凸(°▽°)凸
😂😂
I won. 🥰 🎉
In the spirit of thanks-giving
I was in a relaxing bath thinking when some memories came unbidden, as they are often wont to do. This year, in 4 days, marks 9 years since my father killed himself. This coming March marks 10 years since I left my ex-husband. They are a matched set, you see, because they occurred in the same year. This is a note to perhaps explain some things and to give thanks to a small cadre of people who have seen me at my worst.
First, I need to give a public shout out to those people who have seen me crumble to my barest self, pitiful, mewling, hurting, terrified, and trying to fight my way out of a rush of memories that consumed me. These people may have pitied me or looked upon me differently after, but they never showed it nor said it. They helped me fight my way back from the very edge of absolute insanity and loss, they stood by while I lashed out during my PTSD flashbacks and hurt them physically. They held me down and talked to me, to bring me back to me. They gave me a kick in the ass when I was drowning a bit too much in my own self-doubt or pity. They kept loving me despite it. They kept at least some modicum of faith in me, despite it. Those people would be Kd, Scott, Loki, James, Brandy, and Tracy. (There are others, but I honestly cannot remember some due to my drug-like haze after the flashbacks…My apologies; it is not my intention to slight you.) I showed the worst parts of me to each of them at least once, and they kept me around..they still loved me..they still kicked me in the teeth to remind me I have worth.. and as much as all this that follows is something I can’t seem to say out loud (not because of lack of desire, but because my words fumble when I cannot type them concisely), this is a thank you, to you all.
It took me several years after leaving my ex-husband to realize I was never in love with him. I felt the love, so realizing this was the hardest part of my “getting over” him and “moving on”. He was a highly abusive narcissistic twat, and he turned controlling me in to an art form in many ways..but never fully, which he loathed. It took me years to realize I was in love…with the person he showed me for nearly two years – a person he never was. Being in an abusive relationship, the lines between the real person and the mask is very difficult to discern until it is all over. And sometimes even then, it is hard to see. Narcissistic abusers don’t just drop the mask, you see. They let it slip slightly here and there until you are at the bottom of a chasm of fear and doubt and hurt wondering what the hell just happened. In reality, you have been slowly climbing down that chasm yourself, never noticing your meandering saunter carried you there until the way out was gone from your sight. Being the stupidly loyal person I am, I stayed, thinking I had to at least be there to help him, if he’d have it. Help him become the person he was, the person I knew he could be. I knew he could be because I had seen him. I had lived with him, laughed with him, loved with him. He was there, under all the bile and physical pain. I felt guilty about thinking about leaving, because that’s not what people do. When you love someone, when you’re a friend, you stay and help. You are the calming presence or kick in the ass or helping hand up, right? Even knowing there was a point you had to walk away. But where is that point?? This is something for which I still struggle to find. Where is the line between giving up too easily or staying too long? I dance that line never knowing. But I try. It doesn’t make it easier for me to sleep at night, nor does it quell my conscience at all, but I try. It is not in my nature to simply walk away from something I do not want to do or fear. I have to dance to see where the song goes. So I stayed until it was abundantly clear I passed that line an excessively long time ago.
But leaving something like this is just a physical leaving. It is an important step, but it is the easiest to take, though it is indescribably torturous at the time. I was far over my fear of him, as I’d accepted that he would kill me. That acceptance created a deep well of peace and serenity within me because once I no longer feared death, I could think. I could function. I could act instead of react. I could control my adrenaline instead of letting it control me. That is a trick I have most thankfully retained. Being able to remain inwardly calm and cold and calculating when my world has imploded has served me well in insurmountable ways… Yet that was still the easy part. Which is saying quite a lot considering my mind was racing with thoughts of him showing up at the house while I packed all my daughter’s belongings and a single bag for me. And my guitars and trumpet and computer. I grabbed the important things, you see. 🙂 There was guilt over “giving up” even though I knew that was not what I was doing. There was fear that my daughter would be put in danger if he showed up before we left. I don’t have fear over myself to this day, you see. I only have fear in what happens to my children. That entire relationship and marriage broke some very important parts of me, but it created or strengthened other parts. I now know just how far I will go to survive and to make sure my children do, also. I know how far I am willing to go and of what I am capable, and that is a sobering yet powerful knowledge. There is such strength in this, that words will never be able to actually describe it in its entirety.
I left. I absolute have Katie & Christie to thank for their words and support and love and physical help and protection when I left. They were my rocks and salvation. I tried, and failed, to heal. My dad killed himself 7 months later and I had new deep-cut wounds to try to heal. My internal anguish was put on the back burner for a long while as I dealt with my father’s death and estate, my mother’s declining health, and a house full of people. Somewhere around July of the next year, something in me snapped as I realized I was holding on to a dying ember for a man who never existed. In the interim, I taught myself how to focus on the positive and ALWAYS see something beautiful. Always. During that 16 month period, I completely changed my entire outlook on life and it has made all the difference. It has made ALL the difference.
I moved back to Atlanta, the demons seemingly at bay. I thought the worst was over. I began dating again, got a good job, reconnected with old friends and made new. I messed up, I did well, I lived. I was mostly happy. But I never really shared what happened. I tried, don’t get me wrong. I can talk about all of it, but talking doesn’t touch me at all. It is like I am recounting a movie I watched. I started dating someone that I could just BE with. Talking to him helped. I was actually sharing, not just talking. The downside to this is all the walls I didn’t know I created were washed away in a single admission one bright beautiful day. The screaming nightmares began that night. Things happened, the guy and I quit talking, the nightmares remained. I got to where I was drinking half to three quarters of a fifth a night just to sleep quietly, because I was waking my daughter and neighbours every night with my screams. Each night, I was reliving every hit, every kick, every swing, every word and sight and smell. Only in my dreams, I begged and cried and was terrified. In my subconscious state, I was finally allowing myself to feel everything I couldn’t at the time. All the emotions I refused to let myself feel so I could survive came rushing back in a painful recounting of absolute horror that I just could not stop. Except through alcohol. I made it to work every day, I did well, I functioned. I cried myself to sleep in muffled wails and sobs every night. One night each week, I refused to drink to make sure I wasn’t turning in to an absolute alcoholic, where I didn’t feel I “needed” it. I functioned. But I was hurting, and no amount of talking helped. Things happened, as they always do. I quit drinking so much, I began pushing my way back to happy. But when I drank, if I hit my head near or on the scar my ex-husband gave me as a token of his.. esteem.. it would instantly send me crashing back in to those horrors again. I hurt a few people listed at the top during this. But they were calm and patient and compassionate. They were my anchor in a storm of rage and guilt and self-loathing that I still swim every day. They are the reason I survived intact mentally and emotionally. Suicide never crossed my mind, but there are worse things than death. I lived those things constantly a long time, and I dance with them daily, still.
They sat on top of me and held me down while I raged against an enemy they couldn’t see.
They held my face and called out to me to come back to them.
They hugged me when I snapped back to reality, confused and hurting and terrified.
They held me while I cried and raged.
They weren’t accusing when they could have been.
They didn’t admonish me for drinking when I knew this could happen. Not for a while, anyway.
They were, are, will always be, my family. Yes, others exist in my family, also, but all the people tagged above proved beyond all others that we are family. A tribe. A fucked up group of miscreants that are there for each other even if..when.. we screw up royally.
They held my face and called out to me to come back to them.
They hugged me when I snapped back to reality, confused and hurting and terrified.
They held me while I cried and raged.
They weren’t accusing when they could have been.
They didn’t admonish me for drinking when I knew this could happen. Not for a while, anyway.
They were, are, will always be, my family. Yes, others exist in my family, also, but all the people tagged above proved beyond all others that we are family. A tribe. A fucked up group of miscreants that are there for each other even if..when.. we screw up royally.
And I am thankful.
If I am honest, and I usually am a bit too much, I hear, I drank on purpose because I had to get everything out. I couldn’t seem to let that wall down sober even when I tried. Even though I wanted to. I couldn’t seem to face everything. The funny thing is I could remember every sight, smell, sound, word spoken, hit, feeling..everything before the walls were eradicated, casting me in to the murky oil-slick throes of PTSD flashbacks, but I could not once the walls were down. I could remember the emotions of the flashbacks, but never what happened..until one night at a concert. I was dragged outside by Scott and I had a bootprint on my head. That was when the admonishments began. I’d seriously endangered myself and had it not been for him and Loki, there is a pretty good chance I’d be dead or internally destroyed. But that boot to the head jogged everything. And whatever happened while I was on the floor being kicked in that crowd brought everything rushing back while I was awake. As much as I made a TOTAL and COMPLETE ass of myself, it was worth it because the nightmares stopped being a daily occurrence. I have not had a single full-on flashback since, where I got caught in the tides and could not tell it was not reality. I’ve had PTSD tremors, I guess you could call them, where something triggered a memory, but I was there. Present. I was awake and sober for it. I’ve gotten stupid drunk a few times since then where I sunk in to the extreme guilt of “why didn’t I leave sooner” or “how could I” but these people were there when it happened. I guess these are the people I knew I could trust to take care of me, because even the strong cannot always stand. Sometimes we need that tribe, that family, to kick us in the ass, or carry us to safety.
One day, maybe my healing will be complete. Maybe there will be someone by my side that silently understands and squeezes my hand when an errant flash of guilt or sorrow hits me. Maybe not. Maybe it will always be there, because I don’t have that one person who shows me it’s okay to trust again. You know; “the one” or whatever. That “one” you can actually share all the shit with, not just most of it. The “one” you can unpack the luggage with. Not that friends or family can’t help you unpack some, but the last remnants always seem to take that one person who is..present. There. Maybe called a soulmate, best friend, lover, spouse, whatever; that person you can share everything with and rest easy knowing none of your demons scare them at all. They caress your demons and quiet them when they need quieting, and rile them up when there is work to be done. I’d like that peace, but I honestly don’t want the bullshit it takes to find it. But no matter what happens or doesn’t happen in the future, I can rest easy that when I needed to let go, I had good.. no. I had some of the finest twisted freaks and fiends on this planet to hold me tenderly and say it’s okay. I had broken pieces of me brushed aside and I was still loved for the broken mess I was, am, will always be. I was loved despite my faults and failings and fallings. And I was, am, allowed to love them in return.
And to you fine twisted freaks and fiends I am grateful. I am thankful. Every day, I am here because you allowed me to break and you didn’t run. I know I was a mess and I always will be, just as I’ll always be self-destructive and pained and running towards danger with a sneer and two middle fingers proudly pointed up. But you love me anyway, and that’s pretty damn amazing. Thank you, and I love you, too.
How Fucking Dare You
Writing (typing, whatever) has always been a way for me to weed out the demons I can dance with from those that try to devour me. I have not done a great job of exorcising those demons these last two years. I would claim an attempt to do better, but I know I will not. The urge to write is seldom felt these days, mostly due to egregious amounts of frustration and anger. I feed off my anger, generally, using it to provoke me in to bettering myself. That has not been the case these past two years. I’ve done well in reconciling my past with who I want to be, overall, but I have learned there is a “full up” point you can reach where you’ve just been through or seen too much. I seem to have hit that point last year and have seen no cessation in the feelings of melancholic apathy. I am angry over several things that have happened. I have two people in particular I wish to lash out at, to rain down wrath upon them such as they deserve. One is untouchable at the moment due to circumstance, and the other I refuse to contact because he does not deserve my time or effort or emotions. And all anger tends to stem from its equal counterpart at some juncture….that counterpart being love (or deep caring/respect/whatever..they all go hand in hand.) So to the person who ever wants an ex to “keep his [sic] name out of their mouths”, I give you this.
It takes exactly zero god damn effort to not be a fuck.
I have been a real slackass with writing lately. Nevermind that I write for myself and only share these posts in the hopes something I say helps someone.. These are my catharsis, my therapy, my healing on the path to self-enlightenment and happiness. The past (nearly) two years have been incredibly painful and stressful in multiple ways, and I am attempting to work through a LOT of pent up anger. Well, “anger” does not even come close to encompassing the depth of how I have been feeling, but it will do for now.
A common belief states there are five stages to grief:
- Denial
- Anger
- Bargaining
- Depression
- Acceptance
In all times of loss, we experience one or more of these stages. I have found, for myself, I never experience denial or bargaining. Ever. I sometimes skip anger, but as that is my bailiwick, I skip it only rarely. My anger fuels me to do, be, experience, see more. When I lose, when I grieve, I generally stomp through anger, depression, and acceptance all at once. Very very rarely, I experience a brief moment of denial, but I generally just accept it and get angry and depressed. I highly dislike feeling or being helpless. I have been so too many times and now it simply pisses me the fuck off. I will find a way to do something about my situation, even if it is only to work towards a better next year. But I am also a worrier, and someone who clings to hurt so I can understand it. Which is rather stupid, really. How the fuck can you really understand the actions of another person without being that person? You cannot. I know this, yet I still have a pressing nearly all-consuming need to understand a thing before I can breathe it out and let it go. Which means I sit in the angry god damn depression for AGES sometimes.
Which brings me to my current (and recent) reality.
I was in a relationship for a little while, until the beginning of last year. Unlike my normal pattern, I feel hard and fast; I was breathlessly entirely in love. Having been through some incredibly painful shit in my past, I commiserate with and am compassionate regarding what others have endured. I am far too lenient with their negativity and bullshit and ashing out. Well, I was. If I cared, I would allow more abuse against my own heart and mind than is ever healthy. Because i understand. I know that pain. I know that anguish. I know that driving need to just get the fucking hurt out! and be done with it. However.. I don’t take my god damn shit out on others, especially those who repeatedly show they support me or love me. That seems a bit counterproductive to me, but I am apparently the exception here.
So I had this thing, with a guy. I met his folk, his grandmother, some cousins, etc. He met a few of mine. I met 3 of his friends, and he didn’t really meet many of mine, either. And not for lack of inviting him to a lot of shit. Hell, he wouldn’t even meet my siblings. Now, I know I have several (6), but when you’re constantly invited and you say no, don’t bitch abut the other person hiding you. Again, that is counterproductive, as well and incredibly puerile. Heh.. I was only invited to meet his dad and grandmother after he bitched about not meeting my family and friends, despite numerous invitations, and me finally getting exasperated enough to snap back at him about his lack of introducing me to anyone. After two years. He has a shitty past, this guy. He hasn’t been “lucky in love” any more than I have been. I get it. But I am no one’s doormat, punching bag, or back burner bitch. Verbally, physically, financially, whatever. There was real actual positive emotion there. But wouldn’t you know, he couldn’t let go of shit other women had done to him. Nope. I must be cheating. Fucking around. He went so far as to track down someone from my past to try to find out if I had been honest about a situation. And then, already knowing this dude was shady, at best, he believed what that guy said about me. Despite providing proof to the contrary. And fucking held that shit that happened years before him over my head. This dude.. he CHASES misery like a junkie chases that next high. He would apparently prefer to be hurting and absolutely miserable and dejected rather than give any sort of happiness a real fucking chance. Hell, he TRIED to get me to pop off at him, to make me angry so he could see how deep my cruelty could go. He actively TOLD me that. And when I’d had enough and gave him perhaps 10% of my anger, he got very quiet and finally said “damn.” I am quite good at destroying someone verbally when I so chose. It is not a point of pride, it is simply truth. I don’t revel in it, as I truly believe there is enough god damn misery and hurt and negativity in this fucked up world without me adding to it one iota. I fucking LOATHE doing shit like that now unless it is deserved. And holy fuck did he, does he, deserve it. Despite that.. That is not the person I want to be. It is inherently who I am at my core, but so is the selfless cunt who gives too much of herself and her heart to those she can, when she can. The cognitive dissonance is brilliantly blinding. But I am not just one side of a coin; I am the entire god damn coin. And I like that, because *I* get to choose who and what and where and how I am. Me. Just me. Only I am in control of me and my words and actions. Only I can be blamed for anything I say or do or am or was.
It got to a point where I was beginning to feel guilty about things I’d done well before I met him or even knew he existed. And when I realized that (quickly, thankfully), I quit taking so much of his shit. I told him I understood, but he needed to clean his shit the fuck up. He did not. We split about two months and I wrote him a letter two years and about two weeks ago outlining all the shit I loved about him. Pouring my heart terrifyingly on to crushed and soaked wood, physically writing and rambling all those things out. Which is a big damn deal for me, because I put everything in to those 22 pages. I type all day, so writing took me hours. I know I rambled. I know I repeated. I didn’t think; I just wrote. And wrote. And wrote. I let everything in me come out. People don’t write love letters any more..so I did. We got back together and things seemed to be honestly getting better. For all of about 6 weeks…then it got worse than it was before. We lasted until January, when i had enough. I stuck it out so he’d not be alone on christmas, which I knew he hated. We went to the beach on New Year’s day. Some sincerely terrible shit happened that I can honestly say I will never fucking forgive him for. He broke that last piece of me that held hope and promise and love, and I fucking let him. Well, not like inviting him in, but I stuck it out too fucking long and let it happen. No; it is not my fault for the physical assault. He took the action and that is something he will have to live with, if he even gives a shit. I fought him off enough that he gave up for whatever reason. But it still broke something in me. He knew my god damn past, and he ass fucked my hurt with no lube or consideration or fucking caring. Heh. And here I am respecting his privacy or whatever enough to not even say what the fuck he did. Why? Maybe because I believe in honour. I believe in not being an honourless fucking cuntmonkey just because the other person is. Maybe because I have genuine respect and maybe even love for myself. Because my god damn word means something to me, at least sometimes. I do not think I can say the same for him.
So I told him to get the fuck out, and he did. I dropped something off to him in February while I was in town and we slept curled up on his couch, one last time. And that is the last time I saw him. I’ve heard from him now and then. I haven’t answered in a long while, because he does not deserve my time or effort or heart or even consideration. To let him back in to my life in even the most minuscule of ways is more than his actions warrant.
And all of this fucking pisses me off. It makes me want to break shit and scream and bleed and fuck things up. It makes me want to put him through the hurt he inflicted on me. But how can you make someone hurt who doesn’t give a real fuck because his head is shoved too far up his own ass due to fear?? You cannot. You just cannot. So I stew in my frothy white-hot anger, still. Why angry? Because there was something real there. Something that could abide and grow and be .. Something that almost makes up for the horrific pasts we endured. There was a chance for us to correct our past fuck ups and turn the future in to something memorable and loving and enjoyable and RIGHT. And instead of even fucking trying, he sank in to his fears and bullshit. And tried to destroy someone who actually cared and tried to help. And yes, that makes me blindingly horrifically angry. Fuck, I am infuriatingly indignant. Livid. Irascibly fucking rancorous. It takes quite a bit of bullshit fuckery to make me full-on rancorous, yet here we are! How the bloody fucksticks can you waste love?? How can you be so sunk in to your stagnant fears that you absolutely throw away one of the few things that can bring a shining ting of happiness to everything you do? I simply cannot understand it.
Yeah, yeah, fuck you, too.
But that is fine. I no longer want to feel or be loved or have anything to do with romantic bullshit. Or even sex. No fucking person on this shitass planet is worth going through that again. That sort of love is simply not worth the bullshit you must wade through. I have more money now, and less bullshit. I still have not been able to get back to the level of happy I was before meeting him, but maybe one day I will. When I can finally let go of this incredulous fucking ire I carry around with me every second of every hour of every god damn day. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to feel something again, to cry, to laugh and feel genuinely limitless, weightless. Maybe one day, I will once again smile just for the sheer soul-sucking pleasure of fucking smiling. I miss that. I miss waking up and just smiling because GOD DAMN it’s good to be alive.
This serves no other purpose than to be a place to toss down my thoughts and anger and hurt and genera malaise at the fuckery of the world, of people. If you have a shitty past, go cry me a fucking river in the god damn corner. Share your misery to let go of it, don’t inflict your god damn misery on another. Don’t make the world worse just because you’re a pussy motherfucker who can’t step past the fear long enough to give the world, a person, an experience a chance. Don’t cheapen someone else’s life by destroying them just because you fucking can, just because someone destroyed you. Don’t be a god damn shit. Don’t be a god damn soul-sucking fuck to anyone, but especially not to the people who genuinely care, be they friend, family, child, or lover. Don’t destroy someone’s fucking world or life just because you can’t get your own god damn shit together. Be a fucking adult. Be a GOOD fucking person. Don’t mouth platitudes, just fucking do.
It takes exactly zero god damn effort to not be a fuck.
Fuck Your Cultural Appropriation Bigotry
That’s a catchy title, innit?!?
Cultural appropriation pisses me off…but probably NOT in the way you think.
I do not understand, at all, why someone would get pissed that X person is doing Y thing. I just don’t; it makes absolutely NO sense to me. Do you think only YOUR ancestors wore skirts or top knots or dreadlocks or heels or feathers or giant septum rings? No, boo boo. No, they are not the only ones. All of these “cultural” traditions have been worn and done by multiple cultures for thousands of years. Let’s just take a few, okay?
Dreadlocks.. Ahh, one of my favourite cultural” things. One of which I have been accosted many times, when I had them. You see, humans did not crawl out of the primordial goo with hair brushes. No, they did not! Bathing etiquette and hair brushing and other hygiene issues did not become an issue until much further down the road…And if we can all trace our species’ origin back to one place.. that means we ALL have ancestors who wore dreadlocks, if only because they did not have nor use brushes and combs.
Top knots.. Another of my favourites, as should have been evidenced by how I usually wore my mohawk..These have frequently been worn in warrior classes from all over the world..from the Orient to the Celtic to the Native American. And most of us can claim at least one of those as an acestor.
Skirts! Another good one! Those have been used by males and females alike for many hundreds of years all across the globe. And their sisters-in-fashion, the robe and the loin cloth.
Nearly every culture EVER has adorned their hair and noses and ears and lips and nipples and clothing with stones, beads, feathers, bone, sticks.. Welcome to the beginning of the body modification fascination, brought to you by Ugga and Elga from 5-8 million years ago!
I could sincerely go on. I have brought these up in particular because I personally have had people scream at me for them or have known people who received that sort of treatment (re: males in skirts..speaking of, I’d love to see anyone bitching about that go tell a Scotsman to take off his tartan. I’ll just sit riiiiiiiiiight here and watch that…) All this is bigotry, to bitch at someone for what they wear and do. First of all, not a single one of you truly knows
1. another person’s ancestry
2. how they were raised
3. where they come from
Unless you were there the entire time or they have told you. Bitching at me about dreadlocks or top knots or jewelry in my hair because I’m not _______ is 100% bigoted. And I get shit all the time when I wear my hair certain ways or wear certain hats or colours.
Newsflash: I LOOK caucasian.. that doesn’t mean I am only caucasian.
So I pose a question for you.. If I were born in Japan to a caucasian couple, would it be okay for me to wear kimonos? I am not, after all, Japanese.
But…I was raised there. I grew up immersed in their culture. So does that make it okay? YES? Okay, then.
So if I move to the USA and wear a traditional Kimono for an art show.. why do people heckle me? Because they ASSUME shit about my life, therefore that ASSUMPTION gives them the right to be a bigot towards me. To be hateful. To yell that I am “appropriating” a culture I grew up in.
If I put my hair in dreadlocks right now, what gives anyone the right to accost me and tell me I stole it from X or Y culture? Do they know my lineage, my life, my history? No, they do not.
This whole bit of cultural appropriation is, overall, ABSOLUTE BOLLOCKS. Absolute. I, personally, am a mutt. A purebred 100% mutt made up of all sorts of intermixed DNA from millions of years of culture intermingling and spreading. If I wear dreadlocks with a kilt and have henna on my hands and a feather in my dreads.. who are you, or anyone, to accost me for appropriation??
NO. Stop this shit.
First, when people wear trappings of my ancestry, I am damn glad it is still appreciated enough to be around. Second, it gives me an opportunity to open a dialogue about my history and to listen to yours. Third, none of us are unique in our cultures. Nope; not a one. We have always shared and traveled and given fashion and taken fashion. We are one big smorgasbord of ideas and ideals from millions of years of travel and conquest. So quit getting pissed about something so damn trivial and non-existent as “cultural appropriation”.. Greet your cousins with a hug and a smile. Quit letting your assumptions about others give you an excuse to be shitty to them.
It is time for another edition of Shit That Bothers Me.. this time, the religious version!
TL:DR version:
This god damn book is bullshit; god damn it isn’t taking his name in vain cuz god is a title, not a name; rape and child weddings and slavery shouldn’t be okay and a loving and all-powerful god wouldn’t approve of that OR this book; contraditions everywhere; if someone came to you today saying they spoke to god, you wouldn’t believe them; I don’t care if you believe in a higher power but don’t follow that shitty book.
The full-length version can be seen below..
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Early Morning Truths
Some early morning “real talk” for you..
Jealousy is not cute. Ever. It is the height of insecurity in yourself, your partner, and your relationship. You don’t need to worry about “those hoes”, you need to worry about why you don’t trust your partner.
A “real” woman or man is whatever the bloody hell they decide to be.
Healthy isn’t a number on a scale.
Someone else’s numbers on a scale is none of your damn business.
Sexy isn’t numbers on a scale, either. Sexy is attitude and confidence.
Three dates/booty calls is not a relationship.
A ring doesn’t make someone loyal; their choices and actions do.
Putting a ring on it isn’t going to fix the broken shit; you fix that together.
Communication isn’t just a vocabulary word.
“Love at first sight” is complete and utter nonsense. That is called attraction, lust, desire. Which can be built on, if two people decide to do so.
There is no such thing as “the wrong time”. You both decide to work shit out together, or you don’t. PERIOD.
Love doesn’t give a shit about skin colour, religion, ancestral ethnicity, financial status, career status, or any of that other crap. It gives a shit about how the other person makes your soul shine during dark times, how their smile is all you can see when they’re near, how you crave their voice when they’re gone, how you want to experience life – good and bad – with them.
Someone else’s love is also none of your damn business unless one of them is being abused in ways they do not want.
Someone else’s sex life..see directly above.
Someone else’s choices in life are also none of your damn business unless they are being abused in ways they do not want or abusing others in ways they do not want.
Homosexuality is not a choice.
Hate IS a choice.
We all have prejudices against groups of people. ALL OF US. What makes us better is realizing this and actively working to remove those prejudices from ourselves, individually, and working in groups to combat ignorance.
None of us “deserve” shit, good or bad. That is a word we have come to throw around based on our emotions. What you say I “deserve”, another would cry “foul” if I received. Sometimes, however, the universe/life/whatever tosses us an opportunity. We either run with it or we do not.
There is NEVER an circumstance for which you do not have a reason to smile, laugh, and dance.
Positivity is a choice, not a circumstance.
The universe and world don’t give a shit about you. Creating and maintaining good bonds with exceptional people is a must.
You must love yourself.
You must find the parts of you that are not who you want to be and change them.
ONLY the individual can change themselves; you can never – EVER – change anyone but you. Ever.
Know when to stay and when to walk. When in doubt, it is time to go.
It is never – EVER – okay for someone to lay hands on you without your permission.
It is never – EVER – okay for you to lay hands on someone without their permission.
It is never – EVER – okay for someone to hit you unless you hit them first. In that case, you are a dumbass and they have the right to defend themselves.
It is never – EVER – okay for you to hit someone unless they hit you first. In that case, they are a dumbass and have the right to defend yourself.
You have the right to your beliefs and others should respect that right. That doesn’t mean you get to shove your beliefs on others.
We don’t have to believe the same shit to be friends.
We can discuss and even debate topics without resorting to name-calling.
It is just the Internet; this shit isn’t THAT damn serious.
If someone does not treat you right, talk to them to find out why without being an asshole. If they don’t change, walk.
And to go with the last one….
You are worth more than being someone’s back-burner bitch, whipping post, doormat.
If you want something, don’t wait for it….go WORK for it.
Don’t ever let someone trounce your past. It made you who you are. If they truly love you, they’ll appreciate your struggles and celebrate the victories and losses that brought you together.
Don’t ever let the world or someone make you feel you deserve less than you want. Don’t expect it to be handed to you; go work for it. But don’t let the harshness of your experiences harden you in to someone cold, unfeeling, hurt to the point of being a shell. Fight for your happiness, fight like hell. And enjoy every second of life; one day you’ll be back with the stars.
Depression Sucks, So Give It The Finger
I have been depressed this entire year. Yup; from before the first second until now. Through now.
However……..
I put chocolate syrup in my coffee today. I had a bitchin’ bowl of homemade stew. Callista is wearing a Hello Kitty nightgown while doing her school work. I have a mohawk I love, friends I love, family I love. I don’t live where I want, I don’t have everyone here that I want. The past year and a half has been incredibly painful and difficult in ways words cannot describe. But I am still here, I am still smiling (now with 100% MOAR TEETHS, as Scott put it), and every day is another chance to pick my stubborn ass back up, dust off, and keep skipping along with a twinkle in my eyes. Or crawling with a twinkle, on the bad days.
I may seem happy most of the time.. and once upon a time, I was. It is not easy maintaining a positive outlook, especially when I was 100% negative until 8 years ago, but I am positively sure I don’t give two shits how hard it is; this hooker abides.
I can’t explain it, but I feel yesterday and today are vital turning points in the struggle (I have partially subjected myself to) of the past 18 months or so. Hard days are inevitable. Depression, for me, is inevitable. ACCEPTING either without busting ass to change them are not. So bring on the bright sparkly whatevers, and bust out the toothy grins, bitches, and make today what you will. xo
Depression isn’t the killer – our choices are.
PTSD and Other Varied Hobbies
PTSD is a bitch. It is a sickness that lives in your heart and mind and soul and there is no cure beyond time, understanding, compassion, support, and love…all of which are in too short a supply these days.
Life: Are You Experienced, Baby?
I have most often lived my life in a purposeful state of casual deliberation. I do very few things accidentally, and I have precious few regrets. At the end of each day, the lack of regrets allows me to sleep better, dream better, live better.
We live in a world of lost opportunities, missed connections, not stepping forward, keeping our mouths closed when we should shout from the rooftops. We live in a world of mice-like scurrying form one destination, job, experience, love, new thing to the next. We are far too often concerned with getting to the next experience, place, thing and not at all concerned with enjoying the one we are currently in, and this cheapens the very existence of our life.
This is not, at all, to state new experiences are a waste. No, dear reader! this is to express the idea that we can enjoy the experience we are in now without longing for the next right away. We are so busy telling ourselves we are sucking all the marrow out of life that we frequently do not see we are, in fact, overlooking the bones for the next great conquest before we have even began to enjoy the current one. Part of winning, friends, is knowing how to enjoy the win, no matter how large or small. The joy of a journey may be in the journey itself, but we can also enjoy the destination for a spell before moving on. Part of the journey is enjoying arriving, after all; reveling in how we got there and what brought us to that point.
I have often heard people reminisce on their lives rather woefully, stating they feel so empty, despite having whatever society tells them they must have (specific job, spouse, kids, house, etc), despite having loving friends, family and companions, despite having a great job, car, house, whatever. We are so busy trying to attain the next thing, the next level of life we’re told we should want that we don’t sit back contentedly, stare at what we have accomplished, and say “god damn right. This is great.” And you know what? We damn well should. Look at you, motherfucker! Here you are, alive and thriving, and doing your damn thing. You’re surviving in a world that doesn’t give two shits or a fuck about you. You are making it even when you think you are failing. How is that? Because you are still fucking here, fighting to come back up for air even when you’re drowning. You’re a bad ass motherfucker, and don’t you dare ever let anyone tell you differently.
As I stated, I have precious few regrets. If I took an action, chances are I do so deliberately whether I thought it through beforehand or not. I do not regret my decision; I simply make the best of the consequences and move on. I wallow in some things, but not very many. Well, I do not even wallow so much as mourn a loss of a person or opportunity. If I fuck up, I try to make it better. If I cannot make it better, I say my peace and move on. I do not have “what might have been” issues, mainly because I would not be where I am NOW had my past run another route. I am not, by any means, happy all the time. I am not content with my job nor place of residence nor romantic liasons nor a dozen other minutia of my life, but I am working on those. I do not wish to be content as for me that promotes stagnation, but I am working towards more peace in my heart regarding my station in life and how I perceive it. You see, my life is not bad, it is simply not how I want it to be in many ways. Therefore, I work to resolve those trivialities so I can be more relaxed and at ease at the end of my day. I do not regret; I bust ass to resolve.
Though I admit I do have a few regrets.
Several years back, I had two abortions. Now some people would say they regret that infinitely. I do not. Why?? Because they saved my life. Yup, that’s right; they saved my life. I had already gone in for my yearly exam recently when I had one. I had to go back, after, for a pap smear to verify everything was okay and it was found I had pre-cancerous cells in my cervix. I went in for another two weeks later, and it had developed in to full-blown cancer. I was whisked away and had an (at the time) experimental laser surgery to remove several layers of tissue. The surgery is run-of-the-mill now, but at the time it was new and terrifying. But I survived. I am alive. And I went on to give birth to a precocious daughter who drives me batty and gives me hugs and kisses and cuddles even when we want to scream at each other. {{grins}} So, you see, even those actions that we might want to regret can lead to good things.. I can be upset at my choice, or I can be grateful for the long-term outcome.
And that is part of the problem with people and their warped mindsets today. We are in such a downward spiral of instant gratification that we have no real concept of the long game any more. We want more, to do more, to see more, to experience more, to LIVE more rightnowdamnit so much, we quit really living. We go through so damn many experience, but how many of you actually experience your life as opposed to trudging through it looking for The Next Big Thing?
Most of us don’t. We’re so concerned with providing for our children’s futures after we’re gone, and getting that new luxury car and impressing X people and partying on the weekends to shake off the emptiness or frustration at the week and jumping from relationship to relationship (in regards to both friends AND lovers) and finding a new living room set every two years, and.. I can go on. Fuck all that. I mean, leave a little something for your kids in the positive instead of all bills, if you can, but how about you spend some of that money NOW on an experience TOGETHER that you can all enjoy?? go on a family Disney cruise. Go to Great Wolf lodges. Go to Hawaii, to Ireland, to Japan, to the damn beach down the road, to something together NOW. Make memories, not plans. Our lives are an in-progress motion picture we cannot rewind or fast forward. If we press stop, we can’t press play again.Our lives are a series of memories we can hold on to when the stresses of our responsibilities become too much and we need a little moonlight to guide us out of the troubled turbulent waters. Our memories are what we have left when the experience is over, and sometimes revisiting those memories, eyes closed, smiling, is a good way to spend some time, to fully taste and savor the delicate blending of smells, colours, emotions that an experience can give us if we truly dive in to it and enjoy it for what it is. If we truly experience the now, we can go back and re-live it over and over and over, until our eyes close for good. When you truly experience something, you get to carry it with you.
Why do we wallow in the hurtful experiences by fly through the good ones, trying to get to the next?? Nah, man. Feel the hurt, the pain, the heartbreak, the mourning.. but give just as much time and as many emotions to the positive. When you smell that fucking flower, you close your god damn eyes and take that scent with you to your grave. You feel those jumping happy fuckin’ butterflies in your stomach so you ALWAYs have a spring in your step, even if you get to the point of no longer being able to walk. You take the memory of jumping in puddles with your kid with you until you are nothing more that flecks of dust flung back in to the cosmos. Don’t rush through it. Don’t overlook it. Don’t you dare take that god damn moment for granted. You live each moment deliberately, with happy fuckin’ abandon, and don’t you dare regret or overlook the good or bad that brought you to this exact moment, this exact time, this exact place, this exact experience.
How at the moon. Live your god damn life like you motherfucking mean it.
Take in every experience, no matter how big or small.
Salvation In Sin 