Saturday, May 28, 2016

Insignificant yet life altering traumas: The Lesbian Years

Growing up, my parents both seemed a little worried about my lack of dating. This plus the fact that I was a tomboy, didn't really do my hair or makeup and fit the "stereotype" apparently led them to only one possible conclusion. I must love vagina.

If you recall or maybe I've never mentioned it, my parents were divorced and by divorced I mean loathed each other with the fire of one thousand suns. Honestly, I don't remember them being married, all my memories are visitation arguments and crap, but holy hell. Like I don't know what the fuck happened that made them get a divorce but whatever it was, it had to have been some catastrophic event to make two people harbor so much hate for each other. It's almost fascinating! I'm sure each of them have their own story, frankly I give zero shits about either side BUT I do want to say if it was "He was crazy!" or "She was unstable!" I will have to take offense because I am actually crazy and unstable and I still can't imagine doing anything so bad to be on the receiving end of what I witnessed. I think they mostly just blamed each other for shit that, in all sincerity, probably didn't fucking matter at all in the scope of life but they were both so dedicated to hating each other it didn't matter the topic. It was out of this world. I'm not saying they are why I am so messed up but I'm not denying it contributed in one way or another. Ask all of my three therapists....they'll tell you what's up.

Anyways that entire paragraph was just to explain that my parents did not communicate about anything for any reason. This is important to know because that means they both came to the verdict of my lesbianism very, very separately. And when I was approached by each of them, the conversation also differed greatly.

Father: I remember he had a couple of friends over and they were sitting on the back deck having a couple drinks. Though any type of socialization with "those kind of people" was pretty much excruciating for me, for some reason I went out near them. By "those kind of people" I obviously mean the upper middle class who censor themselves in public, talk shit about people even though they are 40-some years old and have probably never worn sweatpants to Aldi before, even though everyone knows Aldi's produce is always on point. Anyways, they were probably drinking wine or craft beer back when Sam Adams was the "craft beer". It was unusual because my father had been drinking and was slightly intoxicated which was out of the ordinary for him, usually he would drink one or two but I never remember him drinking to excess at all. Regardless, I went outside, I was at the table and he says something like, "Blah blah blah, you better not be a lesbian" or some shit like that. The only reason that it stuck with me so long is because A. It was in front of some other people and they laughed about it so I felt really embarrassed and B. I put it on my "Stuff that will disappoint your father" brain list. I probably could have busted out the fact I jumped into bed with my camp boyfriend and this happened. All on his dime, by the way, but I was too traumatized to do anything but walk back inside

Mother: We were driving in the car, she asked about if I ever talked to any boys or something. I just shrugged and she said, "Well are you a lesbian?" and I said, "No." and she said "Ooook. Well if you are.... that's can tell me." *wink wink, nudge nudge*

There were also a lot of people in school who apparently thought I was a lesbian. During my graduation ceremony, two girls were talking a bunch of shit about me and called me a "fucking dyke" for cheering for my best friend. It was pretty cool of them to get that last shot in, they were class acts. Just for the record, my life isn't perfect but their lives seem waayyyy shittier than mine so they can go fuck right off. Dumb bitches.

Anyways, if being a lesbian were a choice, I feel like if I wanted to choose that path, I wouldn't have just because of all the shit I went through. And it makes me feel really horrible for any individual who actually is gay and has to deal with this shit. I'm not gay, that I know of, and it was terrible for me. I can only imagine how it would feel to be personally attacked and made to feel shame for just being who the fuck you were when you were born. It just goes to show you how amazingly strong some people are, I admire the shit out of that.

Thursday, May 19, 2016


First of all, I feel like one of you mother fuckers have just been clicking my links a lot to make me feel good. It's hard for me to believe 90 people read my last blog post. Or I'm getting good at making all my titles click bait. Anyways.....

Anyone who knows me will tell you I've always been interested in psychology. Unless I never told them, as you can tell by the way I write my blog I am an extremely private person... Well lately my love for psychology and my extraordinary amount of therapy has combined into one super annoying hairball of psychoanalyzing. When I used to get into arguments, I would go off on some ridiculous tangent, wave my arms around and yell a lot about random government officials trying to rule my uterus and how I have faced persecution my entire life from the Free Masons or some shit. That has drastically changed to the other end of the spectrum, for the most part. I still get loud and talk with my hands like a stereotyped cartoon of a pissed off Italian but instead of ridiculous conspiracies, I use my psycho-knowledge to just tell everyone how the *actual* feel about things.

It's seriously a whole lot of, "Listen, I know you're mad right now and I understand why you would feel that way. But I have a pretty good feeling that all this anger you're projecting is just how you channel your feelings. I think it would really help if you try and be mindful of the real emotion behind that anger, which is hurt. It's ok to feel hurt! You were raised being told you had to be tough and not cry but that's not the case at all! If you allow yourself to feel that hurt and really try to understand where that hurt is coming from, you will be able to recognize that it doesn't have to define you. You are not weak for feeling hurt, you are only human. And that's just fine!"


To which I respond, "Hmmm...I think I know what's going on here. In this scenario, the ice cream bar is your mother and you are seeing me as your father, taking away the one who provides for you. The ice cream is significant here as it represents the breast milk that you suckled from your mother's teat. This seem like a very clear example of how the Oedipus complex develops in childhood and permeates throughout ones life! Fascinating! Don't you find that fascinating?!"

To which they reply, "Fuck you, you're a fucking monster...."

So yeah, I'm basically a psychologist now. If you ever want to talk about your feelings, let me know and I can tell you what's actually going on in that amazingly beautiful brain of yours.

Monday, May 16, 2016

The Timing Method

The weather was finally nice enough over the weekend that we could do outdoorsy shit. I had planned on just hanging out on the deck writing all day but after a grueling 7 block walk/jog over to my sister's and a snapchat convo with my bestie, we decided to go on a bike ride for an hour or so. Our booming small city has recently added a bunch of paved bike trails so I loaded up my bike, my niece and her bike and headed out to meet my friend and her daughter. We ended up taking this nice trail which heads out of town towards a park. It does this little detour so for a good chunk of it, you are actually riding out in the country. It was freaking amazing. Growing up on an acreage makes me instantly homesick when I get out surrounded by fields and the quietness of it all. Unfortunately, we had to move into town when I was in about 6th grade and eventually ended up selling our childhood home in the country. I was completely devastated but the house had gone to shit and none of us had the money to put into in and move back. The people who bought it basically bought it for the land, tore down the 2 bedroom underground house that held so many good memories and the out buildings to build a monstrosity of a McMansion on the 4 acres. It fucking killed me.

Back to the bike ride, it was great. I felt so at home and peaceful which considering my life, is a pretty big feat. After the 5 mile or so ride those good feelings stayed with me until I came home and realized that nothing had changed. In fact, for the hour we were gone shit went a little awry. My sister had somehow jammed the wrong key into our back door, making it impossible to open. We had to take the whole thing off and go get a new handle. It really wasn't a big thing because we have the means to go out and buy a new lever but not really something I had expected to  deal with.. After that things went alright then I started getting some text messages in regards to some personal shit I am handling poorly at the moment. Once again, not a big deal, just another thing that I am trying to figure out on my own that from the outside looks very different from the inside. Or maybe my perspective is just skewed and biased since it involves me.

I guess besides the fact that leaving for any amount of time doesn't mean when you return all the problems in your life will be magically solved, there is also a lesson here about timing. At the time my mom decided she was going to sell our house and land, she didn't really have a choice and we didn't have the money to fix it. At the time that our door handle got all jacked up, we did have the money to fix it. Yes, there is a significant difference here but the fact remains that overall, timing is important. I feel like everyone misses opportunities because of poor timing. We miss important events, chances to do amazing things or see the people we love. We get in accidents, we have accidents, things break that we can't fix at the moment. We overcook our steaks and we under cook our chicken, we eat at restaurants the day before they announce a listeria outbreak in their lettuce. 

Other times when the opportunity is there, we are too caught up in other shit or too afraid to take any chances *ahem Second City*. We create excuses and put it off but, and watch this magically fucking tie in right here, YOU STILL HAVE TO EVENTUALLY DEAL WITH IT. Say your basement decides to let in a bunch of water one spring, you clean it up, a couple months go by and you think "Hey! We haven't had any problems and I really don't feel like throwing a bunch of money and work towards it this summer so eh, I'll deal with it later. So you put it off and guess what happens the next spring...fucking basement water. You clean it up and start the whole process again and again until finally one day you notice that it's starting to smell a little and the baseboard look a little jacked up so you decide to investigate and TA-DAH! You now have mold in your walls. What?! But how?! I've only been letting my basement flood every freaking spring since I moved here 5 years ago, how could this happen?!

That's life. You put shit off because of bad timing, whether real or imaginary, and then wonder a few years down the line, when the problems get too big to ignore, how it got to that point. Maybe if we all spent a little more time looking at the reality of the situation and try to rectify it a little earlier, our lives would be a whole hell of a lot easier. But we won't. Because it's too hard or there is too much involved. So we end up chalking up the missed opportunities as something we had no control over while people judge us for not doing enough or trying hard enough when our basements flooded the first time while standing in their own basement, knee deep in water

I guess what I'm trying to convey is everyone is the same. We all put things off for another day secretly hoping it never comes because keeping things the same is easy and seems less stressful that way (hint: it's not). So let's all just keep playing in our moldy basements, breathing in those spores while pretending that it's not slowly killing us.

Yes, I AM in a great mood. Thanks for asking.

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Domestic Emotional Terrorist

So I have this super awesome diagnosis of a super awesome disorder that makes my life fucking miserable. It's wonderful, it screws with every aspect of my life making shit way more difficult than it needs to. I think my favorite part is how I can be treated like complete shit by someone but I still need their approval to continue existing so I end up telling myself that I'm a terrible person and since I am a terrible person, I accept that's how I should be treated because it's what I deserve. It's SUPER FUN!

Actually just kidding, it's not super fun. It's a shitty way to live. Being the self-aware mental case that I am, I go to therapy where I try to hold in my feelings as she asks me to say out loud that I am a good person. Which I can't do. Actually, I can say the words but I refuse to because I don't believe it and I'm not a god damn liar. I'm not going to sit there and tell myself I'm a good person over and over in hopes I'll some day convince myself it's true. That is bullshit and fake. I'm a very honest person, I don't tell other people lies just to make them feel better and I'm not going to do it to myself. Homie don't play that. Real talk.

So I figured I'd write this. Not for your sympathy, not for you to turn around and tell me "but you ARE a good person!" I know you think I'm a good person but I have a rebuttal for that, I have a rebuttal for everything you're gonna say. You see, after living like this for so long, I know all the good comebacks. I'm writing this because it is important for people to understand that by the luck of the draw, some people live their lives feeling this way. And unfortunately, there is nothing, nothing, nothing anyone can do or say to change that mindset until the person in question can make that change for themselves. Frustrating, huh?

I would also hate for anyone who envies me (which sounds completely fucking ridiculous to say, do not envy me at all, I am literally a mess of a person) to read this and think, "Oh no! But she's got something going for her and if she feels worthless, then I should feel super worthless." For the love of all that is holy, I really honestly hope NO ONE says this to themselves but if for some crazy reason you ever think that, even for a second, STOP. You are not worthless, never feel worthless. I feel this way because I am blessed with a brain that hates me, there is something wrong with my gray matter, it's chemically imbalanced or has been somehow traumatize or I have a parasite eating away my brain. There is something wrong with the way I see myself, I know this but never let my opinion or anyone else's ever make you feel like you are WORTH IT. Because you fucking are. This is so incredibly important.

Do not put up with shit from anyone because they tell you or you tell yourself that you aren't worth it or you don't deserve happiness. BECAUSE IT IS NOT FUCKING TRUE. I feel like I just need an entire string of cuss words and caps lock because it is the only way I know how to emphasize the fucking IMPORTANCE OF WHAT I'M TELLING YOU.

You are good, you are full of worth, 
you are a beautiful person, you are smart 
and you are fucking worthy of love.

And if I ever, EVER heard you say otherwise I will come find you and beat the shit out of you, purely out of love though. There will be tons of heart behind my fists of fury and afterwards I will gently kiss the top of your head, wipe your tears and tell you you those 5 things. And then you will look at me and say, "Bitch you are literally crazy, this is the absolute worst way you could have gone about this. It was completely unnecessary and counterproductive. I honestly hate you." Then I will hold you close to my bosom while stroking your hair and say, "Hush little one, I'm coming down from my meds, it's about to get real weird up in here."

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Am I Write Or Am I Write?

I've been distracted lately, weird I know, that's so unlike me. Besides being on my last week of the semester (thank baby Jesus), dealing with all that comes with life, hammering out the summer programming at work, among other things, I have a pretty full plate. So of course instead of blogging I decided, "Hey! I'm going to start writing ANOTHER book!" This makes five. I have started to write five books. This is only counting the ones I have starting typing on here, that doesn't include the random notebook pages where I scribble down a few paragraphs when I suddenly have an idea. I have completed writing zero books. Turns out when you start it, you have to come back to it and it's a lot of work. Maybe once one is finished, it will be easier but until then I'll just have my scattered chapters floating around in various stages. I'm alright with that.

What I like about writing, is that it's basically Sims without restrictions. You can come up with your own characters, make them look however you want, give them personalities, feelings, place them in different scenarios. You can write from any perspective you want, you can tell  a story from a third persons point of view, first persons, you can switch points of view, switch characters. There are literally no limits to what you can do. Write about something you hate, write about something you love. Write about the things you wish would happen to you or write about things that have happened to you. It is unlimited. THERE'S NO RULES!

It's evolved imagination. If I want to spend the afternoon getting plowed by a sexy ranch hand, I can do that. After our sweaty, erotic romp in the hay we decide to go out and disembowel a child predator, consider it done. Then we might run off to Fiji and relax in the sun while being served exotic drinks and watching the sunset. Sound like the perfect ending to a perfect day!

But Rachel, writing is boring. You just sit there and write. WHHHAATTTT? You are an idiot. You can write anywhere. You can go to the park, a coffee shop, sit in a tree. Better yet, I've never been to Fiji, how the hell am I supposed to know what it's like. I can't be writing a bunch of untrue shit. Someone who has actually been there is going to end up calling me out on it and I'll look like a dumbass. Solution: Better get my ass to Fiji and do some research. Even if you have no idea what you're going to eventually write about, go somewhere and just sit. Write down what you see, smell, feel, the weather, the people, what you hear, the overall vibe. That way, when you do actually pen something, its pertinent to setting. Like the smell of warm oranges on a sunny California afternoon, the fragrant aroma of spices in a Bangladesh marketplace or the tangy mix of disinfectant, latex and body odor at the local sexporium. Making someone feel like they are there, in that moment, is a critical part of composing a novel. My favorite books to read are the ones that give me a visceral reaction. If I feel like I'm about to die when I read your book, good for you! If I read something so perverse and depraved that I start seriously considering what the hell I'm doing with my life reading this shit, you get a gold star! Lookin' at you Palahniuk, you sick, wonderful fuck.

What I'm trying to say is, write something. Anything. I don't give a shit if it's a Facebook post or a post it. Take pride in it, use proper grammar and punctuation. Put your feelings on paper and look at them. You just made that. That paragraph came from inside of YOU. Look at you, my amazing little unicorn! You're a god damn writer. Now let's go fuck up the world together.