flashback

on december 13, 2003 i loaded up a uhaul truck and moved into apartment 13.

it was the first step in leaving a domestic violence marriage. 

it's been a lot of years and work and recovery since then.

remembering that i'm not required to wear make up to leave the house.

remembering that i'm not a piece of trash if i carry/wear my purse in a grocery store instead of putting it in the cart.

knowing that i'm not a stuck up whore for being proud that i graduated from college.

not being ashamed for having sexual desires.

not always being afraid of saying the wrong thing.

not trying to keep everything as perfect and smooth as possible because anything less would cause trouble.

not being on edge every time the phone rings and panicking if you don't answer fast enough because accusations will follow.

i've learned that i can talk about things that bother me in a relationship with out being berated and verbally descimated.

i've learned that i can stand up for myself without being threatened.

i was lucky in some ways. i was never hit. i was never put in the hospital. i never had to hide bruises or marks.

in other ways...bruises heal faster than the words in your head go away.

it's been nearly 15 years.

i've worked so hard to not let fear be my first instinct when things go wrong.

i've worked so hard to unlearn the words. to unlearn the reactions. to unlearn the cycle.

i've worked so hard to break the cycle. to not let myself get caught in it again.

i've stopped texting guys because the language and the tone was too familiar. i've broken off relationships because i heard phrases that triggered me. i've refused to shack up with anyone over the years to keep my family safe and keep my boys away from that lifestyle.

i didn't want them to learn abuse.

and yet, here we are.

things have been bad lately. they've actually been bad for a while. they've been really bad for the last few months.

i have a court appointment in the morning with juvenile court to try to get help for my son before things completely get out of control.

there's been lying, stealing, drug abuse, alcohol.

there's been run away reports and more calls to the local police department than i ever thought i'd have to make.

there's been threats, accusations, demands and verbal abuse.

at the lowest point, so far, my own son screamed at me as he was leaving that he was going to try to intentionally overdose that night as a final fuck you to me.

and then, a few days later, things are seemingly back to normal.

he came home, we went back to school shopping, did chores around the house, we even went to the theaters and watched a movie together.

but it's not normal.

and i know this feeling. it's been 15 years since i've felt this feeling, but i knew it instantly, intimately.

things are not normal. there is a storm back building. i'm not walking on egg shells, i'm walking on a field of land mines littered with razor blades and broken glass.

i know this part of the cycle.

it's the hardest part for me.

it's where the questioning comes in.

you're making too big of a deal of things. look how "normal" it is right now.

you're just being too sensitive.

you're reading into things too much.

they didn't really mean it, they were just mad.

you're just borrowing trouble.

you're going to make another blow up happen by expecting it.

you're just making things worse.

if you weren't so crazy this wouldn't be a problem.

why can't you just learn to not be so offended and stop taking everything so seriously?

it's scary how quickly the feelings take root. right back to where i was.

but how did my son learn this? he was 9 months old when we left.

is nature winning over nurture?

can i still correct this behavior?

i can't correct anything. can i show him a better way and help give him tools to make better choices?

i remember this feeling.

knowing that things aren't fine but not being able to put words to it so other people can understand.

you can feel the pressure of the storm coming but there's not a cloud in the sky.

it's looking at the calendar and trying to guess when/what will cause the next blow up.

is there a holiday coming up? an appointment? plans with people that you know will trigger resistance? things that need money? things that...

you try to become a fortune teller and a bomb diffusion expert at the same time.

i know we have court tomorrow. so maybe if i do this tonight...

maybe if...

what about...

you try to plan for all the contingencies. you try to prepare yourself. steel up your nerves and your resolve. try to stay calm even though all you want to do is throw up and cry and hide in a corner.

i have experience in my corner this time. i have survival. i have age and hard earned wisdom. i have friends. i have help.

i never expected myself to be here again.

and this time is different. this time i can't leave. this time i can't get a uhaul and a new apartment.

this time there is more at stake. this is my kid. this is his whole life ahead of him. this is every future relationship with a partner, with a boss, with a roommate. this is how he learns to interact with people for the rest of his life.

this is a hard battle. this is a continuing, learning, changing, shifting battle.

i'm terrified. i'm hurt. i'm worried.

but i'm not 23 this time. i have a lot of hard learned lessons under my belt. i'm stronger.

i can do this. there is no other option.

this is my kid.

i'll never quit fighting for him.

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.

a short (hopefully) rant

it's been a rough few weeks with the teenager.

really rough.

out of desperation i decided to look for single parent support groups on facebook.

yeah.

it's been that bad.

i've already noticed a trend the last...LOT...of years- all the "parenting" content on the internet stops as soon as kids hit around 7-10.

like parents should have it all figured out by then and never need support again.

well, i'm a fucking hot mess and i STILL need support.

i dug through PLENTY of single parent groups on facebook and finally found one that sounded ok. i couldn't see much because it's a private group, but the description and the rules seemed like things would be pretty dialed in...so i requested to join.

then 5 minutes later i left the group.

"i've been single for 2 months, can i start dating again?"

"husband left a week ago..."

"my 3 week old..."


*maybe* 3 posts scrolling WAY back about teenagers...one her daughter was distraught at getting less than an A on a test, one was celebrating how well her teenager was doing after graduation, and ONE had issues about their 19 year old who had just graduated having a hard time deciding if he wanted to live with mom or dad after high school.

and i don't discount those issues. each family has their own dynamic.

BUT.

am i a fucking unicorn?

where's the parents that have been single for twenty years?

where's the parents dealing with a teenager that just stole $100 worth of weed and will lie in the face of every. single. fact?

the mom struggling because she had to call the police when her teenager threatened physical harm for having a cell phone taken?

am i just a shitty parent?

does everyone else have it figured out by the time they've been a parent this long?

you think i'd know how to good cop AND bad cop by now, but NOPE. just one rabbid bad cop that INSISTS on being heard, which we all know teenagers are sooooooo good at doing.

just a bad cop that feels like she's having a stroke on the daily because the stress and tension waiting for the next fight no matter how hard she tries to avoid one.

and i can tell when i'm going crazy. i can tell when a rational person would tap out and just leave things alone...but holy. fuck. cheese. on. a. cracker. how do you walk away from "yeah, whatever" *door slam* without popping a gasket?

and that's just the parenting part.

the single part??

where's the other parents that can't date because their kid HATES everyone and makes life a living hell when anyone comes over?

where's the other parents who's kids are openly homophobic so dating same sex is COMPLETELY out of the question?

where's the other parents that just want some help but could NEVER, EVER imagine asking someone to be willing to share in the stress and chaos that is a teenager.

logically i know i can't be the only one.

but fuck, it sure feels that way.

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.

accept others

i was raised to be polite. to bite my tongue. don't stand out. don't be the loud one.

always be in control of your actions. always be thoughtful and reasonable.

we didn't talk about politics in my house growing up, EVER. religion was not discussed, it just WAS. every sunday morning and sunday evening and wednesdays. there was never a discussion about it. or why we went to that specific church. or why we suddenly switched churches. it just was.

there was one lesbian teacher at our school and she did her best to blend in, never cause trouble, never cause suspicion or even the slightest whisper of improper behavior or language or anything.

i didn't grow up learning about women's rights. i didn't know about LGBTQ. i didn't know about...fuck, anything really. i graduated high school because that's what you do. pregnant or not. and went to college because it's what you do, especially when you have a kid to support. education = better job (that was the standard line then). i became a secretary because i was good at it. of course my pay was less because it's a support staff role. it wasn't because i'm female.

things just were the way they were. when i asked questions i was wrong. so you don't ask questions. just accept things as they are and keep your head down and keep doing what you're doing.

stability, security, staying out of the newspaper. that was it.

well, here i am now, 37, and i'm tired of things just being the way they are. i'm tired of biting my tongue. i'm tired of not speaking my mind because it might offend someone. i'm tired of filtering myself to only let specific parts around specific people because it's what they're comfortable with. WHAT ABOUT WHAT I'M COMFORTABLE WITH.

i'm tired of seeing the assholes get away with being assholes.

i'm tired of feeling like i can't find a space to belong because it would mean leaving a piece of myself behind.

i can fit in with this group, but they don't like gay people.

i can fit in with this group but they don't like tattoos.

i can fit in with this group but they aren't intellectual and don't get most of my comments.

i'm not religious enough for them, i'm too spiritual for that group...

i can fit in with that group but they don't like that i tend to be a conservative democrat, or *gasp* an independent.

i can fit in with the other group but they don't get that i have kids.

i'm too gay to be straight, but not gay enough to BE GAY.
 
don't talk about sex around that group, don't mention empathic abilities or chakra healing around those people, those people think yoga is on the level with witch craft. don't talk about...

the venn diagram of my acquaintance groups looks more like a bowl of cheerios scattered on the floor. *maybe* a little overlap like the olympic rings, but...actually, probably more like audi. 

it's fucking exhausting and lonely.

JUST BE YOURSELF.

says the person who hasn't been removed from seemingly every invitation list.

says the person who hasn't been on the other side of the nasty looks and snide comments.

or says the person who has found a self confidence and bulletproof self worth that i can't even begin to imagine.



so, almost a year ago i quit my job.

this will all tie in together, i promise.

i complained about my job all the time, we all do, but i was good at it. it paid well, i had insurance, 401K, i had coworkers i liked, i had a routine down and i had everything dialed in.

i also listened to hate speech all the time.

i listened on the regular to talk like: "my wife had to sit next to some of THOSE people on the plane to Hawaii. they  were going to get married. they shouldn't be allowed to get married."

"if a gay service person came to my house [the comcast guy in this instance], i would tell them to leave and call the company to complain and make them send someone else."

"single moms are destroying our economy. they just sit around all day collecting child support and welfare. do you know how much my cousin got on her tax return? $5000 and she's on welfare."

"i'm prejudice. i'm not afraid to say it." "you mean against (whipsering) african americans?" "nope. all of them. i'm prejudice against all of them."

that last comment, a conversation between a coworker and the owner was the final straw for me. i turned in my two day notice on wednesday and was done that friday.

i told the owner EXACTLY why i was quitting. she didn't even bat an eye. SHE. yes, a female owner. nothing. what she DID do is leave the office and announce to the whole office that i was quitting, go to the coworker that the prejudice conversation was with and tell her.

the coworker immediately confronted me and blamed me for her being blamed for my quitting. told me i was "being too sensitive" and she "didn't mean it that way" and i needed to let things roll off my back.

SHE. DOUBLED. DOWN.

and i, as calmly as i could explained, that there's not too many ways you can mean "i'm prejudice against all of them." i explained that no, it wasn't *just* because of her, but she did need to own a part of it. yes, it was a pile of other things too. but YES, YOUR HORRIBLE WORDS FINISHED IT.

but, nearly a year later, MUCH introspection, and a really, incredibly hard mental health month later, here's what i have to say:

to my coworkers:

you want to rant about single moms needing welfare? maybe it's because we had to take a $5 PER HOUR pay-cut when we had to leave our job due to racism and bigotry.

maybe we need help because we got tired of our coworkers groping our breasts whenever they felt like it and decided no job was worth dealing with that.

maybe we need help because when we file a sexual harassment complaint the person who harassed and groped you IS ALLOWED TO HUG YOU AS AN APOLOGY.

you're so worried about your wife or your family being "exposed" to a gay person like it's a disease??

SORRY I GOT MY GAY ON YOUR WIFE AT THE CHRISTMAS PARTY WHEN I SHOOK HER HAND. she should probably just get her whole arm amputated. you can afford it. you still have insurance.

so. to my former coworkers, you won that battle. i'm ashamed i quit and walked away without standing up for myself. i'm ashamed i didn't call you out and make you realize that all your venomous speech was impacting someone literally across the room from you. in all your hatred and closed mindedness you couldn't even imagine that you might know someone that didn't agree, and even possible be sitting just 10 feet away from you.

i hope, with all my being, none of your children are gay. i can't imagine that pain and heartache having a parent like you would cause them.

i've seen your ugly hearts. i've listened to your ignorant words. i 've listened to your hate and "jokes" and i stayed quiet because _I_ was raised to be polite and go out of my way to make sure no one else feels the way you unthinkingly make everyone around you feel.

but you know what?

i'm done.

i won't go out of my way to be rude to you, like you were for YEARS to me. i was raised better than that.

but i will no longer be polite. i will no longer bite my tongue.

it's a small town. if i see you out and about, i will not hide myself to avoid you. i will say hello and offer you the acceptance and sense of humanity you refuse to others. but if i hear you make horrible comments or "jokes", I WILL SAY SOMETHING. i will not make a scene. i will not make a spectacle. but i will not be quiet any longer.

you're so big and brave when you don't know the person you're talking about is listening.

SAY IT TO MY FACE. i will no longer let it slide.

i'm learning, slowly, painfully, incredibly late in life, i'm learning to love who i am. not pieces. not love the socially presentable version of myself. i'm learning how to love ALL of myself. 

i just looked up and saw a magnet on my fridge and laughed a little.

do you see it?

no, not the sweet saved by the bell magnet.

no, not the pictures of my kid or the puppy medicine...

no...the other one, the top corner, right above oscar the grouch...

accept others.

maybe i need to tape over that and write YOURSELF.

where's my super suit?

last week i vague posted to facebook mentioning that it had been a rough week and i could use some support.

i don't like vaguebooking, but i wasn't quite ready to dump my brain at that point and really did need something, someone. SOME interaction.

this week i was able to meet up with one of my favorite people, someone who listens without judgement, HEARS what i'm saying, and doesn't sugar coat or water down responses either way- if i'm being ridiculous or if i'm being real. it's hard to know sometimes when it's just your voice on a loop in your head. sometimes real things can take on a ridiculous tangent unintentionally, or after a series of too many things it can start to seem like maybe you're just being too sensitive if THIS MANY THINGS are causing distress.

this week over drinks and dinner she let me take my time getting around to what i needed to say, no judgement, no laughing, no walking away out of disgust or annoyance or triviality or anything.

and as i've continued to process and reevaluate and look at every different angle and possibility and the usual overthinking junket my brain goes on, i've gone back and forth about whether or not it's worth writing about, if anyone else would care, if it's dumb to put my petty little problems out there.

because that's what i worry about. not about the actual problems (well, those too, but not mainly). i worry about annoying people by talking about my problems. i don't want to be trivial or a burden or the person that everyone rolls their eyes when i say there's something going on becasue drama, drama, drama. i don't want to repeat myself, which happens ALL THE TIME in my brain (and in my journal). i don't want people to be like "ugh. this again?" because that's how i feel ALL THE TIME about myself.

but this particular series of crap was BIG. and, i don't know, two weeks out and i'm still having a hard time not getting emotional about it, so it IS big. even if just to me. and maybe it's happening to someone else, and i don't want ANYONE else to feel this way, so maybe getting it out there will let one other person know it's not just them. and if even ONE other person doesn't have to feel this? WORTH IT.

i have finally found my super power, and it's a SHITTY one.

i have the power of invisibility.

and trust me, it's not all it's cracked up to be.

the signs have been there for a while. all the stood up dates, all the times bartenders have blatantly ignored me, the million and two times i've repeated myself to the teenager.

it became crystal clear at the seattle erotic art festival two weeks ago.

i had been looking forward to the event ALL YEAR. last year was amazing. the performances, the sculptures, the photos, drawings, literature, interactive pods, ALL OF IT. the crowd was a gorgeous mix of anyone and everyone at every kink and security level. some people walking around in next to nothing with just pasties on. some people in gorgeous bondage corsets, costumes, gimp suits, stilts, drag, regular clothes. EVERYTHING. it was this mismash of people from every background imaginable i'm sure, all gathered together in a place of mutual acceptance to celebrate sexuality in all forms in a safe space. it's what we were ALL there for, so no judgement, no sideways looks, just people being people.

i was SO EXCITED to go back this year. the ONE PLACE the tattooed fat girl who loves art and music and creativity and sexuality can fit in. the ONE PLACE i wouldn't feel like the freak because i start "those" conversations. the ONE PLACE i could openly admire women and men. the ONE PLACE i could belong.

and i planned the weekend, marked it on the calendar, made a hotel reservation, followed the twitter account and watched the artist selection be announced and the lead up happen and the posts of the whole weekend kicking off and the schedule of all the different parts and pieces.

i drove to seattle (with the teenager and three of his friends...they were attending a concert). i wore a little black dress, did my hair, put on bold red lipstick, took a lyft to the event center.

i went inside and ALL THE ART. oh my god. ALL THE ART. everything you can imagine. photos of legos doing bondage play. a d-rex battling a tri-cera-cocks. a storm trooper doing suspension bondage. live demonstrations of suspensions. live drag/costume/shoe contests. poetry readings. electric play demonstrations. a piercing suspension (can't watch, i can feel too much of the pain. thanks empathic abilities). it was another AMAZING show. there was a huge crowd of people wandering all over, taking it all in.

and i was invisible.

three hours. i walked around for three hours. i looked at ALL the art work, every single piece. multiple times. a massive wall piece of sheet metal air brushed in perfect patterns then stained and sealed to make a gorgeous textured/colored vagina. the craftsmanship and skill to so carefully manage the metal air brushing strokes and get the stain in exactly the right places...it was gorgeous.

i walked around for three hours. THREE HOURS. not one person said a thing to me.

i was invisible.

people would literally bump into me and not even say anything. i would try to start conversations and people would walk away mid sentence.

the ONE PLACE i thought i would fit in and not only did i NOT fit, i didn't even exist.

i'm not a petite girl. i don't blend in very well. i was in a sleeveless dress which means ALL my tattoos were visible. even people in the taco bell drive thru notice my tattoos.

and NOTHING. i didn't exist.

fuck man. that was a kick to the gut. the event i had been waiting a full year for. the place i thought i would find my tribe. the place i thought i could be myself and talk to people and make connections.

fuck.

that hurt.

(**IMPORTANT NOTE: this was not, in any way, the fault of the art festival, just my own issue. if you get a chance next year or any year, GO TO THE FESTIVAL. it's amazing. the artwork is outstanding and there's classes, demonstrations, workshops, it really, really outstanding.**)

the next night my oldest son wanted to meet up and talk. we've been communicating a little more via text recently...not just the usual "i need money" texts. i haven't had the opportunity to SEE him in several years. things haven't been smoothing sailing since he moved to seattle, to put it lightly. and he wanted to meet up in a hookah lounge in seattle and talk. i was so excited. i was going to actually get to meet one of his girlfriends and get to see him and just...hang out.

it didn't exactly go that way. he spent 45 minutes dressing me down, calling me a liar, saying every horrible thing he could think of, demanding i tell him details about things that have happened to me so he could "decide if it's real or not." he tore me apart for never dating but dating the wrong people in the same sentence. he said some terrible, horrible things about the death of his step mother/baby brother that...holy fuck. if he even said half of it or implied any of those thoughts to his dad...no wonder things are so terrible between them right now. it was bad. it was REALLY, REALLY bad. after 45 minutes of spewing every venemous, terrible thing, he told me that i could contact him when i'm "ready to finally tell the truth and stop beating around the bush," then he walked out on me. the kid that used to yell at me for telling too much truth and answering all his questions, as honestly and age appropriately as possible, now calling me a liar and walking out on me.

fuck.

strike two.

that's a really fucking shitty back to back.

that's a one-two punch that left my ears ringing a little bit.

so i came home after the weekend and tried to process as much as possible.

oh, and my therapist is out of the office until july recovering from surgery. just a fun little side note.

so. i'm processing. functioning. struggling. REALLY, REALLY struggling.

then my brother called for his monthly check in.

why do i even answer those calls? especially after a shitty weekend like that?

it's all fine until he hears me refer to our mother by her proper name. she's no longer a "mom" to me. she's just a person i (barely) know, so i refer to her by name. he literally laughed at me. LAUGHED. AT. ME. "that sounds so weird. why do you call her that?" because she hasn't been a great person to me. "oh, i just thought you had issues with her husband, not her." DO YOU EVER LISTEN DUDE? i've said the same. damn. thing. every. single. time. this. comes. up.

so i try to explain it again. "oh. i didn't know any of that."

yeah. thanks for not listening to me. ever.

brought to you by the same brother that was shocked when i wrote a short story for his son a few years ago. "when did you start writing?" WHEN I COULD HOLD A PENCIL. thanks for noticing me, ever, in our childhood.

the power of invisibility. it started young. apparently.

and it just...it sucks, you know?

and i'm not a very social person. i don't keep hoards of friends. and i'm not great about keeping in touch with the ones i do have. and i ALWAYS feel like a burden when i try to make plans...my schedule has NOTHING and i always feel like it's such a pain in the ass to try to arrange meet ups because other people actually have lives, and so i just don't do it. i don't want to make them feel bad for being busy. so i just...don't. and when i do go out...i just...don't fit in. i'm the awkward one that's moderately tolerated. i'm good for bringing the weird factor, the inappropriate stories.

and so i just sink further into invisibility.

it's just me and the puppy at home every night and i'm not sure if you know this or not, but no matter how stoned you get, puppies don't talk back.

and i HAVE people. i know i do. but they all live in my phone. i know if i really need to i can text, snapchat, message, tweet people and chat. and they are all AMAZING people that i am so lucky to know. they're positive and supportive and really, really just beautiful people.

but that doesn't really...i mean...it doesn't really help with the invisibility thing. you know?

and so, here it is. i'm struggling.

i feel like i don't exist outside making sure the teenager has food and money, the puppy gets fed and walked, and all the necessary papers get shuffled at my jobs.

PLEASE DON'T TAKE THIS THE WRONG WAY OR READ INTO IT: I'M NOT IN A DANGEROUS PLACE: i'm really, really not.
but if i just disappeared, road trip to mexico style, would anyone *really* notice?

if i just attached a teardrop trailer to the back of the jeep and started driving...it may be inconvenient for a few people for a day or two...but then?

and i know. find a group! volunteer! get out there! meet people!

yeah. we all know how good i am at that. you mean like just going to the concerts alone? or the art exhibits? dinner and a movie? maybe try speed dating? puppy play dates? community events at my apartment? maybe i should start a book club? what about trying an app to meet new people? you know they have ones for just making friends now, right? maybe if i have TWO jobs it will double the circle of people i interact with and get to know, right?

or would all that just give me a chance to see how my invisibility cloak looks with several different pair of shoes?

spoiler alert: it's the shoe thing.

so. i'm still processing. i'm trying to find new solutions. i'm still plugging along.

but if anyone else out there stumbles across my random corner of the internet and sees this: you're not the only one. you're not invisible. you do exist. you do matter. and i know, exactly, how hard that may be to believe. but don't stop trying to believe it. I SEE YOU. maybe you can recognize the shimmer on my cloak the way i can see the shimmer on yours. i don't know where i belong. i haven't found my place yet. but i'm not giving up the thought that maybe some day i will. maybe i'll find a space where i really belong with people who see me. it's out there for everyone. so me of us just have to look a little harder. and i'm going to keep looking.