well...that's...triggering

back in june i started spending time with someone. it was a bit of an interesting start- in april at my steak and whisky dinner, i asked my dad to send me a strong, rob delaney type. a few weeks later a strong, rob delaney type approached me at my regular bar and showed interest.

this is someone whom i had been aware of for years, but we’d just never connected. and even now, it took some time to connect, but it did, and it’s been fun and exciting and healing in so many ways.

we got to spend so many hot july evenings by the pool. we were able to take a day trip to the ancient cedar groves, a weekend trip to the Garden of 1000 Buddhas. we’ve had great nights talking and playing rummy or cribbage. we’ve spent more than a few hours watching documentaries of all kinds, learning all sorts of things. he has cooked SO MANY amazing, real dinners for me. REAL DINNERS. no boxes or cans. real ingredients, real food. taking into consideration all my weird food preferences- that’s no easy feat.

it is the most time i’ve ever spent with someone, ever. real time spent together. the first time i’ve taken a weekend trip with someone. the most evenings and overnights i’ve ever spent with someone. it’s been a lot of firsts. it has been some great healing conversations. beautiful unprompted sincere compliments. fantastic moments of matching energy and effort. thoughtful check in’s and text message updates. asking for things and being heard, acknowledged and seeing the follow through. kind and considerate acts of service. there has been laughter and memories and there are so many great little beautiful bubbles to add to my collection. 

ALSO.

it’s been a huge learning curve.

it’s hard seeing yourself from someone else's perspective.

i’m feral. i know this.

i’m strange. i also know this.

i’m absolutely fucking weird. i know this very, very well.

i’m neurodivergent. i have a lot of trauma. you can for sure tell both of these things, very quickly.

i’m also working very hard on all of it. it’s hard to fix a broken brain with a broken brain, but i’m trying like fuck.

it’s been interesting to see how the things that annoy the ever loving fuck out of myself also annoy the ever loving fuck out of someone else.

i have never spent this much in person time with another human besides my children. even a hundred years ago when i was married, i worked day shift and he worked swing shift. there was moving in/moving out. the whole thing start to finish was only 23 months. there was not much time together.

i’ve had partners over the years, sure. they were only ever around maybe a few hours at a time. my last partner that ended after 7 years off and on? saturdays only for 2 hours maximum. the one before that? a stop by once a week on the way home from the gym for an hour. there wasn’t a lot of getting to know each other or relationship building in either of those. which, perhaps, might slightly explain why the last one ended with me slamming a car door and telling him the direction and how far he could fuck off after telling me i was overreacting to the election. maybe.

so this has been different. very different.

it’s been a lot.

it’s been multiple journals filled up since april a lot.

i saw a quote the other day that said: “you are not healed, you're just isolated with no one to trigger you.”

OOF.

can confirm.

do you know how *extra* hard it is when all the things that annoy someone about you are also the same things that annoy the fuck out of you about yourself?

“why can’t you walk in a straight line?”

babe, trust me, i know. it’s annoying as fuck. i’ve lived in the same apartment, alone, for 6 years and i walk into walls and doorways all the time. i have constant bruises from shoulder checking a corner that has been standing in the same place for over 100 years. i have bruises all over my legs from coffee tables and desks and objects that haven’t moved once and yet i still run into them. i try watching the ground as i’m walking, but then my brain is so focused on walking in a straight line and i’m looking down the whole time and concentrating so hard that i miss conversations, scenery, the occasional street sign. I KNOW. trust me, i know how fucking annoying it is. i know i walk like a drunken sailor trying to get his land legs back. also: i haven’t walked next to someone in years. it takes time to learn pace and placement. it takes time to learn migratory patterns. i’m in your way? trust me, i’m in my own way ALL THE TIME. i get it. i’m sorry. i know.

“i already gave you an answer, why do you keep suggesting things?”

oh that i could stop my brain. i keep suggesting things because what is life without 900 back up plans? it’s great the doctor gave you an answer and some medication. i don’t have insurance, so no doctor. i also don’t trust doctors. i also never get an answer from doctors. NOT EVERYTHING CAN BE STRESS AND WEIGHT YOU FUCKERS. and i swear the next one that demands a pregnancy test before they’ll even talk to me? that little test is going to find some interesting places to be shoved. the only thing i CAN do is dig and research and think up 900 alternative options and naturopathic treatments and wildly out of the box ideas. that’s the only way i survive. that’s how i manage depression and stress and a brain that wants to kill me. constantly looking for the next suggestion that just might work this time.

i know we already picked a meal, but what if we’re out of an ingredient? or we change our mind? or that restaurant is closed? or that meal just doesn’t sound good for some reason?

i know you already have a plan, did you make sure to account for these 74 contingencies?

my brain lives only in survival mode. i’m working on the stability required to be able to shift out of it, but i’m not there yet. in the mean time, it’s worst case scenario game in my head all day every day to try to make sure as little chaos happens as possible. is it annoying? YUP. is it a waste of brain power? can confirm. is my nervous system completely fried? absolutely. is it completely unnecessary and pointless? every time but the ONE time it actually helps.

“why do you always interrupt?”

i promise i’m not trying to. i’m just trying to follow the story. i’m trying to clarify the details so i can make sure i’m tracking correctly. i’m trying to make sure i’m hearing you right so you don’t think i’m not listening. i’m trying to stay engaged when my rabbid squirrel brain is chasing 1000 fractures and rabbit trails. i know it’s annoying. do you know how many times i’ve been writing and my hand couldn’t keep up and i lost a thought?  how many times i’ve sidetracked myself and never been able to make it full circle back to where i started? I KNOW. i do it to myself ALL. THE. TIME. you’re right. it is annoying as fuck. oh, trust me, i know exactly how annoying that one is. i would give anything for my brain to just shut the fuck up and not always have a question or something to add or a similar thing or a not at all similar thing but this made me think of it for some reason. I WOULD LOVE THAT.

it’s been hard listening to a list of all the "quirky" (annoying) things about myself, especially because he’s not wrong. i’m too loud, i also mumble too much, i do things in the weirdest way possible, i snore, i toss and turn, i get in the way, i tell stories no one cares about, i interrupt too much, i distract from the point, i don’t pay attention enough, my apartment stairs are shitty, my dog is too slobbery, my car is too orange, my music is trash (trust me, i haven’t been able to find a spotify playlist i like in months, i know my music choices needs some help). 

babe, I KNOW. trust me, i know. what did you think i meant when i said i’m feral and weird? i drive a little orange tictac car. i collect jackalopes and odd creatures and have a sloth ring. i have dinosaur earrings and i love wearing my trash panda earrings. yes, i read strange books and collect unusual art and have more plants than any one small apartment can hold and almost all of them  have a tiny trailer park built around them. i believe in crystals and tarot and pendulums and moon water. i talk to dead people and spirit guides. i still wear overalls and rainbows and double dutch braids. i don’t know how to cook, dear gods don’t ask me to cook rice. i can’t figure out an air machine to put air in my tires for the life of me. now you know why i have very limited friendships and even more limited family. I KNOW I’M A LOT. trust me, i know that very well.

i’m aware of my anxious attachment style. people disappear all the time for no reason, it makes me anxious. i’m aware that i have all 8 of the wounded themes of consciousness. trust me, that is not the cosmo quiz i wanted to get 100% on. instability: check. violation: check. inadequacy: check. distrust: check. loss: check. overwhelm: check. judgment: check. rejection: holy fuck that one gets checked multiple times. i’m doing the inner work. i’m aware, i acknowledge it, i’m working on it.

it has been hard. triggering. rewarding. and so, so good. how else do you change if your current beliefs go unchallenged? how else do you learn if there’s no other ideas or perspectives presented? there is inevitably some discomfort. sure. some hurt feelings. let’s talk it through. maybe even some tears (maybe even ones that can’t be blamed on pms).

i am so grateful for the last few months. i am so grateful for all i’ve been able to learn, experience, enjoy.

i kinda dig this dating thing. even with all the triggers.

 

growing up

it turns out, one of the hardest parts of growing up is admitting when you've been an absolute cunt for absolutely no reason other than your own issues.

 

years ago, in the og days of the twitter machine, there was a local twitterer that i decided to have beef with:

 

this person had the sheer audacity to set goals and achieve them.

CAN. YOU. IMAGINE?

 

one of her goals was to write/publish a book. and she did. and i bought it and read it. and it was good.

AND HOLY FUCK DID THAT MAKE ME MAD.

HOW. FUCKING. DARE. SHE?

i've been talking about writing and publishing MY WHOLE LIFE. and through my own procrastination and self doubt and general unending ability to create the shittiest excuses of all time, i completely slacked off and never did it.

and she just...did it? 

how dare she set goals and achieve them. the nerve of some people.

yeah. i'm a giant cunt.

turns out she's a completely AMAZING human being and i missed out on years of a possible friendship because of my own petty jealousies.

so. you know. don't be like me.

 

take a minute to look at the irritating spots. the harsh judgements. what is it that really bothers you?

it's uncomfortable. it really is. for me, most of the deep irritations boil down to my own ego.

 

with my kids i really, really struggled in the ways they were like me. i really dug in and fought because i know how hard it's been to BE ME. i didn't want that for them. instead of finding a way to make it better for both of us, i fought it. i wanted to change them and resented that they couldn't change any more than i could. i think there's a lot of damage there on all sides.

with other people it's been my own issues- ending relationships because they cared too much. there must be something wrong with them if they like me. with friendships- i mean fuck. being mad at someone for achieving an AMAZING goal instead of being a cheerleader? that's just petty jealousy.

growing up means learning to set that aside.

talking to my kid about being like me. why it's been hard. what i've learned that makes it better. being able to gently show him how i'm learning to settle into my own skin.

 

meeting people for coffee and realizing how much potential i've missed out on over the years and making the conscious decision to shift the way i view other's success.

 

letting the really nice guy say that he likes me and believing him instead of trying to prove to him why he shouldn't.

growing up is hard yo.

breaking news: dating is hard

i've started dating. REALLY dating. like, seeing the same person more than one time. sometimes for weeks at a time. 

i've come up with a theory of why/how strong/independent people end up with seemingly “mooch” partners:

a) the new partner usually has an abundance of free time to spend together which is lovely. the down side is though, it can allow things to get very intense, very fast emotionally, so by the time you recognize not great behavior, you’re already emotionally invested.

b) if you’ve lived alone for a while, you’re used to paying all your bills yourself. you’ve made it work on one income. any “extra money” the partner bring in (side hustles, random odd jobs, oh hell, any time you don’t have to pay for a dinner out) seems like such a luxury and you appreciate it so much. in reality it’s like someone carrying the eggs upstairs when the whole trunk is full of groceries. you appreciate the help, you could have done it yourself, but it was nice that someone did something for you. as little as it was.

for example:

i recently dated a guy for several weeks. we'll call him the plant guy (he made dirt for my plants!)

 

plant guy just slid right in and i got attached very quickly. he wasn't working, didn't have a steady income, but i was already completely taking care of myself, paying for my own meals, my own rent. have been for...oh...a mere twenty one years. but suddenly, anything he contributed made an outing feel extravagant. made me feel spoiled, fancy. also, because he didn't have a over burdened schedule, was ALWAYS available, like stayed the first night and then every night after that. nothing but uninterrupted one on one time for 3 solid weeks.  it got very intense, very fast.

this weekend i went out with a lawyer. he has a well established, busy career. he's in a band. he has events, a schedule. responsibilities. he has nearly adult children, clients, friends. it would be exponentially harder to get together with him, in-depth time would be limited and broken up over several weeks or months.

i suppose it's just one more way dating is fucking hard.

but it’s like everything else in life- the easy thing isn’t usually the best and the best thing isn’t usually easy.

but being aware of...that. being aware of maybe WHY something is. recognizing the behavior patterns can help reframe the internal dialogue when finding the right balanced partnership.

when i feel like i'm getting in over my head too quickly now i have one more filter to run things through: are you just over-saturated? when's the last time you had a minute alone? am i starting to feel out of balance, why is that?

especially with massive anxiety, it's nice to find a way to be more calm and patient and kind with myself while wading through the swap of despair that is dating. being able to ask myself healthy questions, check in, in a kinder way that isn’t panic or hurt. it can help keep me out of unhealthy relationships and maybe allow a little more space/time for ones i would have otherwise written off.

one more step towards finding a right fit for me.

long story short

it's been a rough several months at home.
back in May things started getting difficult with my 15 year old son.

it hasn't improved.

lying, stealing, running away, draining $2k from a bank account, picking fights, skipping school, confrontations with teachers and police officers, court hearing, contempt of court hearing, suicide threats, drug use, alcohol use, tobacco use, abuse accusations, verbal and emotional attacks, self-harm to attempt to seek placement outside the house...the list grows almost daily.

the police have been to our home countless times. i have been investigated by the courts, CPS, questioned by police, commissioners, advocates, counselors.

we are utilizing the juvenile court systems, court appointed counseling programs, community resources, school resources, friends, family.

i have knocked on every door and called every phone number provided.

things are bad.

things are really bad.

on october 19th i removed my son from the house for both of our safety. he's staying with relatives while i try to figure out what comes next.

it's been an adjustment. the learning curve is HUGE. there's so many parts and pieces and contributing factors. there's work and cooperation necessary for improvement that don't seem like they'll happen any time soon.

i'm lost. i'm bewildered. i'm sad. i'm worried. i'm grieving. i'm...i'm a hot mess express most days. my apartment has been stress cleaned *almost* to white glove inspection standards.

BUT.

silver lining, i guess, if that's a thing: i'm learning a LOT about myself through this process. i'm learning how to stand up for myself. i'm setting personal boundaries and sticking to them. i'm learning to listen. i'm learning to give trust and to ask for trust. i'm learning that if you ask for help, there's people ready and waiting who WANT to help. i'm learning to utilize people with better resources and experience. i'm learning to stay calm, be steadfast. i'm learning not to take things personally, even when they're meant to be EXTREMELY, intentionally, targeted personal attacks. i'm growing and opening up. finally. now that i'm almost 40 i'm learning some really basic stuff. I'M NOT SHAMING MYSELF. i'm acknowledging that, while behind the times, i'm finally catching up. i'm finally dealing with some really, really old trauma that still has claws. i'm learning to set aside old useless weights, change my thinking, my inner monologue. i'm learning to be kind to myself and maybe even like myself a little.

growth and change is never easy or fun. it's messy and usually painful. it's like cleaning out my house: it gets worse before it gets better, it's easy to get overwhelmed by how much there is to do, but in the end, it's worth the work.

scratch the surface

i've been doing a LOT of processing and working through things lately.

i've been digging deep into my past, why things are the way they are, why i am the way i am. i'm finally resolving (or working on) trauma and weird shit from the last 37 (fuck, almost 38) years on this planet.

i've delved really fucking deep into recurring nightmares, grief, choices, all the different paths life has taken.

i've gone DEEP y'all.

and it's been (mostly) good and healing. 

but, oddly, it's the super shallow stuff that's made a really big difference for me.

because people are shallow y'all.

and i mean this in the best way possible.

see, i've been single for basically my entire life. i've dated here and there. i was married for a whopping 23 months. most "relationships" don't make it past the 2 month mark. i've been on countless horrible first dates. i've been on plenty "meh" first dates. i've been stood up for an embarrassing number of never-happened dates.

and i took it all so, incredibly, painfully personal.

every rejection, every ghost, every failed attempt it was because of ME. like, ME. the deep me.

i don't have success dating because I'M A TERRIBLE PERSON. my very core self if like if every serial killer and political dictator and perpetrator of ethnic cleansing and generally horrible person on earth merged into one horrible, disgusting, repulsive, intolerable sample of humanity packaged into a chubby brunette body.

imagine packing this image of yourself around year after year.

except...

maybe not?

because here's the thing. most of those people never even got to know me beyond a few text messages and phone calls.

hell, most of them didn't even bother to show up to try to get to know me.

so...maybe people are just shallow.

ya think?

maybe people didn't like me because i'm brunette instead of blonde. cool. i have been blonde(ish), red, blue, pink, purple, black, and for a very short time, a horrid forest green after an attempt at color correction went very wrong.

maybe people don't like me because i'm fat. i've been heavier. i've been lighter. ive been a bigger size, i've been a smaller size. in high school i weighed 140 and had a 28" waist. now i'm almost 40 and have a 28" thigh.

maybe people don't like me because i have kids. i'm hesitant myself to date other people with kids because it's a HUGE responsibility to be in a child's life, for a short time or a long time. even a one time memory can have a lasting effect.

maybe people don't like me because i have tattoos and piercings.

maybe people don't like me because i pronounce words wrong/different.

maybe people don't like my views on politics or religion or which grocery store is the best.

maybe people don't like me because i still own dvd's and refuse to make a digital library. I LIKE THE ACTUAL DVD'S. LEAVE ME ALONE.

maybe it's because i don't like the right music.
 
maybe i talk too much about weird topics (how many people do you know with a book of drawings done by a guard at the gulag?).

maybe it's because i like pineapple on pizza.

maybe it's because they found someone else they have a better connection with.

maybe it's because no one is required to like everyone else on the planet.

maybe i have man hands and don't own a pirate blouse and those are the only two Seinfeld references i know. 

not every rejection is a meat cleaver to the chest. sometimes it's a papercut on your pinkie. sometimes it doesn't even leave a scratch.

people are shallow ya'll.

and that's actually a good thing.

it means maybe i can give myself a break. maybe i'm not actually a terrible monster of a person. i'm just a weird little duck. even weird little ducks can have a great life. 

not everyone hates me as much as i hate myself.

which is actually helping me hate myself less.

funny thing how less hate leads to less hate.


but you know, all those shallow people? it's a time saver. if they think i'm not a match because i don't eat anything purple? how the fuck are they going to handle me when i'm in full PMS rage ranting about who keeps putting the milk back in the fridge on the wrong damn shelf?

sure, it would have been nice if a few had stuck around a little longer.

there's a lot of things that would be nice if they happened.

accidentally becoming uuber famous with endless money to help people out and travel with friends, but without any of the paparazzi or internet trolls? that would be SUPER nice if it happened.

but in the mean time, i'll take a little shallowness and a whole lot less self hate.

that seems like a pretty damn good place to start.

becoming

you can read this as is, but if you take an hour, go watch Nanette, the special by Hannah Gadsby on Netflix, you will have a broader understanding of what i'm struggling and flailing to say here. i've watched Nanette 3 times already and she says things so beautifully, so powerfully, so clearly and concisely. it has truly impacted me in a way i can't explain. i have never, ever, ever before connected so deeply, so profoundly to someone else's story. I've never seen myself in someone else so completely. her raw honestly revealed and unlocked ALL of what follows for me.

no wonder i hate myself so much. i grew up not even knowing gay people existed. there were NO gay people in my home town, so OF COURSE i couldn’t even begin to think that _i_ could be one of “those people.” but i knew enough to know i was glad i wasn't one of "those people." i grew up in church that didn’t even address “those people” because “those people” didn’t exist.

which is worse? invisibility or non-existence?

BUT if “those people” DID exist, they would be gross and wrong and we shouldn’t like them or be friends with them. they all have aids, they’re all loud, flamboyant, flaming, fishnet shirt wearing freaks. you shouldn’t like them. that’s just not something you actually DO. they’re weird. people don’t like weird people.

“don’t be gay” was both a slur and a command. 

but i AM one of those people. and i grew up not HATING a part of myself, but not even having a clue that i was missing an entire half of me. i still really don’t know what that half of me is, but i know it’s there.

but it was ok, because i could pass as straight. i do like men. so i can just ignore all these bad gay thoughts and only pay attention to these good straight thoughts. you get really good at compartmentalizing. picking and choosing what to feel and when. for survival. for *some* acceptance. so we just won’t acknowledge this whole half. it’s fine. look. just tuck those feelings away. and a few of these. and ALL of those. you get really, really good at it. but living with the very real and tangible fear of what would happen if anyone knew about those thoughts...it makes you almost...i dont know...dysfunctional. unable to form ANY kind of bond.

or relationship.

on either side.

because how bad is hearing all those things for YEARS and just holding it inside feeling it about myself, NEVER able to speak up. never being able to say: STOP TALKING ABOUT ME LIKE THAT. 

and to be completely honest, i’m still awkward around gay people. BECAUSE I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT HALF OF MYSELF IS. i do like women. 100% without question. i am incredibly, powerfully, attracted to women. not for attention. not as a party favor. but as beautiful, powerful, sexy, intelligent, amazing human beings. but all i know about BEING that half of myself is hate and to fear and those feelings. i shouldn’t have them. they shouldn't exist because they’re bad.

and because i can pass as straight, i don’t know what it’s like to feel the full weight of being gay. to feel the judgement ALL THE TIME. i’ve been able to “choose” to keep half of myself hidden.  i am still attracted to men. so when im attracted to a woman, i just ignore that bit and wait for another man to circle around. i’ll just wait and keep the women part to myself. i’ve “had an out” this whole time. but i do still feel the judgement, because i can’t just stop being gay. i can hide that part. but that doesnt make it any less real.

here’s the bitch of it though. i’m not just compartmentalizing, i really am scared to “be gay.”

i see so much anger and hate still. i know so. many. people. who are not accepting.

i know so few who are.

the teeter totter is off balance. 

i grew up just aware enough of “gay” to know it was two things: aids and death. thats it. thats “gay” in its entirety. not people. not lives. not relationships and culture. it’s AIDS and DEATH.  that’s fucking terrifying.

everything i know about “gay” is hardship. and i have plenty of that already thanks to some stellar life choices that were *actual* choices. for people who still think gay is a choice- do you think i’ve spent my life CHOOSING the be afraid of half of myself? scared to death (possibly literally) that someone might find out? so if i can compartmentalize that section and keep SOME scary stuff away? i can’t compartmentalize kids. or tragedy. trust me, i’ve tried. those fuckers are slightly more demanding. but this “half gay” part...yeah. just shove that aside and ignore it. it’s just trouble anyway. so what’s a little misery and feeling broken? it will be fine. suck it up. there’s other things going on. just raise your kids and go to work. 

so i just tried to learn how to blend in. my whole life is about trying to blend in. and people talked around me. as i grew up and became an adult, i HEARD all the hate and all the things i was TERRIFIED of. i heard the judgement and the venom and the dehumanization. i heard the jokes and the slurs and the denial of basic human rights.

but they weren’t directed AT me. they never have been. because no one knew i’m “one of those." i just ended up having an unintentional extra seat to the shit show. and all i had to do is keep my mouth shut. just blend in. just keep “being straight”. i look straight. i have kids. i was married to a man. i talk about dating men (while i dream about dating women). they don’t know theyre talking about me because i’ve learned to blend in so well. and besides, it’s not really even me because i can “turn it off” half the time.

and i hear it, all the time. and i can see how terrible the world is to people and i’m a fucking shallow selfish bitch. i KNOW all the terrible things people think and say about “those people.” i’ve heard the things people say when “one of those” isn’t around. the things coward are too scared to say TO THE FACE of the person they’re slandering. but they WERE saying it TO MY FACE. they just didn’t know. they say ALL the things when the person they’re talking to isn’t around. you know how the room goes quiet when someone walks in because assholes suddenly lose their nerve? THAT’S THE STUFF I HEAR. and i am terrified i’m not strong enough to tolerate it for real. i would rather live in perpetual fear and loathing of myself and hearing those things in the background than learn to love and accept and stand up for myself. come back to that later and try to unpack that. oy. 

instead i’ve learned to hate half of myself ALL of the time AND pretend it doesn’t exist. and somehow make myself think that’s fine.

so i live with my fear of half of myself because i was raised to hate half of myself. not even hate really. just always thought of it as “wrong” or “against nature”.  you didn’t have to hate it if just didn’t exist. and, mostly, it still doesn’t exist. i've never dated a woman or had a long term relationship with a woman.

to be fair though, i haven’t really had any relationships with men either though. it’s hard to let people like you when you’re programmed to hate your self for reasons you are *JUST NOW* starting to figure out.

but that fear, that hiding has kept me totally away from the community. i don’t know what it’s like to “be gay.” i've only ever been around a few gay people in my entire life, individually. and events like pride where all the gay people are being gay and letting all their gay out in public is SO overwhelming to me. i'm a quiet gay. i don’t know how to be a part of it. i don’t know how to be a proper gay. 

and then, just for fun, add a little guilt. guilt for giving into the fear. guilt for being able to hide. guilt for actually hiding. because that gets to be a thing too.

and then, ON TOP OF THAT, oh, by the bi, being bi isn’t really a thing. being bi “don’t exist,” i’m “just confused.”  you can’t REALLY like both. which one do you like MORE?

YOU HAVE TO CHOOSE A SIDE.

again. which is worse? being invisible or not existing?

and i just want to yell at everyone: maybe it’s not about a “which” ITS ABOUT A WHO. people are more than the parts that go out or in. 

but i am, fully, completely bi-sexual. it does exist. it is a REAL thing. i really, truly do, EQUALLY like both sides.

but i even in that, i know i have it so easy. i only have to hate half of myself. “real” gay people don’t have a “choice” i can “choose” to be gay or straight.

that’s really how i think of being bi. i can compartmentalize it and “be straight”

but here’s the thing, even when i’m “being straight” it doesn’t mean i’m suddenly “not gay.”

just because it’s baseball season doesn’t mean you’re not looking forward to football season. you don’t have to stop liking one just because it isn’t happening right now. 

being bi doesn’t mean you’re “straight” half the time, it means all the time you get to listen to people shame half of who you are TO YOUR FACE because “they didn’t know” you ARE what they’re talking about. that part doesn’t just go into hibernation when you’re “being straight." it means you find out, up front, that some people are only, ever, half ok with who you are. at most. makes so many more relationships fake from the beginning. being friends is contingent on you “staying straight” and staying acceptable. you know that if you ever allow “that part” of you out, you lose half the people, instantly. you’ve already heard their judgement and their opinions. and that’s fucking terrifying to hear and to carry around. all. the. time. constantly worried that if people realize you “tricked them” what’s waiting on the other side.

and then you add in that even in the realm of gay, bi-sexual still isn’t quite  accepted.

i’ve searched my whole life for a place to belong.

i’m too straight to be proper gay.

and i’m too gay to be proper straight.

i love country music and books. you can’t be queer and love country music. you’re supposed to love pop music and dance parties, not staying home and reading. i’m not into glitter and wine. sure brunch is good, but have you ever had a good steak and bourbon late at night?  i wear jeans but not flannel. i wear cowboy boots, but not doc martens. i’m too femme to be butch, but too butch to be femme.

i’m not the “right kind” of gay, even if i could accept myself for being gay.

it’s bad enough that i can’t even accept myself, now BOTH SIDES can’t accept me.

but i am good for a party trick. you know, for the girl who wants to give her boyfriend a special birthday present.

for the couple who wants to “keep things fresh” in the bedroom.

because that’s a super special feeling. being a side show piece. someone for fun, not someone for real.

i just want a place to belong. i want to belong WITH MYSELF. and i want to belong with others.

and i’ve learned to hide that. #singleasfuck has become a joke. if i can laugh at it then maybe it won’t hurt so bad admitting i can’t find someone who accepts me. STARTING WITH MYSELF.

you think being single is lonely? try hating the only person you spend time with.

so. here i am. recognizing this MASSIVE truth about myself. and now the world around me seems so open but so raw at the same time. and i don’t know where to go from here.

what in my life is real? what in my home is real? what are parts i’ve constructed to hide or try to blend in?

do i need to “gay up” my house now? do i need to start finding a way to “be more gay?”

what do i need to do to start really embracing and living that half of me?

maybe recognize that she’s quietly been there, all along, patiently waiting to be recognized?

it’s not an accident that in my own house, where i picked all the things, that all my artwork is of females. mermaids. tiki girls. portraits. all feminine. because that’s what i’m attracted to.

my neon rainbow. it’s not an accident that i bought that on impulse at target. it’s not an accident that it’s the first light i turn on in my living room every evening and the last light i turn off.

there’s a reason my country music is brandy clark, kacey musgraves, marren morris, jennifer nettles. women stronger and bolder than i am about using their voice.

there’s a reason all my favorite authors are women. joshilyn jackson. kate furnival. sara gruen. jk rowling. women who have learned to use their gifts and talents and not be afraid to make their stories be heard.

i am in awe of the women who know their own worth and fight for equality. the emma watson, kerry washington, gal gadot, rose mcgowan women out there standing up saying THIS ISN’T RIGHT and making the change happen. 

it goes beyond sexuality. some of those women are gay or bi. most of them aren’t. but i am so attracted to women because of who they can become. because of their strength. because of their fight and determination.

but i also still. love. men. i adore male partners and friends who bring a different perspective to my life. a different experience. a different set of expectations. men have taught me to be tough, thick skinned, resourceful. i appreciate the traditional sense of belonging they represent. i appreciate the order and construct they provide. i’m very attracted to masculinity, in the calm way. in their acceptance of the traditional role as provider and protector. NOT in the controller and testosterone soaked way. i have no use for big trucks and little egos and people who use fear to manipulate. 

my personality is very ordered and structured and traditional. logic and reason. doing things the proper way. making the proper choices. i long for a partner, male or female, that can help me have a structured, logical, loving, accepting life.

but i guess to look for that in a partner, i need to start looking for that in myself first.

did we just become best friends?

i'm not the fastest learner out there. there's some REALLY basic concepts that i'm still figuring out and coming to terms with. i'm still learning how to shift perspectives and trying to look at things from several points of view. this applies to big ideas about life and mid-life crisis moments to basic every day functioning like doing dishes.

I FUCKING HATE DISHES. with a fucking passion.

YES. i have a dishwasher. BUT, i also have a crazy brain that was raised in the house where we washed the dishes before we washed the dishes. YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT.

i've never been in the "rinsing it mostly off is fine" camp. i'm FIRMLY in the "there shouldn't be a speck of  anything on it, use the scrubber WITH SOAP to get it clean before you load" person.

dishwashers are for sanitizing, not cleaning.

COME AT ME.

anyway, you can see why doing dishes is obnoxious. they take forever. especially in a house where *ahem* certain people *side eye at teenager (and myself)* don't always rinse off their dishes when they're done with them, then they sit by the sink until i force myself to do them, and by then things are dried on. and then doing dishes REALLY sucks. 

yes, i know, simple problem, simple solution. we've been working on it since my first apartment 20 years ago.

when it was just me making dishes because my oldest was only 9 months...

shut it.

ANYWAY. long story longer, the point of all this is i finally had a break through this morning in shifting the perspective a bit.

there were a LOT of dishes this week.

but wait, there were a lot of dishes THIS WEEK. that means we were eating at home this week more. which means we were eating healthier foods instead of drive through.

oh...and huh. look at that. i'm in a really good mood, up early on a saturday morning making breakfast and washing dishes.

huh.

it's almost like eating better makes my mood better and gives me more energy and makes my quality of life better.

well. THIS IS BRAND NEW INFORMATION.

so. you know. maybe doing dishes isn't so bad. maybe dishes aren't quite the arch-nemesis i've always thought of them as. 

maybe dishes and i can be friends.

you know. turn up the music, teenager ALWAYS disappears, so nice alone time...dishes and i may just be good friends.