Blackout, Bowdlerization, Bullshit

bowdlerization

 

Today is fucking frustrating.

This whole week has been frustrating, upsetting, triggering, disheartening, and fucking terrible for women in North American. I refuse to talk about the fucking shit this week that has proven that women’s voices mean nothing, but I will talk about me being able to do my best to claim some sense of dignity and power in a world that has stripped me bare.

In fear of feeling ostracized by folks, I will not post the cartoon that caused the reaction that questioned my self-worth. Out of fear of being told that I am a contributor to someone whom I admire and look up to being ‘trigged af’, I will not post the cartoon.  In order not to be shamed and called out publicly, I will not post the cartoon that in one small brief moment, made me feel like I had a voice.

I won’t even post this on Facebook in fear of offending that one person that hurt my heart and my pride and my dignity.

I have been silenced in fear of not being considered a good person, a decent feminist, an ally to those that have been sexually assaulted.

The cartoon in question is from Bruce MacKinnon of the Chronicle Herald printed on September 29th. What was shown was a woman with blond hair, much like Dr. Christine Ford, held down by a man in a suit with Republican logos on his sleeves. She is blindfolded and her mouth is covered by his hand, while the scales of justice are strewn behind her, victim to the disintegration of justice she has experienced.

She, Dr. Ford, and all women who have been silenced in the face of assault were that woman in the cartoon.

Never before, have I EVER felt so akin to a depiction of anything as I have with this cartoon. I have never been sexually assaulted, but I have been very close. I have never called out these men that were ‘so close’ in my assault because I never thought it was anything. I say I have never been assaulted, but I really have – I just thought that it was something that happened when you were young and drunk.

So I made this post my Facebook cover photo.

And I was promptly told that it was triggering as fuck by someone who I hold in the highest regard.

And than I felt bad and took it down.

But I am still mad.

Furious.

Hurt.

I am feeling censored, silenced, bowdlerized.

It was my wall, my thoughts, my fears and my power. I apologized to her and said that it wasn’t my intention to trigger her.

She told me my intention was irrelevant.

I felt like a terrible fraud.

But I am not.

This whole week I have felt like I have been attacked over and over again by every white man in power, by my own father that claimed this all to be a witch hunt. So I claimed my power by posting something that was everything true in my eyes.

Shot down.

Silenced.

Fucking bullshit.

Now we are attacking each other.

I feel defeated.

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Blackout, Bowdlerization, Bullshit

Missing, not missed.

white framed glass window

 

Meh.

I just ate a hot, Italian sausage, 10 tiny potatoes, a cup of frozen brussel sprouts and a shit ton of fake, 25% less salt, brown gravy. I am not going to lie – it was fucking delicious. I was going to have some bread under the sausage to soak up the gravy, however I decided against it because of the carbs. The gravy was a great idea though.

Anyways…

I attended a wedding this weekend. I was super honoured to go, as I had not seen my friend (one of the brides) but once in three years. We used to be tight – like every weekend Dexter watching marathons tight. There were five of us on each of those nights. Five queers (two couples and me) crammed into a living room, super excited to watch Dexter’s latest moral kill, debriefing about it afterwards. My friend, the betrothed, always kept us sugar-filled with cakes and cookies she was testing recipes for. We ate a lot. I was happy. Happy with the sugar and companionship.

Betrothed and her girlfriend at the time broke up. The other couple also parted ways. There were harsh words and side taking. Betrothed was my only ally after the battle.

My heart hurt. There was so much that I missed about the sugar and companionship. There were misunderstandings and so many tears shed. I was broken.

But I let it go.

Without consideration.

Fast forward 8 years.

Marriage, breakups, and wrinkles.

There is only one other person at the wedding that I know. A remnant of a life I once knew. A one-nighter that intrigued me. She welcomed me with a smile and asked how things were.

‘The same.’

‘Me too.’

It is an awkward tension that only two beings that have seen and tasted parts of our bodies that not many have. I was happy to see her though. I had someone to sit with. I felt a bit of excitement, the kind that made me want to ferociously make out with someone other than my ex who I hate saying that I am not over.

I wondered though, at that exact moment, why I was so sad. Why I couldn’t say much. I was surrounded by love, but empty.

Why?

To be honest, I don’t know. I have thought about it over and over. I have mulled, contemplated, and mourned my happiness, my sense of belonging, my connection.

Where did it all go?

I have heard (don’t ask me where), that when one door closes, another one opens. My new door must be broken. I feel like a shell of myself, and it has taken me years and years of therapy, hospitalizations, food eating, and food avoiding to figure out where I went. This time at this wedding was an exact manifestation of where I was before – something – and where I am now.

I was a spectator of my life and what it could have been. Kind of like that Christmas movie that is really old and have never watched, where that guy sees what life would be like without him in it. This was what life was without me.

And I hate it.

I miss being a part of something. I miss connections. I miss having places to go. I hate that I can count my friends on one hand. I used to have another hand of friends. I love the friends I have.. I really do, but I feel like I have lost my happy. That time, that time with my friends, my family, is lost.

And I really don’t know why.

That’s a lie. I do know why.

As much as I want to blame everyone for my losses, I really have no one to blame but myself. And my crazy. But, really, the rest is me.

One can only use crazy as an excuse for so long. At some point you have to take accountability for yourself and your actions.

I didn’t have to listen to what others think, and what others wanted me to do.

I knew better.

I didn’t trust my gut.

This eternal search for my happy – the happy I knew, is still a search – but maybe not so eternal.

The only option I have is to rebuild, and I accept this challenge with courage and authenticity.

 

 

Missing, not missed.

Niceness Not Needed

There comes a time after a breakup that you get fucking angry. After the tears, the questioning, the attempts at rekindling, you really just come out of it with a shit tonne of rage.

I am here now.

With my rage comes the memories of heartaches and betrayals from

Every

Single

Fucking

Relationship

Or any form of an interaction that was categorized as ‘more than friends’.

Patterns swirl like watery mud going down a sewer drain.

Betrayal.

Cheating.

Bottles.

Pipes.

Mirrors.

And through it all, no judgement from me. Only hope that niceness would be prevail, and the love and respect I had given would one day be returned.. flaws and all.

After all, I was nothing but flawed.

So I can’t help but wonder where faith, respect, and kindness get you.

At this point, I am not sure it gets you anything but a broken heart.

Niceness Not Needed

wishes under a cloud of unbalanced seratonin

  • TW: depression, anxiety, suicide

 

I wish I was normal like you

I wish I didn’t have to run away all the time

I wish I didn’t feel like swallowing a bunch of pills would be a better alternative than dealing with a broken heart.

  • or drinking to oblivion
  • or just laying down, shutting off my brain, and hoping that someone will just take me somewhere so I could breathe

I wish we didn’t fight all of the time

I wish she never cheated on me twice

  • I wish I had listened to my gut

I wish Christmas was normal again

I wish I was a famous writer

I wish I could be normal like you

  • smile
  • be positive
  • be at one with the universe

I wish you would be willing to die for me and never let me go

  • because I would in a heartbeat

I wish I wasn’t terrified all the time

I wish I didn’t cry every day

  • for no good reason
  • maybe because I am tired
  • tired of fighting with tiny neurons and atoms and chemicals that impede on any ounce of normalcy

I wish I realized how lucky and priviledged I really am

  • and all this ridiculousness

I wish I wasn’t such an open book

  • I wish I wasn’t only able to just write my thoughts
  • But not say them
  • Unless I drink wine

I wish I didn’t drown my sorrows in carbs

I wish I liked going to the gym

I wish I was smaller than you

I wish I was stronger than you

I wish I could stand in my underwear without having to turn out the lights.

I wish we hurt each other less

I wish that the bill collector would stop phoning me

  • I wish I could answer the phone

I wish I could do my volunteer work for a living

I wish I had someone to come home to

I wish I could ease your mind

 

 

 

 

 

wishes under a cloud of unbalanced seratonin

Except My Own Confusion

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As I sit here searching through quotes of those that were just as angst-ridden, crest-fallen, bat-shit crazy, and fucking confused as I am trying to find something or someone to explain to everyone where I am at – at this very fucking moment i contemplate why I posted this one. It hints at where I am at – slightly. But than, as I read it over and over again.. analyzing its every word, connotation, and style I realize that it is not where I am at this very moment. It can’t be. I didn’t write it – Jack Kerouac did.

So where am I right now? Well, it’s not going to be summarized in some Haiku-style work of art like Kerouac could do. Mine is much more detailed, and messy, and exciting, and devastating. Kerouac couldn’t write this shit. I am not certain that I can either – but I am going to try.

If there is one thing that I have learned throughout this two years of self – preservation, self-hatred, self-discovery, self-care, and just being by myself is that no one person can make me ok. I have to do that. You can’t be anything for anyone authentically unless you are nothing but authentic to yourself. This is actually that just came to me while I was having sushi with my dad here in Comox about 20 minutes ago.

I am an analyzer. I will tear down one idea until it is nothing. This is some parts my personality and one part my crazy. I have explained the crazy over and over again and am, quite honestly, tired of explaining it. But anyways.

I wonder about my actions. I wonder what other people think. I always wonder what other people think. I ruin great days by over analyzing text messages that I sent and that were sent, or times between texts, or Facebook messages, or Facebook posts that I do of great writer’s quotes. I wonder if other people will read it the wrong way. For example, Kerouac’s quote above. What does that quote say about me? Am I confused about other people? Am I unreliable? Am I a bag of shit?

No! What I was trying to say is.. I am ready to just get going, I want to get going.. but I have baggage .. so please be ok with me working through it. Not much magic in that quote so you can see why Kerouac won in the quote department.

So.. here is where I am at right now for all those that want to know…. including myself.

I am happy, I am sad. I am confused, yet calm. I am terrified at potential because I am terrified that it will backfire over and over again. I am certain that I question your intentions not because of you, but because I question my own authenticity. I am only learning how to stand up for myself. I am only starting to peel the layers I have built onto my self to reveal that heart of who I am. This authenticity is new .. and I am only learning who I am right at this moment. I know that I am in this inner turmoil of questioning only because I am not happy with my current situation. And I am changing.. right as I sit here. I am losing my comfortable madness to uncomfortable goodness, and I am scared. And I am grieving. And I am lost in this new found beauty of self discovery.

It is necessary. It is necessary to scare myself this way to keep going. It is necessary to keep going this way to test my trust issues. It is necessary to be vulnerable to prove that I can fucking do it.

And this is where I am.

 

 

Except My Own Confusion

…..

When I don’t know what to say… i say it with dots. When I don’t know what to say, I write it here. When I don’t what to say, I write. I want to be heard, I just don’t know how to say it with my shaky and uncertain voice.

I have been perusing through my posts lately, trying to figure out where and what I am trying to say. There is a direction there.. and it is so glaringly clear.

The thing is.. I have never felt so vulnerable as I do now. Never.

And I want to be heard. I want to do everything… I want more.. so much more than I have ever allowed myself to do.

This past month has challenged me in so many ways. So many perfect, and scary, and amazing ways. It has taught me patience and a will to fight for what I believe in.. wholeheartedly, without my somewhat selfish and terrified soul in consideration. My fear and extreme self doubt has taken second place. And this has never happened before. And it is good. It is what I have been fighting for my whole life. A belief in something greater than me.

These recent chaotic, brilliant moments have allowed me to practice my authenticity. To declare loudly that I am vulnerable and strong and worthy of love. That I am not afraid to say with the written word that I am ok.. I am better than I ever was because I am not afraid to fail.. or to try. That I have had moments that have made me melt in so many delicious ways.. and I am not afraid to talk about it or feel like I am not deserving of it.

So with this, I am going to continue to just go… go forward and hope and fight for all things deserving. I will continue to take the needs of others close to my heart and welcome them, because we are all the same really… just looking for love and acceptance and meaning in this world. I will practice patience and above all else respect for those that I simply adore.

And, above all else.. I will write.. unashamed, unafraid.

…….

 

 

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