Category Archives: Uncategorized

I Miss My Dad And It Never Gets Easier/I Guess I’m Training To Argue

All Black Lives Matter!
INCLUDING LGBTQIA++ Black Lives
I’m compelled to add the second statement above due to some truly ugly oppressive posts I’ve seen so far this month.
It’s pride month.
AND Black Lives should ALWAYS Matter.
Just like LGBTQIA++ Lives should ALWAYS matter.

But, INCLUSIVITY, among other things, is the GOAL.
EXCLUSIVITY is at least part of the PROBLEM.
I’m SO against drawing lines, going so far as to say the LGBTQIA++ community is attempting to hijack the Black Lives Matter movement.
I see the opposite. The way I’ve seen some Black Lives I know make statements like that, particularly this past week, is sickening.

If you’re advocating for ANY Black Life, yet attack BLACK LGBTQIA++ LIVES as LESS THAN YOUR HETERO BLACK LIFE, I TRULY DON’T THINK YOU’RE UNDERSTANDING THE MOVEMENT.

I’m just a pissed off white girl sick of white cops killing Black Lives….Among a lot of other atrocious things that are happening.

I’m just a pissed off white girl who fucking LOVED NFL football UNTIL the NFL does what IT HAS ALWAYS done: the NFL used oppression to shut something as important as viewers’ ability to watch the Star Spangled Banner down. Because the people who give money were unhappy.

I continue to boycott watching the NFL and the NFL itself because of what happened TO Colin Kaepernick. I never cared too much for him as a player, but he blew me the fuck away protesting respectfully as he did.

He’s sure not the only one kneeling with his fist up now though is he? (Technically he was never alone in that, it just started with/became associated with him.)

And my friends told me they couldn’t give up watching football “just” because of “that,” because I couldn’t and wouldn’t make a difference.

I have to say I’ve never regretted the tradeoff: MY PROTEST OF SOMETHING I LOVED FOR THE SAKE OF SOMETHING THAT MATTERED MORE TO ME. I’m proud I cared then. I’m proud I care now. And I want to fight for change.

If the people who started the movement want to tell me I’m wrong about INCLUSIVITY, I’m all ears.

Until then.

I hope we can all reflect on how attacking another equal rights movement hurts everyone in everyday life as well as though each movement.
#peaceandloveforlivesandlovesomemore

#pride (because I love months dedicated to celebrating civil liberties (or lack thereof), but I also think such division hurts INCLUSIVITY as well — like saying — you’re not one of everyone else so here’s your one month to shine)

AND

(that’s the same exact reason I refused to join the women only clubs in law school and beyond — it promotes EXCLUSIVITY).

And I definitely don’t look down on ANYONE who supports these movements it groups, and I know all of the arguments as to why they exist. I’m just saying they’re not for me.

Just like AA isn’t for me. The first step says you have to accept and believe you are powerless over your addiction. Then I guess I’ll never get better if I’m an alcoholic, because I can’t admit I’m powerless while also saying I can control and get over my addiction. It just falls short for me.

This post REALLY got away from me.

Happy Father’s Day to those who are Father’s.
And may those of you who, like me, lost a Father know that I’m with you in empathy.

Your garden is doing great, Pidgey. You’d like it 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰❤️🧡💛💙💙💜🤎🖤🤍💘💌💕💞💗👣🌹🌷🌺🌻🌼🌱🌿☘️🌲🌳☀️🔭🪐🌌 and I’ll see you in Orion.

Be good to each other 😘🤗🥰.

♥️🎶✌🏿✌🏻✌🏽✌🏼✌🏾

Stronger Than Yesterday — Quite Literally

“I AM strong,” I say out loud to myself.

Four full times.

After hearing my Mentor’s comment that I AM.

Strong.

He’s right.

I know he’s right.

His opinion doesn’t make it much easier to deal with, however.

Strength.

“What even is that?”

“How can anyone say that about me?”

“How can I be seen as strong?”

“How can I LOVE that?”

“How can I LIVE that?!”

Too many thoughts too fast.

Breathe, Boss Bitch.

So many unfelt feelings.

So.

Many.

Unfelt.

Feelings.

And then clarity.

Help.

Lifelines.

Dialectical Behavioral Therapy.

Women.

Strong Women.

Strong Women teaching me Radical Acceptance.

Workbooks.

Homework.

I’m accountable now.

They need me because I need them.

It’s a mutual agreement.

I try to correct my values.

I know I cannot NOT do this.

My next Partner won’t be any port in a storm.

I won’t use someone.

I won’t cheat on my partners.

I’ll use emotional and physical protection.

I won’t be ashamed.

I WILL love ME.

Them/They/Their.

Gender identity identified.

Not accepting rape for an answer.

Not allowing someone familiar to touch me just because I’ve had it happen to me before and survived.

Can you “keep going”?

No.

You should have NEVER kept going.

No more exchanging my body for conversation.

As in…

No more needing to connect with someone — anyone — so badly — that I convince myself that my body has been used and abused SO MANY TIMES that I don’t care that it’s my ticket in — the price of admission.

And I’m no longer more than willing to pay for the affection I get in return.

No more.

No.

More.

I will confront my trauma.

I will radically accept my trauma.

My trauma is part of me. It cannot be “cured.”

Education.

I’m educating myself.

I’m trying to explain so others understand.

I will confront my PTSD.

I will radically accept my PTSD.

My PTSD is part of me. It cannot be “cured.”

But I can AND will LIVE with my trauma and my PTSD.

I don’t play a victim.

I have been gaslighted.

I have been told that I’m insane for thinking I’ve been gaslighted.

Ironic: don’t you think?

Don’t you think?!

I AM a victim.

You, and your addiction to anal pornography, and your need to act on your addiction, made me your victim.

You try to lie it and bury it and ignore it away.

But.

I AM the victim.

YOU made me one.

I AM a survivor.

I made me one.

My first rapist didn’t make me a survivor.

I made me one.

The man I worked for who sexually assaulted me didn’t make me a survivor.

I made me one.

Surviving all the rape you put me through didn’t make me a survivor.

I made me one.

You don’t control me anymore.

I don’t have to obey you or suffer the consequences anymore.

I don’t have to listen to you tell me I’m making this shit up anymore.

How does it feel to know I don’t hate you?

How does it feel to know I don’t care about you?

How does it feel to know I don’t want you back?

How does it feel to know I know I’m not “CRAZY.”

How will it feel to know that I know my writing makes you cry?

How does she feel about that?

I bet it feels bad.

Bad.

Yet.

Your bad is not 1% as bad as what you put me through.

But there’s some light that outshines your gas.

I’m stronger than yesterday.

And I am SO much stronger than you.

I get it now.

I understand how my Mentor tells me I am seen as STRONG.

Now, it’s nothing but MY way.

🎶 And I’mma still be humble when I scream “FUCK YOU”
‘Cause I’m stronger than I was🎶 — Eminem

Because I’m stronger than I was.

Family?! Where?

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

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

Ugh I feel beyond sick.

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

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

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

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

Time.

After time.

After time.

After time.

Oh.

And I get infections from it.

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

Infections galore.

Barfing galore.

PTSD galore.

Wanting to implode and disappear forever galore.

Wanting to step outside of my body galore.

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

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

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

So fuck it.

I’m going to eat and FTW.

Be good to each other.

#♥️🎶✌️

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

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

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

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

Music is so personal.

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

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

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

Whoa.

Okay.

New mission.

New missions aren’t always bad.

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

As always, be good to each other.

♥️🎶✌️

Diesel.

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

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

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

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

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

I keep thinking about one reason, specifically, though.

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

Thoughts?

Urges?

As always, be good to each other.

♥️🎶✌️

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

I’m singing at a funeral tomorrow

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

“Funeral” – Phoebe Bridgers

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

You tell me.

Please.

I can’t speculate.

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

But I wonder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck me.

And guess what.

I’m glad.

Fact.

Marijuana IS infinitely better for EVERYONE than alcohol.

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

Seriously.

Look.

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

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

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

Promise.

♥️🎶✌️

I Miss You. But I Miss Me More.

People are dying.

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

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

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

I have coloring.

I have books to read.

I have cards and presents to mail.

I have gardening to do.

I have 2am walks to continue.

I have horror movies to watch.

I have writing to finish.

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

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

It’s life, baby.

No one gets out alive.

So, as always, be good to each other.

♥️🎶✌️

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

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

— Rag’n’bone Man “Human”

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

I could never hate her.

I love her so so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not your place.

Leave it alone.

Or be a shitty person.

It’s your Catholic soul, girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway… About that April 3rd birthday.

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

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

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

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

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

Sidebar.

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

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

My now “I’m dead to her” sister wouldn’t have shown up with her [don’t even get me started on how shit he is, making them a perfect match, actually] fiancé 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, (Shane💗💗💗💗💗 and Max 💗💗💗💗💗), 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.

🎶♥️✌️

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”

🎶♥️✌️

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.

🎶♥️✌️

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 🙄), 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.

♥️🎶✌️

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 — 🙋

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 💯), 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 — 🙋

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.

🎶♥️✌️

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

🎶♥️✌️

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.

😛👎💥

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? 😉😋

As always, be good to each other.

🎶♥️✌️

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 😂😁😝).

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.”

🎶♥️✌️

Up is Down. Don’t ask my opinion. Don’t ask me to lie, then beg for forgiveness. For making you cry.

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 count.

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.

LOVE THEM.

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 ✌️♥️🎶

Nobody Knows You Better Than Me. Better Than The Lace You Wear. Every Single Detail Chantilly. Every Curl Inside Your Hair.

Topics I Want To Write About For The Hundreds Of People Who Read My Posts (And I’m Very Grateful For That Truth) ASAP:

  • My “Wellness Check” experience and everything about it.
  • My sister.
  • My Fibromyalgia and how my hands are barely functioning.
  • Christmas without….

If You Wait Around Awhile, I’ll Make You Fall For Me. I Promise You; I Will.

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 failed.

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.

I digress.

The purpose of this post is for one reason only.

To inform.

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.

So.

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.

That’s all.

The end.

✌️✌️✌️

🎶If you need a friend

Don’t look to a stranger
You know in the end, I’ll always be there
But when you’re in doubt
And when you’re in danger
Take a look all around, and I’ll be there
I’m sorry, but I’m just thinking of the right words to say
I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be
But if you wait around a while, I’ll make you fall for me
I promise, I promise you I will
When your day is through
And so is your temper
You know what to do
I’m gonna always be there
Sometimes if I shout
It’s not what’s intended
These words just come out
With no gripe to bear
I’m sorry, but I’m just thinking of the right words to say
I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be
But if you wait around a while, I’ll make you fall for me
I promise you, I promise you I will
I’m sorry, but I’m just thinking of the right words to say
I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be
And if I had to walk the world, I’d make you fall for me
I promise you, I promise
I’m sorry, but I’m just thinking of the right words to say
I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be
And if I had to walk the world, I’d make you fall for me
I promise you, I promise you I will🎶

— “The Promise” by Sturgill Simpson


🎶♥️✌️

I’m A Free Bitch, Baby. And No It’s Not The Good Kind.

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.

Then another.

Then ANOTHER.

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.

Fuck.

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 — 🎶♥️✌️

Oh, You Think I’m In Love? You May Say That I’m A Dreamer, But I’m Not.

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.

You’re exactly what I need right now; I have actually heard your call.

I know I’m not an easy load; at best? I’m such a haul.

But you? You aren’t like anyone that I’ve ever met before.

We’re playing like two high school kids; we don’t know what we’re getting into but damnit we both want more.

I never like to gamble much preferring Jack to score.

God damnitI’m falling in love and just like every other time I’ve never felt this way before.
🎶♥️✌️

Boy; Have I Been Having Boy Problems.

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.

“I’m growing.

“I’m loving.

“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.

🎶♥️✌️

Into Thin Horror

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.

https://youtu.be/BF-nZziUCCY
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.

🎶♥️✌️

On My Non-Existent 6th Year Anniversary. I Think That’s Been Done! I Think That’s Been Dumb! I Don’t Really Know Your Music Like That I Mean, I Don’t Really Know Your Movies Like That. (I Guess I Don’t Really Get What You Do.)

“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.

Fffuuuckkkk me.

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.

Maybe…other things.

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.

Or unreliable.

Or worthless.

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.

♥️🎶✌️