Category Archives: Uncategorized

If I’m What She Wants, She Gets What She Wants. Turning Me On Like It’s Her Job. Sometimes I Think She Must Get Off On Turning Me ON.

I’ve been off my writing game lately.

That ends now.

I need to be writing.

And I need to be sharing.

It’s that simple.

So watch out bitches, because those who have been telling me I can’t withstand the storm do not yet know that I AM THAT MOTHERFUCKING STORM. Watch out because I’m coming for ya πŸ˜‰ — a/k/a my writing game is about to get hard on ya.

As always, be good to each other.

β™₯️🎢✌🏿✌🏻✌🏾✌🏼✌🏽

I Feel Okay In The Daytime. But At Nighttime. You Know How I Get. When I’m Alone.

Editor’s Note/**UPDATED** Update as of 9/16/2020: I haven’t heard from my best friend LK in almost a month (8/22/2020 to be exact). (And fffffuuuuuuccckk bridges and fuck me — why does ANYONE who had enough time to look at my “Facebook stories” decide I’m not worth a text?! It takes 10 seconds. Tell me “go fuck yourself” if you’re mad. But don’t ghost. #Church. I guess I lost her too. I cannot mourn people who are alive anymore. I’ve lost too many people to ACTUAL death — I just can’t deal with those still alive who decide to act dead to me. (My most amazing ** new** Sister — meaning we’re not related by blood, however, CONTINUES to be a ROCK for me. She’s incredible and I love her so much β™₯️β™₯️β™₯️β™₯️β™₯️). So I guess that means cutting down my emotional availability (because I’m SO in demand already πŸ™„πŸ™„πŸ™„πŸ™„πŸ™„πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ€£!!!!!) to opening my heart. I know I know. Whambulance party of me. I just don’t believe I deserve to be loved anymore. And I need to go somewhere that’s not here to deal with that. As always, be good to each other πŸ’―.

🎢β™₯️✌🏿✌🏻✌🏾✌🏼✌🏽

My best friend LK and **new** Sister are aware…I’ve been having more and more problems with my health, and COVID-19 arrived during a time when I was about to see A LOT of different Doctors of Western medicineπŸ™„, the most important one being a Neurologist. I’m grateful for these two people for sticking it out with me, and I really hope they both KNOW that, for real.

I’ve just started being able to go to Doctors as of last week. Simple (except for picking the glasses I now want) eye Doctor visit. I now have a freckle in one of my eyes. WHO DOES THAT?! I was like a FRECKLE?! WTF?! I didn’t even think to ask WHY this “thing” is even called a freckle!!!!! FML.

THIS…is a REALLY painful week for me. Thursday is the anniversary of the death of my writer (and the whole “I have known him since WAIT FOR IT: Elementary School” thing) friend.

These are the kinds of things I REALLY needed my sister for. She was always good at random advice which also always felt harsh AF but at least she was THERE for me a handful of times when I needed her, at best. And I know she can’t even pretend that’s not the case because she won’t acknowledge me.

And I mourn her. She’s — for all intents and purposes — a family member who removed me SO FAR OUT OF HER LIFE — that I’m experiencing the loss of someone who DIED in my family. I don’t know if she even ever thinks about me.

Like.

At all.

And.

When I mourn one person who was in my life and then I lost because they have died, I tend to mourn all of those people at once. It’s “flooding” for sure.

Again, as I’ve said on my blog many times before, I come here to write my truth, with hopes that someone who might read it can relate and not feel so alone. That’s the endgame with ALL of my writing.

I don’t believe in astrology, but if I did, I would say that as a Gemini, I burn bridges as fast as I make someone feel so special to me it scares me, and I imagine scares them, and typically end up ghosting friends, people who I considered family, AND, actual family.

Thanks again for lying to God, Barbara, (my Godmother), because I spoke my true feelings toward a very aggressive move on your part, even getting your daughter, Laura, involved and since you were in love with my Dad even though you’re RELATED BY BLOOD, so my parents chose you because my Mom is so beyond more amazing than you could have ever been. BELIEVE THAT.

OKAY, tangent.

Thanks for the memories?????

So here’s the crux of this post.

Death. I know two very amazing friends who died way too young. Within two years of each other.

It’s also safe to say that a LOT of TRUTH was dumped on me around this time. CHURCH.

Still.

Here’s what’s up.

Losing my Dad killed me inside. KILLED ME.

In fact, my Dad’s death changed everything so much so quickly in my life that when I say it KILLED ME, I am now “me.” My true self is dead and I’m a reborn version of myself that’s inexplicable.

Like, after his death I didn’t even know what I doing most of the time. And I didn’t care.

Unfortunately, occasionally I still do THE worst things I can think of and have no idea why.

It’s sincerely fucked me up.

I haven’t found myself since.

Fortunately, I am in therapy.

Often.

Only that also fucks me up.

To say that I “spiraled,” is so beyond a truth it can’t even be explained like that.

I miss my Dad every single day.

I miss my friend from my former Church often, but try to suppress that shit when it comes up because HIS death always makes me cry so hard it’s embarrassing.

I think his death is a significant reason I stopped attending Church. That’s how I met him.

His death, didn’t change my religious beliefs in any way. On the other hand…the “priest” at that Church is someone I cannot accept. I don’t know how he sleeps at night.

Anyway.

Next came the “death” of my sister.

Like all of the cards I wrote to her: return her to sender, baby.

Thankfully — I’m incredibly honored and Blessed to announce that someone I love very much accepted my proposal to call her my sister. I liked it so I put a ring on it. πŸ’πŸ’! (<— JK about the sistergift friendship BFF rings. 🀣🀣. Yet. I mean I’ll probably order them. Y’all know how I roll ✌🏿🀘🏼✌🏾✌🏼✌🏽 πŸ₯³πŸ€­πŸ€—πŸ˜‰πŸ™‚).

She’s the BEST. I couldn’t be more honored that she is accepting me as a sister. Because I need one.

And!!!!!

Now I have one. Thank you, SisπŸ’ž. You’re amazing.

I am, of course, still mourning my prior sister. It’s a loss that should never have to happen to anyone.

Each loss I’ve explained continues to KILL whatever “ME” is hanging around these days.

This mystical new “me” that has possessed me — I can’t even describe to “me.”

Now, as I mentioned, this week is hitting me really hard. I miss my friend. I do think about him every single day. He’s with me when I look in the mirror in my bedroom…two ways.

I still consider myself to be a reflection of him in so many ways…just…not as good. Like he would be my 2.0. I’ve NEVER known a kinder man with his heart filled with pure and unadulterated sincerity.

The other reflection I have is the picture I have of him from his funeral. It’s taped to my mirror. I look him in the eyes every single day. I talk to him — and I don’t give a flying fuck what that means to anyone. Every time I go ANYWHERE with a purpose, I kiss his picture — and I don’t give a flying fuck how that makes anyone feel about that either.

After he died…I spiraled into a whole different upgraded level of spiraling. A threat level midnight of spiral…if you will…in a dangerous way.

To say it fucked me up — Nah. I put myself in different dangerous situations almost EVERY night and I DID NOT CARE.

I stopped eating.

I got “hot” according to all the people I “met.”

But I also got thrown down the stairs by a guy. I don’t know who I used protection with or not. I don’t even remember most of the guys’ names.

TMI Alert: I have been tested several times post that era of “me,” and I’m 100% STI free by whatever fucking miracle.

This is where my “dead” sister comes in. I REALLY needed her for so many reasons during that time.

And she just didn’t care.

I NEEDED her.

Her.

But she removed me from her existence.

So.

I couldn’t ask the one and only person I felt like I should have been able to speak with, lean on, and be supported by for ANYTHING.

All this is to say, mourning death is natural on every level I addressed above.

I could include an infinite amount of other betrayals, things I felt were horrible which caused me to occasionally break down and need someone driving me to lean on friends I’ve never heard from again.

My best friend, LK, (Ha! I JUST realized she has the same initials as my Dad. Wow. Just wow. I need to digest why that even matters to me I think) is such an amazing friend that she even offered to and actually did reach out to my sister on my behalf. I never heard about the reply so one day I asked — and my friend revealed my sister essentially just sent her links for how I could/should get help from certain resources — like she probably does with the high schoolers she counsels.

Honest to God or whatever, I am so embarrassed that she reacted to LK in that way, and, of course, it was evident that she STILL didn’t “get it.”

The sister I’ve mourned — is the outcast. She’s THE person — among many other people in my life — for whatever reason — I’ve dropped/ghosted because I felt they did the worst thing to me a person could do — they didn’t show up for me.

But the difference between these four people I’ve been discussing is no matter how I “access” them or talk to them or pray to them, there’s one of four that will never make sense to me.

And, maybe in a different post, I can reveal some tough truths about how that above statement is ironic and even maybe hypocritical.

But for now, this is about the outcast.

Because she’s still alive.

For me?

It’s IMPOSSIBLE to get over that fact.

Impossible.

And considering all of the things I’ve done for that chick — she SHOULD show up.

There is no excuse that could justify her behavior toward me.

Not. One.

So, goals.

I need to get over it.

There’s no reason to spend time giving a second of my life to someone who treats me that way.

I’ve learned that.

Kind of.

Therapy confuses me on that.

And now that I am participating in a fringe sort of therapy (DBT), I’m as confused as ever.

In the end, I’m not over any of the above. But I’m trying.

And, as I’ve said before, I truly believe that at the end of the day everyone is just trying to do the best they can.

Except my sister.

She’s not doing her best.

She’s failing.

Hard.

And that’s okay.

Because apparently that’s what she needs and believes is what is best for her.

I will ALWAYS love her so much and respect her choices. Even if I do get hurt by them.

I’ve been missing her presence for a good minute. In many ways — she’s never been available emotionally for me.

But that’s not going to stop me from hoping one day she becomes a zombie and I’ll see her in whatever form then.

So, our status right now?

I’d call it “hypothetical.”

Um, so yeah. That’s kind of my update on my life as I cry this week.

As for my medical problems…if I don’t get to a Neurologist ASAP, I do not know what will happen.

I cannot drive because I’m now narcoleptic, and it’s really scary, and the first time it happened was while I was driving. I thought, “maybe I am just over exhausted.” Then it happened again. So I don’t can’t drive (and I DO miss driving my amazing car and experiencing her free spirit).

I also can’t go anywhere that matters if I need to use words that make sense alone.

My cognition is essentially jumbly and totally fucked.

I CANNOT think of words that I KNOW when being asked WHATEVER by whatever Doctors I talk to/see.

I quite literally need an interpreter who is understanding about that avalanche of a problem. My poor Mom has to find/think of/remember words for me.

Imagine a game of Scategories, except it’s real life and you’re being examined by someone who doesn’t understand why you need your Mommy with you — with the added pressure of COVID-19 regulations.

Uggghhhhh just. Everything.

As always, be good to each other.

🎢β™₯️✌🏿✌🏼✌🏾✌🏽✌🏼

Who Want To See My Greatness? Best Believe I’m Pay-per-view. Best Believe I’m Made For Few.

As I attempt to write — let me drop some Klimo knowledge.

I’m the only one who’d know this, but it takes me between 3-8++ hours to write a blog post I’m willing to publish on my site — whatever length — and even then I’m NEVER satisfied — constantly rereading for mistakes or edits or content.

No one knows that I haven’t typed on a computer in over a year and a half except to copy and paste work from my phone into publication submissions and contest submissions.

Almost no one knows that because of my progressing illness I physically cannot write, causing me to use voice to text which, in my opinion, any Author who goes through a process like I do will tell you is basically not worth a damn thing on the page.

Aside from me, no one knows I have about 20-100+ blog posts in my “drafts” section that I’m working on, editing, throwing in the backseat, coming back to, loving, hating, re-writing from every angle, ignoring, forgetting about, and working on all at once — every day.

I NEVER post something lightly.

Maybe that comes to a shock to some who see my writing as cruel or my posts as too close to my own life for their comfort. (<— All thoughts which I welcome, absorb, and shoulder, by the way.)

But.
JUST to throw this out there — if you think you’re uncomfortable — imagine what it could be like caged into those thoughts, with them, forever.

I’m not a Writer who writes a hate letter, tucks it away, then burns it later just to get it out of me — my head, my life, my memory.

Everything — and I do mean EVERYTHING — whether it’s out there or not yet — is ALWAYS — STILL with me — and yes — this is despite my Therapists’ best efforts.

In my past I found a destructive way to forget some things temporarilybut that solution killed a lot of things in me I’ll never be able to get back— wasn’t worth it — so it doesn’t get credit with a name right now — enough of you know what it was than I care to remember anyway — but I own that ish nonetheless.

IF I live long enough it’ll come out — without hesitation when it’s time. I’M NOT embarrassed by this thing, to be clear.

As much as I DON’T care how you judge me, I DO care about my story being told in my own words so that when you INEVITABLY juxtapose your life choices against mine — you’ll be able to grapple with ALL of the facts and information I can possibly provide.

Alien skin aside, I’m human. And just like I TRY to fight for anyone else’s voice to be heard who asks me to, (#QuotesAllOverMyWallsOnTopOfThat) I’m going to fight for my own.

Be good to each other.
🎢β™₯️✌🏿✌🏻✌🏾✌🏼✌🏽

I Got Love For My Brother, But We Can Never Go Nowhere Unless We Share With Each Other. We Gotta Start Makin’ Changes. Learn to See Me As A Brother Instead Of Two Distant Strangers.

“TOO MUCH HATE”

Head shoulders knees and toes
Bed space holders changing by flow
I can’t fathom who picked those
Who were counted and now are qualified to kill up close
Too much power given to people we the people never chose
Who take a simple test to aquire those
Insane rights laws and freedoms unopposed
Except we’re an us who risk our lives for those
Who lost their lives needlessly
But we’re still beaten and take it fully exposed
Because this system is broken
So many have spoken
Falling on deaf ears
Making equality frozen
Too many plea bargains keep unfair voting guaranteed
Everyone knowin’ the prison system’s cold broke and frozen
And the citizens who have the most to lose
Have no vote to choose
Who protects them or vets them their voices stolen
Blue lines paid for by cities who support those opposin’
But it’s justifiable because someone’s pocket keeps that crooked money flowin’
You ever seen a cop in uniform pull out his gun?
I have and it’s atrocious and something’s gotta be done
So many of us trying and frying and dying
And choking on the words “I can’t breathe”
IT’S NOT RIGHT and
The men who are supposed to be protectin’ and serving
Those of us left crying while more violence
Comes plowing through every place that seems urban
Men in uniform laughing at our problems
I’m white blonde and tiny enough that these Nazi like cops ain’t disturbin’
Looking past me and my protest signs
I’m not black so I’m never quite “out of line”
But I’m a lawyer and I’m political and cynical which is dangerous to be tryin’ so I officially retired because I know about the laws I’m fightin’

Until the 2nd Amendment gets changed or altered I know it’s not desired
By the rich white bullies who won’t stop defending guns that fire
Like their freedom depends on it? Y’all embarrassing our country AND THAT EXCUSE IS SO TIRED
It’s weak and meek and it’s time it gets rewired
I’m a proud Snowflake so don’t stop calling me names now
You can’t get past insults
And white hate’s desired
But a Storm’s coming bitches
And you best believe it’s required
Not a single person has the right to control anyone else
Yet there’s a group of people who don’t believe this applies to them
They’re the ones in uniform firing bullets again
Why you keep killin’ people with so much rage
It’s like I’m watching Hitler’s agenda play out page by page
We’re better than this
A place that used to be coveted
Now we’re a disgrace to immigrants pathetically instead
I wear my “Black Lives Matter” shirt and even with a mask on
No one looks me in the face
Except my friends who work tirelessly
They’re all black men working minimum wage and they’re always helping me
I don’t know all their names but they’re always happy to see me I try to tell them how much they mean to me
All it takes is a random hello
Pop a joke
Showing them I see them
That’s a definite, so
Why wouldn’t I look them in the eye to show respect?
I’m observant, and angry, and tired of people ignoring them stocking shelves
An employee ain’t a person?
What a fucking mess
I look forward to seeing these men on a weekly basis
At first a few were confused thinking they were in my way
I can’t stand that reaction
I bet they go through it every day
So if I can spread a smile from my face to the next
I can sleep a little better because it makes a difference
You think I’m lying? Try it.
Look at me, it obviously didn’t require finesse
And when I greet these friends everyone around me looks stressed
“Are they friends?” “What’s going on?” “He’s an ‘OTHER,’ you see him working, can’t you mind your own business?”
No.
I can’t.
And you better believe that won’t ever change.
It’s disgusting y’all shocked that I’m talking to another human being
You should be ashamed of yourselves and yeah I’m judgmental
A minor thing does make a difference, I’m not special
I’m not a Saint
I’m not a Martyr
That’s obvious
I cry hardcore real tears for every black man added to too long a list
Until cops stop murdering black men on what feels like a daily basis
And 2nd Amendment loving white hate stops immediately saying “it’s his fault” because they can’t resist
Under all their inflammatory insults
I call BULLSHIT: you’re RACIST
So I’m calling y’all out because you done made the Storm spiral
It’s stronger
Lasting longer
This time it won’t expire
And yeah, that’s a challenge and I’m callin’ you out
Come prove to me I’m wrong ’bout what I’m writin’ about
β™₯️🎢✌🏿✌🏻✌🏾✌🏾✌🏽

Watch “2Pac – Changes (Official Music Video) ft. Talent” on YouTube

https://youtu.be/eXvBjCO19QY

Editor’s Note: This came to me out of nowhere tonight. I didn’t expect it. Maybe it’s not what I want it to be. I might make some changes. Pun intended. As always, be good to each other. β™₯️🎢✌🏿✌🏻✌🏾✌🏽✌🏼

I Miss Me More.

“The problem — she’s starting to understand — is that a man will never let you fall completely into Hell.

He will scoop you up right before you drop the final inch so that you cannot blame him for sending you there.

He keeps you in a diner-like purgatory instead, waiting and hoping — taking orders.”

Lisa Tadddeo, “Three Women”

I have so much anger and love and hatred and compassion and unfortunate energy and hostile buildup and brokenness and wanting to be the best for others and regret and confusion and wanting to freak the fuck out on fucking everything and everyone everyday.

Time to go to my happy place…maybe some sleep first.

Stay good to each other.

And be better than me.

β™₯️🎢✌🏿✌🏻✌🏾✌🏼✌🏽

You’ll Never Scream So Loud As I Want To Scream With You.

Author’s Note: This poem/work was originally written on December 5, 2003. Half of my life ago! I like to think my writing has improved so take it easy on 18 year old me!!!!! Most importantly — I AM SAFELY UNDER THE CARE OF DOCTORS 24/7 AND HAVE NO INTENTIONS TO HARM MYSELF OR OTHERS. I simply want to share an old piece of writing. The only thing I’ve added is a title. Enjoy 😊🀞🏻!

(Oh, and this picture below is me in my ex’s t-shirt. It’s one of many he left behind. But this one is particularly special. My sister gave it to him. For Christmas several years back now. Totally normal thing for her to get him, right? LoL πŸ₯΄πŸ˜‹πŸ€™πŸ»!!!!! I happen to think the shirt is funny. In conclusion, my intent is not at all to insult my readers with the phrase.)

You will never know what I’ve been through
Even if I told you
Or even tried to tell you
You wouldn’t really ever know

Not until you’ve cut yourself in secret
And let your most valuable possession bleed without caring that you’re leaking your pain
Wrists are just the tip of the iceberg
I pick away so you can’t see me — melting blood
Yes, for certain these images must stay locked up

You’ll never know what it is to feel me being me when I’m cutting
How my mind has one goal And it’s to feel again
I attack my body to protect me — us
To have and to hold and to lock away for as long as we both might live

And then the smile
Mine
It’s just a stain
But it’s MY stain
And you can’t have them — EVER
Images so real I taste them
I never want to, and
I’ll never LET you

Trust me, love
Not unless you enjoy the taste of ashes
Not until you’re ready to inhale blood
I already do
But this won’t kill me
It NEVER will
Instead I’m held prisoner by the cruelest guard
Me
Me forever gagging — me
But never quite letting me drown

As always, be good to each other.

And a special request today: if you’re pretending to be someone’s friend — and you refrain from telling them certain things because you don’t want them to be hurt — evaluate if you’re the kind of person who won’t unleash those truths later.

I ask this of my readers because this situation recently smacked me right in the heart. And it hurt me.

Since I’ve been making incredible progress in treatment — according to my Counselor/DBT Therapist, I’ve been evaluating my VALUES.

One of my values is to be kind.

Revenge, on the other hand, is NOT one of my values, so I’m working on that. I’m likewise working on NOT being reactive to people trying to incite me.

By doing this work, I was able to shut this toxic person down without stooping to their level. I merely replied with “OK. I’m not going down whatever path you’re pulling me toward. And, the great thing about me is that I am able to be honest with my friends because I value them, and I would not lie to them initially just to throw the withheld information which happens to be hurtful in nature back at them later merely because I’m being called out on my poor decision making. I always own my shit. And I can admit when I’m wrong. But I am at peace with the statement that I’m not wrong in this case — and I’m either explaining what I’m saying poorly, or perhaps you’re not willing to hear what I’m trying to say. Either way, it’s fine, but I am done now. This conversation is over.”

Love, music, and always always Peace.

β™₯️🎢✌🏿✌🏻✌🏽✌🏾✌🏼

Anesthesia.

From the movie, Anaesthesia:

“What made you start?”

“An accident.”

“With the iron?”

“Cigarette.”

“Was it an accident?”

“I guess not.”

“Go on.”

“I—it…it concentrated me…to the exclusion of everything else.”

“And that was good?”

“It was like a drug.”

“What’s ‘everything else?'”

“The world has just become…so inhuman. Everyone’s plugged in. Blindingly inarticulate. Obsessed with money. Their careers. Stupidly, arrogantly content. I can’t talk to them. I fight them. I wanna destroy them even. I crave interaction. I crave it. But you just can’t anymore. They pull their devices out for everything, to reinforce their petty convenient notions. To decide where they are going to shop, what they’re gonna eat, what movies they are going to watch, everything they ingest.”

“Why does that upset you?”

“Because what is left? MY GOD!

“But that doesn’t have to be you.”

“Okay. It’s like this is all a game and I haven’t been told what the rules are. Or even worse, if I had, I am ill-equipped to follow them. All I can do is provoke. I become spiteful. I’m just as bad as they are. They? I’m—I’m, worse. I fucking hate myself for it. I’m—I am so fucking lonely. Why is the world so base? Why is it so insensitive? Why is it so selfish? Why am I? I am not for this world.”

So the big monologues up there are delivered by one of my heroes, Kristen Stewart And, she’s not just my hero because she has the best hair ever and is beyond gorgeous.

Yes, she’s my hairspiration:

But incredibly more importantly, she speaks her fucking mind.

I get that the above is scripted. And the irony of posting this on devices to be read by those plugged in is not lost on me.

But she totally shuts down reporters, etc. who question her sexuality as if it’s any of their business.

And it’s always badass.

I admire her because she makes it EXACTLY as much of everyone’s business as she feels she should.

She’s both an advocate and an enigma.

When I’m practicing my career I try to leave that exact impression on my coworkers.

They get exactly what I want them to and nothing more. Yet, I advocate when I see wrongdoing.

(I suppose we all sort of do the first thing — but I REALLY refused to answer any questions about my private life in the places I worked, and it drove my bosses crazy.)

I’ve worked for offices upwards of 4 years and if you asked any of my old coworkers to name 5 facts about me — just 5 — I bet they couldn’t.

And that’s — BAD. ASS.

Badass for this boss bitch.

πŸ€™πŸ»

I also relate to the content in the above quotes.

I literally hate my smartphone.

In fact I’ve stopped checking it more than 3 times a day (unless something urgent is happening, obviously).

Because I’m tired of being connected. I write here because I love it and because I want to help anyone I can.

But if you catch me on my phone when we’re hanging out together — nah. It has doesn’t happen.

I’m not that chick.

And I’m not a basic bitch.

And I’m really working on not hating myself.

And thanks to my new treatment, I hate me less every day.

As always, be good to each other.

β™₯️🎢✌🏿✌🏼✌🏾✌🏻✌🏽

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 πŸ₯°πŸ₯°πŸ₯°πŸ₯°πŸ₯°β€οΈπŸ§‘πŸ’›πŸ’™πŸ’™πŸ’œπŸ€ŽπŸ–€πŸ€πŸ’˜πŸ’ŒπŸ’•πŸ’žπŸ’—πŸ‘£πŸŒΉπŸŒ·πŸŒΊπŸŒ»πŸŒΌπŸŒ±πŸŒΏβ˜˜οΈπŸŒ²πŸŒ³β˜€οΈπŸ”­πŸͺπŸŒŒ and I’ll see you in Orion.

Be good to each other πŸ˜˜πŸ€—πŸ₯°.

β™₯️🎢✌🏿✌🏻✌🏽✌🏼✌🏾

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.

#β™₯️🎢✌️

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

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

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

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

Music is so personal.

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

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

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

Whoa.

Okay.

New mission.

New missions aren’t always bad.

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

As always, be good to each other.

β™₯️🎢✌️

Diesel.

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

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

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

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

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

I keep thinking about one reason, specifically, though.

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

Thoughts?

Urges?

As always, be good to each other.

β™₯️🎢✌️

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

I’m singing at a funeral tomorrow

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

“Funeral” – Phoebe Bridgers

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

You tell me.

Please.

I can’t speculate.

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

But I wonder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck me.

And guess what.

I’m glad.

Fact.

Marijuana IS infinitely better for EVERYONE than alcohol.

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

Seriously.

Look.

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

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

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

Promise.

β™₯️🎢✌️

I Miss You. But I Miss Me More.

People are dying.

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

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

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

I have coloring.

I have books to read.

I have cards and presents to mail.

I have gardening to do.

I have 2am walks to continue.

I have horror movies to watch.

I have writing to finish.

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

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

It’s life, baby.

No one gets out alive.

So, as always, be good to each other.

β™₯️🎢✌️

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

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

— Rag’n’bone Man “Human”

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

I could never hate her.

I love her so so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not your place.

Leave it alone.

Or be a shitty person.

It’s your Catholic soul, girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway… About that April 3rd birthday.

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

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

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

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

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

Sidebar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me. Gone.

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

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

My God.

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

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

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

My Mom is everything to me.

Which is why I mourn my sister.

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

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

My Dad loved his children so very fucking much.

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

So I wish “this” wasn’t happening.

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

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

So there’s a system now.

Speaking of cards….

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

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

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

And now the love of my life is disappeared.

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

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

Rinse.

Repeat.

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

I do have some.

Not all of them.

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

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

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

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

However!

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

Here’s the deal.

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

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

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

So, yeah.

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

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

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

Oh, another random thing.

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

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

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

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

I discovered this past summer that I’m Demisexual.

But that’s not all I am.

I AM also supremely attracted to specific types of women.

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

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

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

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

I LOVE that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I did, actually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🎢β™₯️✌️

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

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

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

— Macklemore “Drug Dealer”

🎢β™₯️✌️

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

I’m so tired of dating.

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

I’m so tired of lying to myself.

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

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

I’m so tired of crying.

I’m so tired of getting tired too easily.

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

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

I’m tired of cancelling dates.

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

I’m tired of being jealous.

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

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

I’m tired of being rejected.

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

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

I’m tired of not being with G-Bear.

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

In tired of feeling less than.

As always, be good to each other.

🎢β™₯️✌️

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

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

Look at those dead eyes.

Seriously — awful.

Impossible to get out.

Not wanting to stay in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now he’s dead.

So he’ll never know.

WHAMBULANCE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything is spinning
Because I’m losing my liquid courage

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

– for TCW

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

I cried for days.

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

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

No.

I CRIED.

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

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

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

The timing.

The person.

The writing.

Sadly insane.

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

Because he/she might be gone for good tomorrow.

Be good to each other.

β™₯️🎢✌️

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

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

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

Must run in the family — πŸ™‹

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

A pharmacy in the town I thought she lived in.

Until today.

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

See — I was trying to do the right thing.

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

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

But she answered.

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

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

We never fucking had before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Must run in the family — πŸ™‹

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

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

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

And EVERYONE supports her in this dream.

And maybe EVERYONE supports her in real life.

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

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

We’ll see how this plays out.

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

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

Several shocking things about that information bulb.

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

I think that’s sick.

I feel sick.

She gets to know where I live.

For now.

Until I don’t.

Not that she’d be there.

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

🎢β™₯️✌️

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

🎢β™₯️✌️

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

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

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

And it’s scary.

Getting better — can be — really fucking scary!

More about THAT, though, ANOTHER time.

I have an actual crush.

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

πŸ˜›πŸ‘ŽπŸ’₯

But we all grow up.

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

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

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

Until this year.

When I started doing things.

My teeth are getting better by the day.

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

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

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

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

So, my crush.

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

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

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

Maybe finally getting to be blonde.

(Just kidding.)

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

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

As always, be good to each other.

🎢β™₯️✌️

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

I’m rewatching “Glee.”

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

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

For real.

I think about him often.

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

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

So I’ve avoided it.

But we all have Demons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It won’t be real
How could you know?

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

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

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

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

But.

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

THIS is going to be my year.

Perfect teeth.

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

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

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

Have the best Mom.

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

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

People care about me more than I thought they might.

So let’s go, 2020.

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

I will keep doing me.

I’m not perfect.

I cry.

I lie to myself.

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

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

Thank you to everyone who has supported me this year.

So Happy New Year.

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

🎢β™₯️✌️

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?! πŸ˜‚

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 supportβ™₯️😘 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.

🎢β™₯️✌️ and as always — be good to each other ✌️β™₯️🎢