Arn't I A Woman?

It's been a while since I wrote something personal here. I've navigated away from confessional-style writing because you can get a lot of shit for being so open and vulnerable and exposing the really dark sides of yourself. And you wonder, does it even matter? Shouldn't I write about an issue of some sort? Shouldn't I start to protect myself a bit more, because exposing myself hasn't exactly quelled the deep loneliness inside? But I'm really not the secret journaling type because I draw strength from others who share their own poignant yet dark truths for the sheer fact that if they don't, the revelations will seep out anyways until the seems burst; a blueberry Violet at Willy Wonka's factory. Somehow, sharing your ugly is more relieving than just writing it down and tucking it away like a shameful secret. And my attempts at writing impersonal pieces recently have proved fruitless. I've been grappling with how to keep up with the 24-hour mass ...

Today is New Year's Eve. It's a complicated day for everyone. For me, it's not only my ex-boyfriend's birthday (more on him later) but what would have been my three-year anniversary with my child's father. Cool. Oh shit, also, I'm living in my parent's basement with my 20-month-old daughter, wearing near black lipstick, dressed up in goth chic for no one in particular except Taylor Swift, as she is currently sashaying across my TV screen. You know T. Swift is having a bomb ass NYE. Me, well I don't lament not being at some party or with some dude or whatever. I'm cool with this 7up and Korbel. But ya know what I hate? How at the end of the year there is always this onslaught of think pieces reflecting on the year and how to make the next one like, super great! They get posted all over your feeds and timelines, usually in the form of a bullet list from Thought Catalog* and it's just a bunch of bullshit to me: "Here's 10 Ways You Ca...

What if I forgave myself? I thought. What if I forgave myself even though I’d done something I shouldn’t have? What if I was a liar and a cheat and there was no excuse for what I’d done other than because it was what I wanted and needed to do? What if I was sorry, but if I could go back in time I wouldn’t do anything differently than I had done? What if I’d actually wanted to fuck every one of those men? What if heroin taught me something? What if yes was the right answer instead of no? What if what made me do all those things everyone thought I shouldn’t have done was what also had got me here? What if I was never redeemed? What if I already was? ------------ As my 30th birthday looms around the corner, my mind has been racing for ways I can prove to myself that I am worthy of transitioning into a new decade, one ripe with adulthood charm and class and the ability to move beyond childhood trauma and maladaptive coping mechanisms into a glorious freedom. Coupled with the...

Often when you are at your lowest you feel surrounded by other people who have everything you want, or who are coming up while you are very down. It can feel very in your face and you wonder why everyone else is in such a good place when you aren't and it can truthfully be hard to be happy for others when you are suffering.  I’ve recently had time to reflect on the past year of my life, literally one of the worst. I keep expecting things to slowly get better but somehow the pain keeps dragging and certain people keep hurting me, either through memories or real life actions.  After tragedy, I usually try to immediately dig my way out of my pain, because it is so massive I can’t handle feeling it. But by avoiding it, I never fully process what has happened, and it simmers inside, a latent displaced anger that often doesn’t reveal itself for years after its triggering cause has occurred. I’ve been through such pain and suffering this past year, but honestly that's one o...

“Gold in its raw form appears dull and does not glitter.” Like most girls my age, I grew up on Lisa Frank; to this day I have never loved a boy as much as I loved my original Lisa Frank trapper keeper.   And as a feminist I deliciously delight in non-ironically reappropriating the pink colorful glitter images Frank iconized as celebratory and powerful rather than weak and flippant.   So while groggily sitting on my parent’s back deck this morning where I have been living for the past 6 months due to some of those wonderful life-likes-to-kick-you-in-the-ass-unforeseen-circumstances, I’m half enjoying my day off thanks to the long holiday weekend and half suffering through pangs of loneliness, deeply isolated from the glitzy city lights of Atlanta 30 miles away. As I scroll through my friends’ posts and pictures of their frolicking late night adventures around Dragon Con this weekend, adorned in pink wigs, high heels, outrageous costumes, and ridiculously (yet genuin...