I don't fuck around --- not in my writing --- and not in my life. I'm a powerful woman who has finally found herself. I hope you find me too. I'm a Bitch who simultaneously wants to make everyone's life better, every day. I hate everyone until I breathe. It's good that I breathe, like, all the time so far in my life.
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I really don’t want to be “that person,” but ever since I started doing yoga with this particular YouTube yoga instructor — dare I say it — I have been feeling overwhelmingly better.
But like with all things that make my life more livable — it’s always at risk.
And any happiness I experience is just one FML away.
Annnd before you even think it — I have been going to tremendous lengths to not only try to put — positiveeverything — out into the universe while I attempt to refrain from putting — anythingnegative — out into the universe — 🙄 because science says that ish is real 🙄 — but I’ve also asked those around me — so, my Mom — to do the same.
I am NOT setting myself up for failure or doom and gloom — certainly not intentionally anyway.
It’s not my fault that my history works it’s dark magic.
I know, I know. I hedge despite my best efforts.
And I have a great analogy for you. Check this ish out:
Imagine a gorgeous paint by number that you recieve as a gift. Now imagine the craft store the paint by number came from. Now imagine there are 34 different paint by number choices available in this store. Now imagine a few bored kids decide to check out all of the colors in these sets of paint by numbers — all at the same time — innocently — lining the little paint sections up in rows to see if the colors match or how many there are or which ones are the most diverse or if they can find every color they can imagine. It’s awesome! The colors sometimes match! There are hundreds of different sections of color and each has a number attached! Some sections start with a 1 that’s white ⚪ (geal), and a 10 that’s purple 🟣 (purpaidh) — while others have a 1 that is black ⚫ (dubh), and a 10 that’s brown 🟤 (donn)! Some sections are just different shades of green 🟢 (uaine)! But now there’s a problem, (and I know y’all see it coming!) — the kids cannot remember which paint goes back into which box — where what goes where. So, they guess. They make sure that at least every box has the correct amount of paint sockets as required by the instructions. A few rivers might be purple, and animals might be green, and skylines might be white and black, (“just as nature intended,” the kids don’t tell themselves). After all, they didn’t mean to screw anything up, they just got excited. But, as the expression [I just now made up] goes, once the paint is out of the box, you can’t put it back the way it was before, no matter how much you might wish different choices has been made and considerations had been thought through.
That’s my life.
Oh, it’s never dull; it’s just SO interesting — to look at. The perspective is so unique! YOU might not have used the same color paint, but you can certainly appreciate the brave choices I have apparently made myself.
From the outside.
At a very safe distance.
How straight ballin’ was that analogy?!
Please don’t get me wrong. I do indeed live a unique and colorful life. I’m grateful for everything I have that doesn’t hurt me — (or worse — those around me).
I’m going to tell you a secret: I’m terribly terrified that every single thing I write sounds like I’m complaining — as if that’s all I’m capable of doing. Only others can really decide whether that’s the case. But at least, my dear reader, you will know that should I sound like the constant complainer — I HATE that, and it’s NOT my intention when sharing.
I REALLY hope that you will always know and believe THAT, at least.
So I’m going to set the stage for the paint by number that is my life, which has me feeling pretty great today, and had me feeling pretty great last week as well.
I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll write it again and again, but I have an incurable disease that has cost me the life I was supposed to have at best — and the life I thought I wanted at worst.
My woulda/shoulda bright amazing sunset was switched out with mostly dark grays and blacks and some streaks of light grays and white.
Indeed, my colorful life is no longer (and has not been) available to me. And I’ve had to adjust. And work within darkness much of the time. And when I do get the chance to play with the light I use every last available steak of even dried-out or old paint that I can — because I just never ever know when that light’s gonna run out.
In that vein, I guess I don’t mind so much being “that person,” who’s 🌟shining🌟 about yoga. Because I’m not suggesting anyone else do it for whatever reasons other people annoyingly suggest yoga seemingly endlessly and unsolicited for, I’m genuinely and truly doing yoga for me. It’s part of my light. The fact that it’s a cliché is a coincidence😇⚖️👩⚖️.
When I was younger — I was sick often. It caused all types of problems for me in a multitude of places — and I’m not gonna go into it much further right now except to say that so many adults in my life didn’t believe me.
And my parents raised me to be honest.
And I was.
So when I was not believed for other things that happened to me later in life — it certainly wasn’t the first time.
Though I cannot say it hurt me and confused me any less just because the feeling was familiar.
When I wasn’t believed as a kid — it was scary. I was confused because I couldn’t understand what I had done wrong to make these adults think I wasn’t being honest.
When I was younger, I was sick often, but not nearly as sick as I am now. And I was hella (sorry, Eric) active despite my frequent illnesses.
To be clear, let me tell you what categories the various “adults,” as I’m using the term, were in: Doctors, Teachers, Coaches, Nurses, Tutors, a Priest, Members of my Church, and other kid’s Parents who thought I was getting special treatment (though I couldn’t tell you even one way anything that happened to me when I was sick gave me an upper hand).
I’m only sharing this snapshot of the muck I’ve had to tread through to say quite a simple thing, actually.
I was a competitive swimmer in the winter and in the summer (two different teams in two different locations), I played basketball for a minute, I was on a rhythmic gymnastics team, I was very proudly in Color Guard and Winter Guard in high school, I swam on the Varsity swim team at the same time, I danced in the school musical, I was a choreographer for the Show Choir which I also danced in, and I worked out with my sister wherever we could.
So when I can do a couple hours of yoga a dayNOW — I get a whisk of that past life when I used my body all kinds of ways.
And it feels good.
You have to understand I’ve been doing little much other than laying in bed — in [literally] writhingagony — watching movies and TV, sometimes coloring or reading, thanking God for my 3 cats, (😿2 of which died within 12 days of one another this past winter😿), and connecting with other people (read: my therapists and psychiatrist) via a screen — for about 5 years. Until.
For now, for today at least, that’s all you get.
Please trust that I have reasons — GOOD reasons — to preserve “until” — with an emphatic period, just for now.
I’m not going to make excuses, I’m just going to tell you what happened while I was writing this post: it was turning into a small novella so I thought it best to break it up here.
That means — part II is almost completely written.
And since I’m letting y’all in more and more on my process, even though some of this was already written prior to my finishing my morning yoga at 11:37 A.M. — a LOT of this post was written today.
And then — while I was editing and thinking and creating — I decided to cut up this particular message into more than one post — because part II deserves it’s own stage.
That being said, part II is really important to me.
part II leaves me vulnerable in all kinds of ways that I hope will reach someone who needs to hear my message.
part II will hopefully be up — well — as soon as I’m done crafting it out the way I want it to be. Then — like today — I’ll re-read it a few more times — add more images — it’s 3:04 P.M. now — and hit that publish button for y’all.
Until then, be good to one another ♥️🎶✌🏿✌🏻✌🏾✌🏼✌🏽🦊!!!!!
This is what I sometimes keep next to my bed at night — just in case?!?!?!
I figured out that I do this because I have a sincere fear of being without water or a beverage of some kind at all times. It’s a real thing. I’ve met one other person with this fear in real life but it’s why I bring open solo cups full of ice and water everywhere I go now (with at least two other bottles of water in my purse).
And since taking about this on social media I’ve found even more people who do this!
I can leave my phone at home and the only thing that will upset me about that is if I hear a song that I like — wherever I am — and I can’t use my phone to listen to it so I can add it to my Spotify playlist(s).
But if I leave without a beverage — serious panic ensues.
Over the years this has escalated to the point that I have at least 2 bottles of water in my bag everywhere I go AND I walk around with a solo cup full of ice water in addition to those bottles.
I’m on day 12 — which is no little thing for me.
I’ve already noticed a few changes.
For one, my schedule is effed.
I’ve been waking up between 1:00 AM and 3:45 AM. Because of that I have to try to translate my time schedule to my Mom based on my waking up at 8:00 AM.
Does that make sense?
If not, let’s say I woke up at 2:00 AM, I’m 6 hours behind 8:00 AM. So I explain that when she leaves for work around 9:00 AM it already feels like 3:00 PM for me, based on my waking up at 8:00 AM. Okay. I think that’s clear.
And to utilize the most useless expression of all time, “needless to say”: when my Mom gets home from work a bit after 6:00 PM (most days), then it feels like midnight for me, using that same example of my 2:00 AM wake-up and assuming a schedule of me waking up at 8:00 AM accounting for the 6 hour difference.
I hate math. But I can count to ten in Scottish Gaelic as of yesterday, so, I’m kind of a big deal 😉.
I sometimes wonder if my obsession with beverages is a genuine fear — like someone’s fear of bridges or being buried alive — OR — if it has a more practical purpose.
Maybe I hoard beverages because my body is still constantly screaming “you’re so dehydrated you a-hole! Liquid-ate me up, B!”
I used to think this was because of the nights before, but clearly it’s not. It’s my Disease.
It also might account for why I bring my Mom’s lawn guy and my mail carrier water all summer long.
I spend approximately 7 minutes an hour getting more water. I usually mix it with a zero calorie beverage with taste to lessen the blow, unless I’m leaving the house when I just drink water.
Basically I fill my solo cup with ice and then fill what space is left with that zero calorie ish.
I do this with 2 cups to keep my water intake up as much as possible. And I go through both cups every hour all day long.
It’s too bad my Doctors won’t just let me get an in-home IV drip. I’ve only been hospitalized for dehydration — I don’t know how many times now🙄. But it wasn’t okay every time it happened, I do remember that.
I’ve been tearing through my reading lately. I am so happy to find things to read that I can’t put down again.
While reading the book my face is currently buried in, I became suddenly aware that my body is a lot weaker than I’d like it to be if for no other reason than practical ones, like if I needed strength for — I don’t know — anything?
So this morning as soon as I saw the sun come up I started with 40 minutes of yoga. A 30 minute beginner class and a 10 minute morning class.
And this was not only awesome, but it definitely did the trick because I felt muscles working that I have not felt in awhile.
So there’s that!
I’m still practicing Scottish Gaelic for hours — about 4 or more on average — per day.
For those of you not familiar with the Duolingo app — they kind of pit you against other people in what they call “leagues.” I don’t really love it because in every league I rack up a lot of points, and people then try to put me in my place by beating my score. What they don’t realize is I’m only playing against myself.
This isn’t a matter of pride.
It’s not a game!
I’m just practicing as much as possible so I really and truly LEARN the language. And it’s working. But I guess good for them for practicing so much too? 🙂
So an early wake-up means an early bedtime, and a natural one at that.
I’ve just been listening to my body, and when it’s ready to sleep I can tell, and I let it. Whatever time that happens to be.
I’ve been listening to music of COURSE, as well, usually while I’m getting my ice cups ready.
I have been listening to a lot of Eminem’s “Recovery” album. I can’t imagine why.
I can’t find it at the moment, but I watched an interview in which when asked HOW he rhymes words and puts them together in the way he does — Eminem basically says that his brain just does that 24/7 and it’s not something he can ever turn off — and although he spoke about it like it was a curse and a Blessing — all I could think was — okay so his thoughts are always just conjuring genius.
He amazes me.
After watching that interview — I remember thinking that although I cannot relate to his genius — I certainly understand it.
I’m always conjuring — then — very carefully — shaping words, sentences, and ideas for public consumption. A LOT of things go through my head at once pretty much 24/7 as well. I’m always thinking about words and their effect.
Sometimes in an attempt to quiet my mind I dive into music — and Eminem’s sick use of language immediately appealed to me from the time I was 15 years old.
If I’m absolutely losing my ish — I’m supposed to listen to music according to my previous therapist who practiced Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT). And you would NOT be able to figure out what “sort” of person I am from listening to my Spotify playlists — they are so random.
I wonder if this is just how a Writer’s mind works. Or just a creative mind? I cannot imagine that there are that many people walking around with the manic thoughts that I’m constantly desperate to write down somewhere. But how would anyone know?
As a sidebar: an enemy of Em’s is an enemy of mine. I would have liked to check out your music, bro, but if you’re straight up lying about things Em’s done and other ish just for attention tryna blow up — I can’t respect that.
I told one of my closest and dearest friends (who is more like a sister now, which I’m very grateful for, having been abandoned by my sister by blood: Hillary Joan now if a different last name) yesterday that I want to get a “tramp stamp” of the name EMINEM as soon as possible.
I explained I’ve been listening to his song “W.T.P.” too much in which Em raps: “She’s got a tattoo of me right above her ass, man In the streets of Warren, Michigan we call ’em tramp stamps That means she belongs to me, time to put the damn clamps down and show this hussy who’s the man Now, get amped, dance!”
My friend and I were also talking about irony at the time.
Then we both talked about how we have more than a handful of tattoos in our respective queues to get when we can afford them. I have at least 7 I’ve mapped out.
I’m serious about the EMINEM tattoo as long as it doesn’t intervene with the other tattoo I’ll have going down my spine. Hear me out.
Eminem saved my life in sort of the same way that Captain Jack Sparrow did. His music kept me from killing myself, particularly the song “Sing for the Moment” from his album “The Eminem Show” which came out when I was first experiencing depression but didn’t understand what to do about it yet.
Eventually — I spoke up to my Mom as I’ve mentioned before, but with Eminem’s music in my ear, I was able to hold on until I was able to ask for help.
So honestly, as far as tattoos go, I think tattooing the name of people/characters who kept you from killing yourself are not only validated — but earned and deserved.
And my ink has ALWAYS been for me and only me anyway.
The artist who did my Captain Jack Sparrow tattoo tried to convince me to turn it 180° so other people could see it clearly and I unequivocally said, what on Earth makes you think I’d ever mark my body for anyone but myself?
She didn’t answer — and I’m definitely not judging people who do what she suggested because I think tattoos are sexy AF. I’m not a fan of face or leg tattoos, but please, the more the better in whatever way you want as far as I’m concerned.
In the meantime, I’ll keep planning my future tattoos out meticulously. And, I’ll give the one large significant tattoo which adorns my body “the main event” attention and appreciation it deserves. It feels especially special because it’s the only one people usually see. And there’s something significant about that too.
In conclusion, I’m killing it, in a good way: music 🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶; reading 📚📖📙📘📗📕; writing ✍️✏️📜📝🖊️🖋️📖; hydrating 💧🥤🍶🥛🚰🧉; learning Scottish Gaelic 🏴🏴🏴🏴🏴🤟👩🏫🟠📙🧡; yoga & ballin’🧘♀️🧘♀️🧘♀️🧘♀️🧘♀️🚴♀️🚶♀️🚲⛹️♀️🏀
Uisge-beatha means “whisky” in Scottish Gaelic. And uisge by itself means “water. “
Do you see the difference?
Because I’m sure starting to.
Math fhèin, meaning, “Excellent.”
As always be good to one another ❤️🎶✌🏿✌🏻✌🏾✌🏼✌🏽!!!!!
I just watched “The Batman,” the newest Batman movie based on DC characters in Batman comics. I remember wanting to see this film when it came out. I wanted to see Robert Pattinson in this role. But it took me about a week — in stages — to actually get through — and I probably only finished it at all because of a friend’s recommendation.
I suppose, tangentially but not unimportant to this post it seems, he is more than a friend. He’s actually kind of the smartest guy I’m not dating but basically in some form of relationship with. I met him on a dating site — and I liked him a lot — and he was really nice — and we set up a date — but after talking through my concerns with my therapist I ultimately cancelled with him — but not at the last minute — because that’s a dick move. I even explained to him my reasons — I believe there were three of them — and they were all on me and where I was at mentally at the time.
This guy — he was giving me too much credit before he really knew me. I remember that being probably the main reason I pushed the eject button. I needed him to be less kind to me because for a long time now — that is what I believe I have deserved in relationships.
Since I was 24 years old I haven’t believed that I deserved someone who was kind to me.
I thought — “I’m not a good person, therefore I do not deserve anything good.”
And I know what you’re thinking — “where does ‘The Batman’ figure into all this?”
I’ll get there.
It turns out — after thinking on it more than a little — I realized that I have been cancelling on men that I thought were too good for me since I was 17 years old.
I regret rejecting [at least] five seriously good men in my life. I can identify by first and last name five specific men.
I definitely had a more than “a chance” with four of them.
And the fifth I’ll never know. Because he’s dead. But I regret feeling “not good enough” to have tried with him. I miss this guy CONSTANTLY — but I thought HE thought I was “an untouchable” — or something — back when he was alive — which I NOW realize cannot be the case because otherwise — me not being a psychopath or stalker and all — I could not be missing someone constantly that was such an important piece of my life — which I visualize as a puzzle.
I am so freaking angry that the idiots who said to me “you’ll never regret what you do in life, but you’ll regret what you don’t.”
Said above idiots are doubly wrong.
I TOTALLY regret what I didn’t do AND what I did do so far in life. I regret every single move I’ve made since I was 24 years old — with the exception of how I spent my time with my parents.
SPOILER ALERT re: “The Batman.” IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE MOVIE YET AND INTEND TO — KNOW THAT THERE ARE SPOILERS AHEAD. I WILL USE ALL CAPS AGAIN IN THE REMAINING PART OF THIS POST WHEN THE SPOILERS ARE DONE AND IT IS SAFE TO READ AGAIN. SCROLL DOWN IF YOU WISH.
Batman doesn’t get to ride off with Catwoman in the end.
He is alone.
He is on his own path; he has a mission.
I am a difficult case. I know I am. I have a fear of commitment. I have a fear of being alone. I simultaneously do not understand and fully understand why I am not like everyone else I know.
I, too, am on a mission.
Actually, I’m on about four or five or six (or maybe more) specific missions — with potentially one ultimate mission driving them all — though at the moment I’m loath to put a name to it.
I LEGALLY STREAMED “The Batman” ON HBO MAX.
I WATCH A LOT OF MOVIES AND TELEVISION SHOWS IF I FEEL LIKE THEY ARE WORTH MY TIME AND ARE CULTURALLY RELEVANT OR BASICALLY IF THEY JUST LOOK GOOD. I AM A SUCKER FOR A GOOD TRAILER — AND I AM A RELENTLESS CRITIC WHO ASSIGNS GRADES TO FILMS AND MEDIA THAT I LIKE OR FIND VALUE IN WITH A STRICT RANGE OF A++es SWINGING DIRECTLY TO D–es IF FILMS WHOSE TRAILERS WERE THE ONLY GOOD THING ABOUT THE FILM IN MY EYES DESERVE SUCH HATERADE.
I think I’m fair about it though. I appreciate variety and diverse concepts and budgets. But I’m discerning — as I am with everything NOW in my life.
I’m not an idiot.
I know that people enjoy different types of film and dislike others.
We have to.
Like my regrets.
I find it decreasingly difficult to be objective about my life, however.
It’s probably from the sugar and the sobriety — but memories of various and bizzare things are coming back to me that I haven’t thought about.
I am intentionally not putting a time stamp on the above statement — because I cannot remember time correctly anymore.
So ACTUALLY, what’s going on with my memory, and in my mind, is what this post is supposed to be about.
I will continue to meander — so forgive me.
It started early this morning while I was reading on the back porch.
I was simultaneously ruminating about media that’s been in my head floating around, I suppose, because I suddenly thought: “Stop reading. Get to the computer. Write in your blog about your memory. Tell people WHAT JUST HAPPENED TO YOU TODAY.” So I’m here.
While scrolling through other things available on HBO Max — as one does on any streaming service — (I’m going to say something about this too if you bear with me) — I came across a few films, etc. that I wanted to check out. One of them was the standup of Nikki Glaser. If you’re interested — the whole title is “Nikki Glaser: Good Clean Filth.”
I don’t love a lot of gorgeous celebrity women. It’s [usually] because I’m jealous of how gorgeous they are or what sexy celebrity man they are married to, etc. You know. The reasons I’m surely still single 🙄.
But since I first watched Nikki Glaser (wherever that was) I have liked her. I respect her. I have tried to hate her — because she is awesome and hilarious so she’s also intelligent AF and she’s gorgeous — but I can’t. I really like her. She is hella (sorry Eric) all that, yes, but importantly she exudes a confidence I need.
And I think Ms. Glaser is confident because she should be.
I have always felt that one must be intelligent to be hilarious.
I think if you can make people laugh — you’re, first, incredibly intelligent, because, as Ms. Glaser says, “manipulating [someone’s] emotions” takes mad skill.
I’ve been told since high school that I laugh at everything too easily. But I disagree. I think I have incredible taste when judging what’s funny.
I sometimes even think I have mad skills.
When it comes to comedy, obviously I am not on Ms. Glaser’s level. But, I have definitely made people laugh. Kind of a lot. Kind of every day. On purpose.
Secondly — I think someone who is as hilarious as Ms. Glaser must be defined in a way that I bet most people will find objection to and that’s obviously your prerogative. I think to be hilarious you have to be a bit of what we used to call a Sociopath.
(Earlier, I said I’m not a psychopath. Actually, now, I believe that Mental Health professionals group both — at least what my generation used to distinguish between — “Psychopaths” and “Sociopaths” — as “Antisocial Personality Disorder,” (ASPD). And I think I probably should be diagnosed with this because I have too many of the traits at LEAST occasionally but that’s a story for another post. Anyway. I think the people who write the DSM are off their rockers to utilize those words to describe a human being. And again. Maybe I have this disorder because I feel that way.)
I think — with RESPECT — people like Ms. Glaser and Batman (who, yes, is fictional, but I’m making a point about character), maybe even someone like Tyler Henry (who I have all of the admiration in the world for as well), and every one of my ex-boyfriends who I wanted to marry, as well as I’ve already stated, myself — check off some of the characteristics of a Sociopath — again, with RESPECT, I say this, because I admire all of the above — because we have to if we are ever going to accomplish what we set out to do in this world — AKA our missions.
We. HAVE. To.
At least a little bit.
This is why I think goal oriented people might have a little bit of this so-called disorder. Sociopaths are said to: behave impulsively, disregard the feelings of others, recognize what we are doing when what we are doing is considered wrong but we do it anyway, cannot typically maintain both a “regular” (whatever that means) work and family life — and I’m going to say here on behalf of at least myself — that means we don’t have 9-5 jobs or a regular schedule because we don’t fit into one and cannot for into one because of how we think and what we want to accomplish — and as for family — I guess we’re basically all unmarried without children. And finally, sociopaths CAN have emotional connections with others but it is difficult for us.
So, we probably don’t fit what “they” see as “regular” because we are different. And I understand why. And the above was the short version.
I want to emphatically state that I am NOT labeling/stating/intending to say that Nikki Glaser is a Sociopath. I’m ATTEMPTING to say that I can relate to her, more than ever, because she potentially has some of these characteristics, and because I think the DSM is wrong. Besides. Who the eff am I to judge?
But here’s where it gets tricky. Essentially — it is widely accepted that Sociopaths lack Empathy — and that is in direct conflict when juxtaposed to my third requirement for one to be hilarious.
Jesus Christ, this is a long post.
I’m blaming Recovery.
To accomplish a goal or a mission, and in Ms. Glaser’s case, that would mean being hilarious — which she has accomplished — thirdly, one must have Empathy.
So grapple with THAT, [my own] point number two!!!!!
Empathy is essentially the capacity or ability to understand AND share the FEELINGS that other people understand and share. Ms. Glaser unequivocally does this — so it is redundant when I now say that she is not only capable of empathy — but she exudes it in her profession and I imagine in her life.
I have learned that you cannot fake Empathy. CAPITAL E. Emphatic period.
I have been officially diagnosed by a psychiatrist as an Empath. This means that I have these characteristics: I work with OTHER people or on behalf of other people because I want to help them, however, I am also UNCOMFORTABLY sensitive to being around other people. Sometimes I’m INCREDIBLY sensitive to noise, smell, vibrations on bleachers during a basketball game I attend, I get chills watching someone brush their teeth, etc. I’m often exhausted after being in social situations. I do not like crowds, and I get overwhelmed if I have to be in a crowd or I unintentionally land myself in a crowd (now I’m looking at you and how you say you feel about this, Tyler Henry).
I saved the worst for last. The worst part of being an Empath is that you literally absorb the emotions and feelings of everyone around you — usually almost immediately. I cannot explain how this feels — except to say that my previous sentence is what happens. (Imagine going to funerals, being around someone who was just sexually assaulted because you work as a rape crisis advocate, or worse, absorbing the hate that your abusive rapist of an ex-boyfriend exudes when he threatens to kill himself if you don’t stay the night.)
I. FEEL. ALL OF IT.
And in a world where we as a society like to pin good versus evil, I’m looking toward the good as I attempt to make these three points.
Nikki Glaser, Tyler Henry, me, and, yes, even Batman are on missions to leave our mark on this world in a way that helps people.
This is where the Antisocial Personality Disorder thing gets to me.
How can I simultaneously feel confident enough to manipulate others if I absorb what they are feeling so incredibly all-encompassingly and often debilitatingly at the same time?
Because that’s how to make positive change happen.
At least that’s my new and only outlook.
It has to be.
And it is not lost on me that this seemingly impossible contradiction perhaps applies to people who attempt to change the world by leaving an evil footprint. But that’s not what I’m thinking about today.
Not today, Satan.
These traits actually aren’t contradictions. They coexist perhaps intentionally for people who WANT to implant change.
I guess that’s a thesis I could write about thoroughly if I weren’t so busy Straight Ballin’.
HBO Max gave me hope through Nikki Glaser. She is a badass 37 year old unmarried woman who is a brilliant, beautiful genius. She IS a hilarious comedian. She is confident. She has an impact. And her intense raw relentless honesty is not only awesome, it’s imperative. (People have said I have the same style — and it’s gratifying.) I cannot say emphatically enough how much I respect and admire her. She IS one of my heroes. She’s accomplished her mission. At the very least she’s in the process of doing so.
I hope that’s okay with her.
Speaking of geniuses, the man I mentioned earlier, the one I did not go on a date with, but am in a kind of relationship with? The one I explained to why I was cancelling our datr, and pushed away like I did with all of the best men I could have been with so far in my life, (two of which are now dead)? He did THE only thing any man has ever done at me — and this really caught me off guard and blew my mind.
He graciously understood, and asked if we could continue talking as friends.
GD effing genius, he is.
Now, of course, this wouldn’t work for every guy that I have not ghosted but also did not pursue (through online dating, at least).
But I’d rather have that offer even if I don’t take it than the fairly typical cursing me off and telling me I’m an ugly B they don’t want anyway.
But, if I knew I was NEVER going to want to be with a guy I wouldn’t entertain this request.
However, in this man’s case, my reasons for not wanting to go out at that time had the potential to be ironed out in the future. Basically, for significant and logical reasons, I just wasn’t ready.
Of course I did not say to him, “I’m just not ready.”
But perhaps in my explanation he understood that was what I meant.
And when he asked me if we could still talk as friends I was so thrown — because he was serious!!!!! And genuine.
Obviously, whether this was his plan or not, that request changed everything in our relationship.
Now, we’ve been getting to know each other quite well for months, and he continues to treat me the way that had always made me uncomfortable before — in the process — making me comfortable.
He treats me well.
He gives me respect.
He doesn’t judge me.
He is honest.
He doesn’t have a bad thing to say about anyone.
And by getting to know him through this on-going “friendship” I am more comfortable with him and our relationship has become something more.
So if any men (or women for that matter — though I’ve never experienced the respect from anyone who rejected me the way I rejected him so I don’t know if it applies because everyone has different experiences) are being rejected under the HONEST premise that the person they are interested in “just isn’t ready”— I recommend that you ask said Rejector if you can continue talking as friends.
Because I think it’s genius.
And as someone with traits of Antisocial Personality Disorder — I affirmatively state that whether or not my man has “game” — this “move” worked like a Mmer-Effer.
And to quote Em’s song “Seduction” from his Album “Recovery,” (appropriate timing), “You sadly mistaken if you thinkin’ that I’m not on my game, boy And things just ain’t been the same since the day that I came forth You wear your heart on your sleeve, I sport that white tank, boy What you hollerin’ my name for? Ain’t my dang fault, man, I can’t call it.”
I wonder if Eminem still knows I’m hoping he’ll seduce me. I didn’t Stan him with letters so I doubt it. Someone hook that up for me, will ya?
But back to reality.
Brillant. Sgionniel!!!!! Right?!
Sgionniel means “brilliant” in Scottish Gàidhlig (aka Scottish Gaelic for us Americans).
The answer is YES!!!!!
I am learning Scottish Gaelic. I practice it so much every day that I have started thinking, speaking, and writing in this new (for me) language. And I’m kind of obsessed with Scotland now.
TOTALLY unrelated, I changed my hair up again.
This is the fourth language I’ve attempted to learn in five years.
In case you’re curious:
I took an adult French class with my Mom prior to the pandemic because she learned French in High School and I wanted to do something different outside of the house with her. Unfortunately, my Mom understood and spoke French better than the “teacher” of the class, so she didn’t learn anything new, and even though I tried really hard, I was ultimately unable to understand how French worked.
Prior to that I took Mandarin through an adult school. I was working for a company at the time where much of the staff and the owners spoke Mandarin fluently. I thought I would work there for a long time because I loved it there and my coworkers loved me, but unfortunately — shortly after I started taking the class the dam that only allowed some symptoms sometimes broke and the Disease that plagues me now —- and will forever — has taken over my life — and IS why I wanted to write this post — and I could no longer work there. That was probably the most fun place to work I ever had. Anyway, I was oddly able to learn beginners Mandarin, although it is an incredibly sophisticated language, well enough that my Mandarin Teacher didn’t believe that I had never taken a class or learned the language before — a compliment that really lifted my spirits at a time when I needed spirit-lifting.
After I moved back home to live with my Mom, I started watching more and more movies and films and media as I’ve already stated. I watched the movie “The Informer” with Joel Kinnaman. Actually, I watched this movie for two reasons: Joel Kinnaman — (God — the concupiscent me would love to find a Swedish-Scottish American who is a mix of Mr. Kinnaman and Mr. Sam Heughan) — AND because the movie involves the Polish mob (which is not generally an ethnicity surrounding mob movies) — but there was a lot of Polish spoken in the movie. I am 50% Polish — so I thought — why not? So I started learning Polish — and then I got REALLY into it — and I think I’ll go back to it again because I liked feeling like I was indulging myself in part of my heritage. But sometimes I can be manic with what I want to do. And when that happens — I start doing a bunch of things at once — and I stopped learning Polish because I started learning other things. That’s my bad.
Finally, one of those things I started learning lead me to wanting to pick up Scottish Gaelic, and I’ve been working hard to learn it for 74 days straight now, and I practice a few hours every day. My fascination with Scotland’s history lit the spark. But this is also THE crux of my post.
FYI — shoutout to the app Duolingo — without which I most likely wouldn’t be learning any languages.
I, like Nikki Glaser, am now 37 years old.
Except, I don’t really feel like the last 13 years happened, sometimes.
Imagine losing 13 years of your life. What a mind-eff.
I mentioned that I have regrets about most everything I’ve done since I was 24 years old. So THAT math checks out.
It’s like I stopped being me when I made the decisions I made in 2009, influenced by what happened to me in 2008.
This won’t make sense to most of you — but I feel like it’s nine days later than the worst choice I made, 13 years in the past, meaning I’m about to do what I should have done at 24 years old.
In fact: most of what I’m about to say may not make much sense to anyone.
I don’t know.
Those of you reading this that have the same Disease that I have will understand. But I’m not sure that everyone else won’t just find my words to be cray cray.
I brought Nikki Glaser up again for a reason. (That phrase jumbles my mind.)
During her set, she used the word “blazer” to describe what she was wearing during a particular interaction she had with someone — and she said the word quickly and without much emphasis — meaning it was not especially important to her sequence — except for the fact that it was setting the scene so we could visualize better what was going on.
And that word is what prompted me to write this incredibly long post.
I think part of the reason it is so long is because I think differently now than I used to be able to, partly because I guess I have a lot to say and writing feels really good because I’ve “only” been “hand-written journaling” and working on my book which in which everything is surrounded by one specific topic — so I miss writing my opinions about other things, and mostly because I haven’t posted anything since last year during Christmastime. That’s quite a long break.
And the reason is me. (Sorry, Hoobastank.)
I’ve been suffering.
I’ve been struggling.
I’ve been in pain.
I’ve been selfish.
I’ve been disabled.
I’ve been losing.
I am an Author without words.
That’s how I described how my mind feels to my Mom one night when I could not find the word — for the 600th time this year — I needed — to get my meaning across — in what I was failing at attempting to explain to her.
It took me approximately forty seconds to figure out what that word meant. I could not recall for the life of me what that garment looked like, though context clues in the set told me it was a garment. This was my thought process:
“blazer. what is a blazer? i know that word. i know it is a top, i think. does it have a collar like a golf shirt? no that’s not right. what about those sweaters with the knot looking things running down them. or just a sweater with a v-neck. that’s not it either. blazer. blazer. blazer! it’s that thing that hill wears when she coaches. it’s that thing she gave me when she grew out of it. oh my god. i have like ten of them at least. more like twenty if i count all of my suits. how could i forget that. i wore them every day when i was practicing. blazer. god. ok. that is right. blazer. what is she saying? i have to rewind the joke.”
Irony can be defined as an occurrence that is intentionally not something a person anticipates and therefore may be slightly amusing.
That being said, ironically, I thought just this morning (madainn an-diugh) — about something I used to say sometimes when horrible things were on the minds of the people around me who I felt compelled to help as I always do, and when horrible things were on my mind as well and I was expressing them: “I wish I had a Pensieve like Dumbledore, and I could take certain thoughts out of my head and store them so they aren’t forgotten, but I also wouldn’t have to suffer them constantly in the meantime.”
Unfortunately I am forgetting words when I need them — in almost exactly the way a Pensieve might work — except it’s like the words are deciding for me who should tap out.
So I got a very effed up version of my wish, I suppose, in the end. (I never understood that thing anyway. Like, are the thoughts labeled? Because at some point “magic” isn’t a good enough excuse for everything anymore. It’s not like JDepp as Captain Jack Sparrow saying, “Pirate!”)
The losing words thing happens most often when I am speaking to someone, which isn’t that often anymore, but it almost always happens at least once during every single conversation I have with anyone.
I have to ask whoever I’m talking to if they know what I mean.
And now I’m forgetting the meaning of words I know?! It’s not something I love — to say the least.
Actually, it’s terrifying.
And since I’ve had time to process; this has been happening for years now, actually.
It started in 2017. That’s when the dam in my mind broke. I just did not realize it until it was too late. I didn’t realize it when I decided to pursue a different avenue of my career in 2018. And I had to leave my favorite place of employment — a place where my co-workers (all male but me — seriously — all of them), LITERALLY cried when they found out I was leaving because I was making such a difference in their sanity. I was proud of getting that job too. It actually didn’t exist until I met with the Owners of the company. They made me an employee when they were not hiring. I hated leaving. I was making such a difference.
I was hired by another company at the end of 2019, but had to leave after four days because I got so sick almost immediately — because of this Disease — and I could barely function, let alone move my body parts without excruciating agony. That sucked.
And I’m aware people think I’m exaggerating about the pain.
I have a high tolerance for pain. I think a lot of athletes have to in order to get the job done.
I’m not exaggerating.
I am often in agony. I’m in pain right now.
I consider opiates. Knowingly. I’ve resisted on purpose. But I am ALWAYS in pain. And I mean it wakes me up every night and I cry out in agony from my bed trying to reposition my screaming body.
I also realized I could make a career out of something else and I drew up a business plan, presented it to a local business, and they loved it so much they hired me immediately. Unfortunately, the four hour meeting that was meant to be a fifteen minute presentation brought my never-ending Disease out full throttle again, and I realized I could never do what I wanted to do if I continued to have unannounced Flare-Ups that left me paralyzed — unable to walk or talk.
Imagine ME not being able to talk. Everyone’s favorite joke against me is “silence is golden.” But do you know what happens when I stop talking?
It IS silent.
And no one likes that.
Silence makes people uncomfortable.
People want to be stimulated if not entertained.
Perhaps that’s why an ASPD outlook gives me the confidence to say: I AM the main event.
Nevertheless, I am writing all this to share some things I wanted to put out there, about me, and where I’ve been. First, for 5 months in 2017, when the dam broke, and I was quarantined to a typically empty apartment because my ex was a beaver, and then, in late 2018 because my brain just wasn’t keeping up and my body was broken — I really went through it.
I REALLY went through it.
By “it” I mean that when the pandemic hit, absolutely NOTHING about how I was existing changed except that now — everyone was wearing masks. In THAT way, the pandemic did not make me stir-crazy the way it affected other people.
But, when people started losing it about being locked down, I remember thinking, “this is the first time I don’t care that “they” don’t like it and have feelings about it.
I have no empathy.
Because we’re not going through the same thing at all. For them, this will eventually end. But for me, it will be the rest of my life. And if I had had competent Doctors when I was a teenager, or possibly even earlier than that, maybe I wouldn’t have made the choices I made when I was 24. Maybe I could have prevented 13 hard years of regret.
Instead, I’m blocked, getting worse all the time.
An Author without words; a Writer without words.
I have lost so many people in my life because of Disease.
I have lost entire communities who turned their back on me.
I lost friends.
And I also gained a couple of really close ones.
And now — I have a plan — and I’ve given myself a timeline. There are 3 projects that I have given myself 3 years to complete — and I intend to do just that.
Unfortunately for me, I could use help, and I know people who could help me, but they won’t.
And I still often need Pedialyte because I am ALWAYS dehydrated.
I take 26 pills every day. I am “only” 37 years old. That is more than what my Father was taking when he had tons of medical issues before he was dying, and it’s even more than what he took when he was dying, and he would have been 84 this year.
I really hate complaining — although that statement seems like BS based on what I’m sharing now.
But there are these things that are just so much worse since that dam broke.
For example, the second hot sun touches my skin, it burns. IMMEDIATELY.
Showers are agonizing to the point they’re some days impossible. (And I do NOT have a bathtub nor can I afford one at this time in case you’re wondering — because EVERYONE ASKS ME THAT.)
My hands are almost always shaking. This isn’t new. It’s just worse. Imagine something as simple as painting your finger nails while someone’s chewing on a nerve in your arm.
Now imagine trying to hold a plate of food with the same effect.
Imagine you took a serious interest in photography and suddenly couldn’t hold a camera. Imagine you shake so badly that even the accessory that is supposed to ground and steady the camera doesn’t work. Imagine you giving your love of that up because you can’t take pictures like you used to anymore.
That broke my heart, y’all.
I was so proud of myself for weeding my front garden bed that has been a disaster for years now, after I cleaned out our gutters as well. Unfortunately, I ended up getting poison ivy. Poison ivy is not supposed to last longer than 3 weeks. I’ve had it for at least 5 weeks now. It’s because my immune system is absolutely shot, though no one seems to be able to explain why, AND even though what I suffer from is not considered auto-immune.
I started falling asleep while driving so I haven’t driven in 3 years.
I started falling asleep while reading, which meant I fell face first into my books, sometimes with my glasses on (oops!) and when I woke up hours later my face, glasses, neck, and back were destroyed.
I fall asleep when I’m eating.
I have dropped food suddenly all over the place while putting it on my plate because I guess now I’m somewhat narcoleptic.
On the plus side, since last month, for whatever reason, I have been Blessed and have been able to read without falling asleep as often as I used to so I am taking advantage of that HARD.
Writers have to read!
Things that people take for granted I cannot even consider doing ever again.
But that’s okay.
Because I have resigned myself to some things. And I’m positive and excited about them all.
With respect, I [also] don’t want/need suggestions on what I “should” look into for relief.
You cannot help me. Empathic period.
Not with supplement suggestions or exercise recommendations or diet changes or by asking questions or my very least favorite with books about how it’s all in my head — (that was the suggestion from my college roomate of 3 years who I was extremely close to but I have since cut out of my life — and THAT’S not even the reason why — although it could have been or should have been — but I think I’ll keep that story in my pocket for another day because it is a doozy).
I currently see exactly 11 specialists who give me conflicting information and cat-scan and x-ray me so often that I am certain that I am going to die from brain cancer because I have been exposed to so much radiation by now — to my head — that I think it’s inevitable.
There is exactly one person who can alleviate my pain — and because of my financial situation I cannot afford to see her right now (and that’s not her fault — insurance is BS). If I get my 3 goals accomplished in the 3 years then I will be able to — and I hope she’s still here — because I would see her 5 times a week if I could. She is my Acupuncturist — and she is absolutely AMAZING. Shoutout to Karen who is the only one I trust with genuinely helping me to feel my best. And shoutout to my Wifey who told me about her. Both of you have helped me live more of my life than I could have hoped. If I saw you more I’d be so much better, I know it. Fingers crossed that it is in my future.
I have so much hope.
I want to make that extremely clear.
I am sharing what I share because I feel I owe the people who have reached out to me (thank you, by the way, for doing so) asking where I’ve been and why I’m not writing here some information if not an explanation.
I care about my readers!!!!!
And I want to be informative.
I want people to know what I go through.
It has been so rough (garbh).
But I am fighting back.
In addition to my 3 main goals I decided I’m going to start taking words back.
I made the decision last month to try to finish my goal of reading 52 books before the end of the year. I’m working on it.
I am also fighting back by learning Scottish Gaelic.
I decided that if this Disease is going to take things away from my brain — I am going to shove new things in as much and as often as I can.
I AM going to learn NEW things.
I’m not going to give up.
I take notes about words I want to look up.
And I’m studying them.
I am learning history and realizing how much public education failed me in so many ways.
But it is awesome to think about all of the things that I CAN do now that my schedule is completely effed so it is impossible for me to have a 9-5. It leaves OTHER options open.
Like writing this for me and hopefully for you — those of you who stuck it out.
I’m hopeful — about the future — because I see one.
I’m making myself see one.
I’m not dead yet.
I’m just getting started.
I am basically starting over as that 24 year old — only I’m much stronger, wiser, confident, and have more experience than I did 13 years ago.
But I get to start my real life now.
The one I should have started to begin with.
But back then I didn’t really live for me. I did what was expected of me. Happily, at the time.
But I knew after one semester it wasn’t going to work out. It wasn’t what I thought it would be, and when one of those five men I mentioned at the beginning of this post that I had a chance with announced that he was leaving after the first year was over because even though he did incredibly well in class — he hated it — and said so — and he left — I envied him.
I wish I had followed my own path like he did.
I could have been happy so much sooner.
I might have a family by now.
But what ifs don’t really get us anywhere positive.
And it’s time for me to stay positive.
Lord knows I AM trying.
Before I forget completely, I know why streaming services started putting that optional button up that says, “pick something for me,” or whatever. I believe it’s because people are spending more time trying to decide what they want to watch than they are watching content. Because there’s too much freaking content! Don’t let them fool you. Don’t let Skynet win. 😉
I hope you can imagine how difficult it feels for me to try to “date” at the moment.
The prospect of a relationship is daunting because I’m me.
I’m on a dating website that is overwhelming me. I get a lot of attention, and I cannot keep up. That’s not a low key brag — it’s just the truth. And then I have this awesome relationship that formed out of an unexpected friendship that I never saw coming. Seriously. What a brilliant move.
After months of talking I asked him if he had done this with women in the past — because I thought it was so slick and he had mad game to approach me this way. He said [apparently] honestly, “No. You are just someone so interesting. You don’t flirt or say things you think I want to hear. You talk about things that no one has ever asked me about before. I wanted to have you in my life in some way even if it was just as friends.”
Then. Flash forward.
Me: “I know that you are probably going out with other women because I turned you down and that’s obviously fine because it’s none of my business. But if you aren’t serious with anyone, now that you know me better, are you still interested in dating me?”
Him: “First of all, I am not seeing anyone else. And yes, I’m extremely interested in dating you. Let’s set a date.”
All of that is very flattering to me. But also horribly overwhelming. I don’t know where to put it.
So, now with a better understanding between me and myself I am willing to say: I am a difficult case. I know I am. I have a fear of commitment. I have a fear of being alone. I simultaneously do not and also fully understand why I am not like everyone else I know.
And that’s no little thing.
Everyone should watch “Cool Runnings” by the way. Then you’ll understand how the above phrase changed my life and why I say it when something incredibly meaningful happens in front of me or to me. — I “just” need to keep seeing those “no little things” in myself.
So that’s where I’m at y’all. For better or worse.
Ach. Who am I kidding?
Day 9. Tomorrow I hit double digits.
😎 Bussin. As always, be good to each other ❤️🎶✌🏿✌🏻✌🏾✌🏼✌🏽!!!!!
Author’s note: mostly written yesterday — edited today. And I’ve hit double digits y’all. 🌤️☀️🔆😎
For all of the people who read this and don’t understand my anger toward my sister let me explain it to you, because it’s very simple: ANGER = SADNESS.
MY ANGER = MY SADNESS
That’s literally, exactly what’s going on.
I know; this notion is prophetically deep. Maybe even Freud would be proud. (Or maybe not because the are no phalluses involved.)
I do not hate my sister, Hillary. I’ve NEVER hated my sister Hillary, despite what ANYONE, including and especially me, has said.
And no one gets to tell me how I feel BUT me 😃!
Plus, no one can read my mind. Sad for you. Awesome for me. I can read minds.
So, for the record gentlemen, ladies, and the bitches who just look like the garbage gossip they spew, hear me and hear me now: I love my sister, and I’m beyond angry at everything to do with her right now, because I am SO SAD that she could do something SO HORRIBLE to ANYONE, let alone me, that I lash out about it.
It’s not rocket surgery.
I love her.
I miss her.
I could never hate her. (Though, I have hated a great deal of her decisions and lack of actions as well as actions the past 3 years, as I’m allowed.)
Because who wouldn’t want to spend time with me? I’m fucking hilarious, not to mention giving, caring, fun AF, and have nothing left to keep me from EVERYTHING!!!!!
Figure THAT last sentence out, Freud.
I have a theory that the people ridiculous enough to tell me to get over her are “only children,” as in, they don’t have siblings of their own. Otherwise they’d never suggest I pretend she’s gone.
I’ve obviously been dehydrated despite all of my efforts the past four months I’ve been away.
Am I right?
Ha. Okay. Let’s get to it then.
A little bit of something I’m working on because I think I’m soooooooo funny.
That’s just one of MY myriad of complicated and long-reaching qualities.
Oh! AND, in this time, I found out I can freestyle (meaning lyrically rap). How cool is THAT?!
THE night — after that day in October — when I posted about wanting to elevate my writing and declared “I AM THE MOTHERFUCKING STORM,” something so traumatic happened that it LITERALLY broke me.
When I talk about it, I say, “IT BROKE ME.” 😱🤯🤪👿
But this post isn’t THAT story.
I have been working on something I super love, but, I have this weird type of “narcoleptic symptomatic behavior” that NO ONE seems capable of figuring out, and unfortunately for me, as a self-proclaimed writer, sitting in front of a screen triggers this “narcoleptic symptomatic behavior.”
So, until I can finish my stormWITHOUT falling asleep on my keyboard, this is all I have to offer at the moment.
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.)
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 temporarily — but 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 beclear.
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 youINEVITABLY 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.
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?”
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
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
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
Watch “2Pac – Changes (Official Music Video) ft. Talent” on YouTube
“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.
“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. Blindinglyinarticulate. 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.
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.
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.
I hope we can all reflect on how attacking another equal rights movement hurts everyone in everyday life as well as though each movement.
#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)
(that’s the same exact reason I refused to join the women only clubs in law school and beyond — it promotes EXCLUSIVITY).
And I definitely don’t look down on ANYONE who supports these movements it groups, and I know all of the arguments as to why they exist. I’m just saying they’re not for me.
Just like AA isn’t for me. The first step says you have to accept and believe you are powerless over your addiction. Then I guess I’ll never get better if I’m an alcoholic, because I can’t admit I’m powerless while also saying I can control and get over my addiction. It just falls short for me.
This post REALLY got away from me.
Happy Father’s Day to those who are Father’s.
And may those of you who, like me, lost a Father know that I’m with you in empathy.
Your garden is doing great, Pidgey. You’d like it 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰❤️🧡💛💙💙💜🤎🖤🤍💘💌💕💞💗👣🌹🌷🌺🌻🌼🌱🌿☘️🌲🌳☀️🔭🪐🌌 and I’ll see you in Orion.
His opinion doesn’t make it much easier to deal with, however.
“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.
And then clarity.
Dialectical Behavioral Therapy.
Strong Women teaching me Radical Acceptance.
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.
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”?
You should have NEVER kept going.
No more exchanging my body for conversation.
No more needing to connect with someone — anyone — so badly — that I convince myself that my body has been used and abused SO MANY TIMESthat 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.
I will confront my trauma.
I will radically accept my trauma.
My trauma is part of me. It cannot be “cured.”
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 canANDwillLIVE 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.
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.
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
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 mostvulnerablepost I’ll ever share.
I don’t even know how to write this without falling apart every couple minutes — so I feel like I’ve been drafting this for a very long time.
If you read my blog “religiously”, you might remember when I mentioned that a friend of mine — who I needed so desperately to be alive — died on September 3rd, 2019.
I’m a writer. I can’t help it. It’s like air to me, or music. I need it to stay alive.
So, one day, last year, on February 14, 2019, (yes, I know, Valentine’s Day 🙄), I wrote.
I forgot until this week that I wrote what I wrote.
But I found it, going through journals, looking for information about a chapter I’m working on for my book.
Literally and quite tragically for me, I realized I was “into” my friend who died September 3, 2019.
I guess I was feeling sorry for myself last February 14th.
And I had no intention of EVER sharing this with the recipient because how could this extremely good dude be into me at all?!
And, because, in HIS style of writing, I wrote the following, for him, about him.
And now he’s dead.
So he’ll never know.
I can’t ignore
What I’ve done wrong before
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
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?
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.
So, in that spirit, tell the people you want to know how you feel — how you feel. Don’t be a Netflix binge series.
“You know, I used to think that you were the best thing that ever happened to me, but now I think that you might maybe be the worst thing and I’m sorry that I ever met you.”
– Silver Linings Playbook
I imagine on what would have been our 6 year Anniversary today, if he actually ever thought about me, which I’m certain he doesn’t, G-unit would be thinking something similar to the words of that quote.
R.I.P. the only relationship I ever actually believed would make it.
No matter howmanydates I go on — or how much I interact with any of the 300-3,500 guys onEVERY given daydoing WHATEVER they CAN to be with me— it unfortunately doesn’t keep G-Unit away.
I feel like fucking Bella in “New Moon” when she aches for Edward and looks thinner than ever and starts doing destructive shit in order to get him out of her mind and/or bring him back.
I’m also really sick of people telling me that I can’t think in “what if’s?” and “maybes.” YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE! AND YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I NEED.SO STOP.
I’m giving myself the gift of dreaming about saving my relationship if I only hadanyidea what was going on with my body, my mind, and every other fucking part of my fucking daily life three or four years ago.
You don’t know what it’s like.
Maybe I would have remembered things better.
Maybe my inability to “get going” would have been understood if not forgiven.
Maybe my need to rest or sleep wouldn’t have solely been blamed on my depression.
Maybe I’d have been able to get a healthy job.
What if I hadn’t needed to self medicate?
What if knowing I had Fibromyalgia changed things that were previously misunderstood AND so frustrating that there was no coming back from them after awhile?
What if I had been diagnosed sooner than just about a year ago, after it was too late, and had been treated correctly years earlier than I was?
What if I hadn’t taken his support through everything for granted?
What if he hadn’t broken up with me/left me one day before our 5th Anniversary. (Flowers ARE expensive after all when your girlfriend is your best florist.)
I’m just going to repeat something real quick: I’m really sick of people telling me that I can’t think in “what if’s?” and “maybes.” YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE! AND YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I NEED.SO STOP.
No matter what, I love and miss you Gar Bear, and Ihopeknow you’re killin’ it — handling your bars♥️
On a completely different note…every member of my family has now expressed that they rather I were gone.
And an unwanted burden.
I mean Hillary, (that’s my sister by birth), flat out told me I am dead to her.
Hard to come back from that.
So, in that vein, it’s good Summer’s ending.
I guess I’m embarrassing because I tell the truth. The truth here. The truth in my writing. And the truth in the book I’m working on, where I play the villain.
Sorry I’m such a disappointment, Mom.
But I’m not embarassed by my mental illness and they shouldn’t be embarrassed by me either.
I’m a person.
I’m hurting, physically, every second of every day. And I’m hurting mentally, more than I can flat out say.
I hope everyone reading this has a significant other, family, family member, or anyone else, who loves them, and wants to be around them.
This endless list of John Does I’m dating is empty and meaningless.
“It’s not your home so you should get all your shit out!!!!!!!”
That’s what I want to say to my Fibromyalgia.
I was just reading one of the many forums I belong to for support, and everyone was commenting on and connecting about how our sex lives have changed due to Fibro.
“What sex life?”
There is also a lot of guilt for those of us it affects because of how it affects or had affected our relationships, sometimes tearing them apart.
TMI trigger warning: after a year and a half of telling me it didn’t matter to him, my ex told me he needed sex or the relationship wouldn’t be worth it anymore. Since I couldn’t promise that to him, and I hadn’t even been properly diagnosed yet, that was effectively the literal breaking point.
So, about nine months later, I went shopping. And took this picture of myself. I like the picture, and I like my Converse. I’m pretty sure I noticed for the first time that I lost weight.
I reentered the dating scene with a vengeance. I have talked about some of that, I think, in prior posts. But the one thing I really can’t get over is this double standard of bullshit that exists.
The men I’ve met:
want to commit right away
don’t want to commit at all, or,
maybe want to eventually commit, but don’t want to put a lable on it, and definitely don’t want you seeing or sleeping with other people while they decide if you’re worth it or not.
It’s that last one that is killing me.
I classically enter abusive relationships. They’re not always physically abusive. But they AREalmostALWAYS psychologically abusive.
Apparently I haven’t learned much after being out of commission for eleven months. I had wanted to take my self-care extremely seriously and to give myself time to heal as a person before jumping back into that dating pool.
And I can get dates, I’ve learned. I can get a ton of dates. Literally over 2,000 dates, and growing.
But, what do I do when the guy I am the most interested in (so I give in to his requirements) not only has me eating out of his dog’s bowlbegging for more (while he’s insisting we don’t know each other very well so we should “keep it light”) loses his fucking mind? When he starts changing the words I say to start some kind of fight? When he tells me I’m doing something I’m not actually doing? When he literally tells me to “get out” of his place mid-conversation because he’s decided he’s done with me in that moment and that his needs are more important than mine? And finally, when he tells me that he won’t get tested for STIs even though he wants to have sex becausethe last thing that he has to hold on to shit about his ex is that she maybe didn’t cheat on him.
Newsflash: you can both be cheated on AND still not get STIs.
None of that sounded extremely healthy to me.
But Jesus Christ.
That’s where I was.
Falling. Too fast. Too hard.
There’s obviously something about him that I really didn’t want to let go of, but maybe I should have much sooner.
I universally idealize the men I date to the point where I’m then idolizing them. I know I do this. I want to be wanted so badly, that I give up vast parts of myself in order to keep partners around. I play the guessing game.
I’m supposed to be in my friend’s wedding in just over a week. I tried on all of these dresses, and now the one I picked doesn’t fit because I lost some weight. Ok. A lot of weight, for two months.
My friend called me fat. So I stopped eating. I don’t enjoy eating anyway. I also stopped caring about myself for awhile. So. Yeah.
Plus, also, I can’t deal with my Fibro right now.
Let’s call this guy I was most interested in, “Binny.” Binny was supposed to come to the wedding with me. He said he would. He claimed he’d help me get through it regarding my Fibro problems. The idea of him being there even gave me hope that I could actually do it without too much stress.
But he fucked it up.
I have another post coming very soon. It’s my commentary on how internet dating has changed since I’d been online dating ten years ago.
It got different. Almost overnight. Like Binny became a totally different person.
He went from asking me to send him texts all night long while he was sleeping (he goes to bed early for the only respectable job he’s ever had, and I am always up late) and all day while he was at work so he would have something to look forward to reading, to, asking me if I ACTUALLY felt that sending him 25+ texts without a response was “appropriate.”
What the actual fuck?! He literally flipped the switch on EVERYTHING. And I have dealt with gaslighting before, but Binny was the King of the strategy of making one (me) feel absolutely insane.
I really don’t know why I can’t get him out of my head. I REALLY fell for him. Well, I guess I really fell for the idea of him.
In the beginning, he told me things I’ve heard so many times before.
He cited to me the reasons that I’m amazing.
The ones who I can never seem to “keep” are the ones that fall the hardest for me the fastest. And I knew once I realized he had, it would never last.
It’s really like these guys can’t believe I care about them so they start to treat me like garbage to level the playing field, except I never see it coming until it’s too late. Way, way too late.
Binny vaped. Guess what I do now. I vape. Do you think that’s healthy behavior? I don’t.
But, I also don’t give a fuck anymore.
That’s where I am.
I don’t give a fuck.
For the record, I don’t think this is a good place for me to be.
I went to another O.A.R. concert alone on June 6th, and it was beyond orgasmic. As I told a guy I know through this dating app that had been a whirlwind, who is also a fan, it was better than sex.
He said he felt sad that I had originally had such horrible sex, but he’s an idiot. An OAR concert gets to me in a way no sex ever could.
I’m not saying sex sucks.
I’m not even saying I’ve ever had bad sex.
I’m saying I probably shouldn’t have compared the two. 🤣🤣🤣
It’s, essentially, a testament to the band, that if I had to choose between enjoyable sex and any time they play, I’d take the concert every single time.
In a previous post I mentioned I really didn’t take many pictures except with my friends prior to OAR coming onstage:
Aaaaaaand the video above the above picture is the only video I took that day (which is not visual perfection) because there, alone — I was just rocking the eff out — didn’t care who thought I was a dork, nothing, just happy to be with my favorite band and their amazing fans!
I was out, enjoying ME, (as much as my Fibro allowed).
Also in the news of my life…😎🤣🤗😊😘😍🥰…
Sunday, June 23rd, I met a man who wouldn’t be the worst guy to marry. Or maybe not. I’m wrong all the time.
I opened up my heart to new opportunities.
I went on some very bad dates. I enjoyed them for the most part (because even the bad ones were hilarious), but at the end of the day/night/whatever you call it, last Sunday’s was hands down the best I’ve had in six years.
But I also met another guy who I have so much in common with and am happy to be spending time with. And maybe he’s why I’m wrong in the long run about the above mentioned date. Maybe I met the guy I’m going to marry on June 29th.🌜🌛🤷
I know I’m doing things the way that is honest and good. But I did get the best hug tonight. And human contact, and good hugs, are so freaking great, right?!
Segues are weird.
These are the lyrics to O.A.R.’s song “All Because of You” (which they did not play during the June 6th show but the song IS on their new album, The Mighty): the lyrics will be in italics and my thoughts will not be in italics.
🎶Take, take, take the little moment Don’t, don‘t, don’t forget to hold ’em Stay, stay, stay a little longer – take a moment to appreciate what you have with your significant other, holding your SO means a lot and it’s worth spending time on, don’t be so eager to leave
Can, can, can you hear the night talk? Two heartsbeating on a sidewalk Put your head on my shoulder – the universe is telling us what’s good between us, we don’t have to say anything as we walk together tonight, I want to be closer to you
I want to matter when we go outside, and – this is REAL Hold your hand when we say goodnight, and Tell you how I’m gonna to make our dreams come true – I want to stay close to you, I’m so committed to this that I am going to work on dreams that we share
All because of you I made a promise in the morning breezes – in a moment, I promised myself, for you You can have all the space you need, and You know me better than you’ll ever need to prove – I’ll be good to you, because you have been so good to me All because of you All because of you
Wake, wake, wake up to you smiling Don’t, don‘t, don’t know where the time went Can we dance a little slower? – I want to wake up to you smiling, forever, why does time go faster around those we love, can we spend every second of our lives together without it flying by so fast that our bubble of incredible happiness pops?; let’s breathe together for as long as we can
I, I, I’ll be here forever – I’m never letting you down, I’ll be here, I promise myself to you We’re so good when we’re together – we make each other better Let me hold you ’til we’re older – let’s dothis
I want to matter when we go outside, and Hold your hand when we say goodnight, and Tell you how I’m gonna to make our dreams come true
All because of you I made a promise in the morning breezes You can have all the space you need, and You know me better than you’ll ever need to prove All because of you
(Da da da da da, da da da, da da da da da, da da da, da da da da da, da) All because of you (Da da da da da, da da da, da da da da da, da da da, da da da da da, da) It’s all because…
I want to matter when we go outside, and Hold your hand when we say goodnight, and Tell you how I’m gonna to make our dreams come true
It’s all because of you I made a promise in the morning breezes You can have all the space you need, and You know me better than you’ll ever need to prove All because of you
I know that I can be a better man, – I want to be my best self for us and Learn to run when it’s hard to stand, – you’re worth every second of difficulty we go through and Find the songs in everything you do – I will appreciate you with the purest and must dedicated love I haven’t yet given you
It’s all because of you I never thought I’d find you in this life – I had given up on being truly happy until I found you Broken shadows disappear tonight – you make everything feel safe and new You’re the reason that all my dreams come true – everything good on my life?; it’s all because of you
All because of you (Da da da,da da da da da, da da da, da da da da da, da da da, da da da da da, da)🎶
OR maybe the song’s just about how music is amazing, brings everyone together, and helps the world heal.
I just think it’s super romantic, and, after dissecting it so succinctly, I realize I’d have to write an essay about it to really do it justice.
I’m in trouble. I feel a storm brewing inside me, and it’s going to be something.
When I listened to this song the first twenty times I basically decided it was amazing and then beyond amazing and then wanted to dissect them because I want to probably make this my wedding song. Until they come out with their next and this my next favorite song.
Happy Birthday to me!!!!!!! I’m officially 34 years young today!
I’ve been having a really amazing upswing since last week. I hope it keeps going!!! I’m feeling so optimistic!
Last night I went on my first date in sixyears. Let THAT sink in for a second.
He wasn’t Adam Driver, but, hey, nobody’s perfect.
(If you know anyone who looks exactly like that and is single please let me know ASAP because I would truly yield to everything for all of him.)
It was fantastic. Another guy who was basically worshipping me after everything I’ve been through in the past few years? Yes, please, and thank you. He even was great with my Fibro pain.
Except — who goes out on Mondays? 😉 (It’s a reference to a Chainsmokers song if you didn’t get that.)
He was good looking. He had a stupidly-over-the-top car which always makes me think someone is overcompensating for a PERSONALITY trait.
I’m talking to several guys right now — as it goes with dating apps.
I needed to move way beyond Voldemort. Oh…shoot. I mean He Who Shall Never Be Named Again.
Right now it’s raining outside and it sounds and smells amazing. That means my plants and flowers are being watered.
Random. I know.
I’m owning it today. I don’t think I’ve had a “meaningful” feeling-good-about-it birthday since my sweet sixteen.
I’m not complaining. I’m just telling the truth. None of my friends have EVER thrown me a party or even asked what I might like to do to celebrate, or have taken me out to acknowledge the occasion. Again, not complaining, but I can’t say I’m not disappointed.
But! My best friend sent me this gorgeous floral arrangement with the sweetest note and it made me cry. It was such a thoughtful gesture, and to be thought of, on any occasion — but especially remembered of my birthday — is SO special and amazing. I love you 🍌— ❤️😘💛 — you’re truly the sister I’ve never had.
So I went on this date, and I’ve never felt more confident or in control going into a date in my life.
Because now I know.
Now I know what I will and will not accept.
Now I know what I will and will not tolerate.
Now I know what I’m looking for: family = a happy life ABOVE one’s career.
Now I know I’m my best self.
Now I respect myself.
Now I’m not eff-ed up about my Dad like I was when he died six years ago.
Now I am old enough to decide whether I’m going to go back to my date’s condo the first time I meet him or not — (I didn’t.)
Now I am sure enough with myself to allow myself to kiss on a first date BUT ONLY IF I WANT TO — (I did).
Now, I’m understanding that my looks and personality attract a DIFFERENT potential mate who called me WHILE I was driving to THIS first date to tell me he wasn’t nervous because he knew he’d “win” [me]. (Hot, but only because I’m attracted to this other guy.)
Guys are literally begging for my time.
AND, I’m being 100% honest about everything that I wasn’t ready to be honest about with HWSNBNA. (And that’s not his fault.)
But not only did the guy I think I’m the most interested in text me during the date…but the guy I went on the date with was texting then calling me as soon as he got home.
This shorty got game, y’all!
Happy Birthday to me!!!!!
I feel AMAZING!
Thank you to everyone who has given me support during this time and encouraged me to get back out there.
I love you all ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰😘😘😘😘😘🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶 it’s “All Because of You.”