from the Parish).
In summation, as I truly, honest to God, try to cleanse myself of posts that speak ill if others, I must say, he is, without a doubt, one of the worst people I have ever known.
And how he “preaches” there (I MUST use the term LOOSELY, because I’ve never learned anything from his meandering sermons. — See John Mulaney’s standup special, “Kid Gorgeous,” for an example of “Pious Peter’s time wasters.”) — I literally can’t even.
Not to mention, I’ve been on the Prayer List for months and months and months and he NEVER offers to come and give me Communion or visit me. He NEVER asks my Mom, who now, sits ALONE most Sundays, about me, though he knows I’m ill — and I know he visits other members of the Church. So what do I file that behavior under? He only cares about politics, and I’m disgusted by him. I know at least two other members who he has “cast out” who agree and are concerned about this behavior.
(I no longer feel comfortable, safe, or welcome in that space, thanks to a significant population of the Church, and I’m not healthy enough to get to that service).
I’m getting it all out.
Peace and Love. ✌️❤️
This is my plea for forgiveness.
I have to come to grips with my reality, AND I want to set the record straight before I let go.
I have been what I consider MY WORST self lately.
I’m not proud of me.
I’m not proud of what I’ve written. Dragging people’s names through the mud, so to speak.
I have deleted the post that I’ve gotten more hits on in the past 48+ hours than I have since the first time I wrote about my sister.
Of course she wasn’t the only person I attacked and blamed for what I described as terrible behavior in that post. It wasn’t a good look for me.
I feel sick about the traffic on my page due to that “Takedown Piece,” (see “The Newsroom,” for the reference).
After some not-to-be-taken-lightly thinking, I justified my actions by telling myself that MY out of character behavior was a direct result of the behavior of others.
But, regardless of my opinions of those people, regardless of their behavior, their actions, or otherwise, I forgot something.
I AM IN NO POSITION TO JUDGE ANYONE.
I wasn’t raised that way.
I wasn’t brought up to tear anyone else down.
I was brought up to be kind.
NO. MATTER. WHAT.
And my behavior as of late, has taken parts of myself I can’t, and won’t, ever get back.
I don’t feel sorry for myself.
I have never thrown myself a “pity party,” (though a number of relatives who I was finally honest with about their “Christian based” bigotry), might disagree.
And, perhaps, most importantly, I am not making excuses for myself.
To those I have hurt with my words, I deeply apologize. This is not a plea for your specific forgiveness. Even if you were willing to give it, I don’t want it. I will come to terms with my sins when I meet my death.
Gary truly made me a better person when he was around because he spoke the truth, for better or for worse. He world tell me, “eff that person,” or, “you’re too hard on that person.”
One thing. I had to saw apart this GORGEOUS shelf we made together, in order to move to be with my baby kittwins. From this:
Ouch. That really hurt. So that’s a thing that happened. Anyway.
I judge people. We all do. It’s part of our socialization.
I’m not saying whether it’s right or wrong.
I don’t think anyone can help it. (But I do think the torture of law school makes that judgment “gene”(?!?!?!) harder to fight, urging us to become self-righteous vigilantes).
But I’m going to leave that “job” to anyone else right now.
All that being said:
I am truly, most sincerely, sorry for any words I’ve said or actions I’ve taken that have hurt other people, especially anyone alluded to, specifically, in my blog.
This blog was supposed to be my story. I thought I was being true to that.
But now? I believe I was truly behaving aggressively toward others I love and care about (rapists I mentioned along the way excluded).
Many months ago, I was told by several people to “put my oxygen mask first,” you know, that allusion to ✈️ turbulance…imminent death…the cast of “LOST.”
I think that I took that advice way too far.
I warped it to mean, “say exactly what you think, consequences be damned, choose you first, forget what you’ve done before, take the reigns and go.”
I allowed myself to be SO selfish, that I lost myself.
Like, REALLY lost myself.
And I have to cope with that. I hope I can.
Yes, I am deeply suffering.
But, I’ve gotten off track, and it’s time to correct my course.
So I’ll go back to telling MY story. NOT those of others.
Obviously, I don’t live in a vacuum. People will come up in my narrative.
But I’m done calling people out. (I hope.) And I really want to change back to being a person I’m proud of after all.
Do I have excuses? Absolutely? Will I share those excuses? Absolutely. But do any of them justify what I’ve done?
I don’t think so.
But I won’t judge you if you do.
PART II is next.
Oh, change the “n” in “loner” to an “s.” That’s better.
I made a promise to myself that I would be candid and honest in this space. If I cannot be honest in my writing, where can I be? Besides — I truly do believe that pretending everything is one way — when it’s actually another — causes a lot of problems.
That doesn’t mean everything sucks, or is scandalous. It’s just — true.
Full disclosure, I AM a loner. Big time. My entire life I’ve simultaneously wanted to be left completely alone, while ALSO wanting to be SURROUNDED by friends and family and people who love me so I can talk and talk and talk forever.
I have almost no luck with the second part.
I do this thing.
I’ve nick-named it “The All or Nothing Paradox.”
(I’m too afraid to “Google” that to see if it’s actually already “a thing.”)
What it means to me, though, is pretty much self-explanatory. I want everyone, and I want no one. There is NO “in between.”
In fact, I’ve been known to go through these kind of “purging” experiences with friend circles.
Part of it stems from never feeling like I fit in.
And part of it stems from my being paranoid constantly, not to mention insecure.
But — basically, after something happens within a group I’ve been friends with that I don’t like, (usually something I do), or I something happens in that group that I can’t change, or something happens that I’m embarrassed by, I tend to bizz-ounce.
And. I cannot be alone.
And I have praised living alone. But I’ve decided, not only did I absolutely NEED that at the time I experienced it, but I also really need to NOT be doing that anymore. I CAN’T do it.
I moved so I could live with my baby boys. My kittwins. I can live with these loves of my life now. And my baby boy is sick. But he’s letting me pamper him now, Which I like, but I also hate, because Peyton isn’t a cat I’ve been able to “catch”….until now.
Look at this love:
He’s my little Playboy.
I love my Eli too! I’m grateful he’s so healthy:
Don’t talk to me about lighting. They are sleeping cats. Grow up. 😇
Also, this^ is, is my jam.
Do with that pun what you think I’d want you to do.
A Church member commented, “Wow,” on my post regarding the Church stuff I said. This member is SO INTO the family of the dude I called out. I’m sticking to it.
“Wow,” is right.
I said something that someone told me, perhaps expecting it work never be repeated.
But he didn’t say that.
“Aw, Sum Sum. Nooooooo.” As Rick said in Season 3 Episode 2.
So now — people are on notice: don’t say things of that nature to me.
Don’t gossip about things like, “isn’t it CRAZY that this person is dead and probably killed himself and I have to be the first to tell everyone because I get off on it?!” DON’T DO THAT. Then we’d be cool.
I am not scared of your minion writing, “Wow.”
I do, though, miss Gary. Because I’m watching “Rick and Morty,” and Peyton’s dying. And at 4:30 today when I had MINUTES to get to the Post Office — my car’s battery died. So I had to wait for AAA. (Thank God I made it!!!!!!!!!) But $164.13 later, I have a new battery and MORE bad than I can handle:
It made me sad that the AAA guy was IMPRESSED that I knew how to “pop the hood.” SO sad.
But alas, everything worked out. Except of course for the people who hate me hating me, and Peyton dying, and my very desperately needing a job.
But! My best friend is engaged and getting married!!!!!! 🥰😘🤩❤️💕💖🎉🐾 And my other best friend is about to have a baby!!!!!!!! OMG!!!!! 🐣🤱🍼🥰👩❤️💋👩💝💞😍💗 And my other best friend is moving back from Michigan to New Jersey in JJJJUUUUULLLLLLYYYY!!!!!!!!!! 🌞🎉😁🤠🙋❤️🥰👩❤️💋👩💒💞😍
So. Monitoring Peyton and my cup of noodles await. And. So. Much. Sugar.
You have to be really careful with a razor
You have to be able to cut just right
Too deep, and your secret pleasure could become an accidental emergency
Too surface level, and what’s the point?
I made a red portrait
It wasn’t created through my smeared blood
My boyfriend begged me and begged me to tell him what I wrote in the portrait
But I was hungry, and tired of explaining my truth
But you know you’re on the right track when you can peel a tissue off the blood without reopening the cut into messiness
How many will you endure tonight?
As many as it takes, bitch
Because you own that shit
🎶 Don’t you ever try to judge me, dude
You don’t know what the fuck I’ve been through 🎶
Your feet are your best weapon
No one will look there
Just as no man will check what you hide under tampons in your bag as you go through security
This information is for your safety, not to abuse
You love someone
Until forever collapses like a mine
Everyone involved is trapped
And recovery is brutal
Then an unexpected twist in your privileged world
Someone you know is dying
Don’t talk about “it”
“It” upsets your Mom when they say “it” out loud
But you get it
We’re all dying
Relatives screaming, “how dare you not appreciate what you have — why must you host a pity party?”
Your reaction will cut ties, I have just learned
I miss G-unit rubbing my neck
He’d touch every muscle and it would be excruciating
But neither of you knew that
Your body screaming in protest while hoping for more
Who’s “The Joker” now?
Why. So. Serious?
If only he’d known
If only you’d known
Maybe the pain could have subsided and accounted for
But being misguided for years?
Being misdiagnosed for years?
Who can endure that?
Not him. Not your Protector. Not the one you BELIEVED this time
For better or worse, until death did you part
You must continue the pain now
It’s not for attention
“Man up,” now
You can take “it”
Society wants you to be sick
Society wants your guilt to fester
Think of all of the jobs you’re keeping alive!
Think of all the people you’re helping by being sick!
Most people don’t believe your illness is real
And most people ask you why you can’t work when you look, sound, and appear, “fine”
I fall asleep now an hour at a time
Always waking up, reaching for something
Know your role
And accept that I know mine.
The love of my life is gay.
The second love of my life is dying…
…but only because we all are.
The third love of my life is also dying.
I know he’s a cat, but he’s MY cat. He’s just under twelve years old. He’s been through so much with me. Let’s go through the bad things I can recall at this moment, in no particular order, since that’s what we’re here for, right?
I used to LOVE this time of year; the week after Daylight Savings Time used to bring me instant joy in the form of more light than dark in the evening.
I, probably like many people, enjoy the lengthier daylight.
The night can be scary. So scary. For so many reasons.
Last night I slept selfishly.
Protecting my baby boy has become priority number one for me.
If that means keeping two to three other cats away throughout the night, then that’s what it means. (That’s what it means.)
I mean, look at him:
So I don’t sleep much these days.
For his death.
Oh. And. My ex’s Mom texted me this weekend (on her birthday). It really messed me up. How much can a person take?
I have a feeling I’m about to find out.
I hate that I can’t read at night
Because I’m not reading you to sleep
I hate that I’m wearing your old shirt
It looked much better on you
I hate that I want to tell you every single thing I know you’d find interesting, funny, or “so us”
Since you couldn’t reach me anymore if you tried
I hate seeing your name on mail
Which is not my fault you’ll never see
I hate how much I hate you
Because of course that means I’m not out of love
I hate that you were everything
Except for when you weren’t
I hate that I know better
Than to bark back up that tree
I hate that you can’t hear your voice through my writing
Because I think you’d forgive me a little more than you’d want to
I hate when I write through your eyes
Knowing the tears you’d cry when I did
I hate that I can’t remember
What it felt like to feel you
I hate how many times a day I call myself stupid
Something you really made me believe
I hate that you lied in every card, during every hug, and throughout every night
You almost killed my voice
I hate that I feel helpless
Though I know it’s not the truth
I hate that I let you train me
Like the broken animal I was
I hate that I can’t cry, and I really hate that I can’t stop
But mostly I hate the thoughts of you
Because I don’t hate that I’m not wrong
In every way you used to see
Because of >__________<(reasons), I cannot stop thinking about my ex. It’s been at least six months since our five year union (longer than some marriages!) ended. But I still miss him every day.
Aside from, “check your mailbox [for the apartment keys],” the last words I received from him were, “leave me alone.”
I am taking him at his word.
I thanked him for FINALLY returning the keys AND bid him adieu in my reply message telling him all I was trying to do was leave him alone after I got my keys back.
I am keeping my word.
No contact since then.
I would ask all of my male friends, “he really means he wants me to leave him alone for good, right?” But, I know the answer.
So I guess I _____ here, alone, thinking about him way too much, and missing the way it used to be.
Thanks a lot, Matt Nathanson.
“Used to be,” is my every moment.
I have a lot of things going for me right now. But making myself happy by making my mate happy isn’t one of them. We REALLY can’t have it all.