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.
Category Archives: What the Fuck
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:
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.
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!
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..