Floating Through Space


Longing for Endings

There is this well deep within me that I am usually oblivious to.  Every once in a while, I will come upon it, and I’m amazed at how deep it goes.  I sometimes, climb inside of it and slowly go down it’s rounded walls, even though, as I get closer to the bottom, I know that I will be faced with the prospect of drowning.

It was April 2007.– a Sunday.  Cod, Sucka, and I were coming home from church, and I was very upset because Nark had been ignoring me for days.  I don’t remember why he was ignoring me, but it had gotten to a point where I couldn’t handle it anymore.  So I made the declaration on that five minute ride home that I was going to confront Nark when we got home.  It was Cod’s birthday, so she begged me not to do it.  I just couldn’t live in such a oxygen-deprived environment for a second longer.  So, I went into the house as Cod and Sucka stayed outside in the car.  I walked up the steps to their room to find Nark, sitting straight faced, as though I’d killed his cat.  I said, “Why aren’t you talking to me?”  And in true narcissist fashion, he denied ignoring me–loudly.  I then gave him my cellphone and said, “Here, take it!”  He paid the bill for it (which makes me have a slight memory that he was ignoring me because he said I was going over minutes, which couldn’t have been true, because I barely had friends–plus I’m an introvert.  He averaged 50,000 alone, and I guess he didn’t want to take responsibility).  It was then that he got up, yelling at me and telling me that he wouldn’t pay for my school any longer.  I didn’t care.  Then Sucka came into the house, and all three of us were on the steps screaming at each other.  I said, “I already know what you think of me…’you’re nothing but a fat bitch, remember?!'” referencing what he said to me years before.  He kept coming after me on the steps, and Sucka stood between us.  Then, Sucka and I began to push him, because due to history, we knew how incredibly violent he could get.

[Taking a moment as I type this, because it’s bringing up a shitload of shit that again, was at the bottom of that deep well]

This whole scene went on for about ten minutes.  There was a point when he began screaming that I never showed him that I loved him–that I never wrapped my arms around him and…basically, treated him like a child.  It makes me sick just thinking about this fucking bullshit.  Then, for the next hour, he talked and talked and talked, gaslighting and making me the worst person ever.  I was nineteen.  He was 59.  He rambled and rambled, and the whole time, Cod stayed in her car–letting me stay in the lions den, alone, like an ostrich mother.  And he left that seemingly never-ending…I can’t even say conversation, because he was making pointless points and being a sick fucker.  He left happy, I’m sure.  I left feeling like my soul had been destroyed beyond repair.

I want it to end.  I want him out of my life.  I want him to go back to the abyss he came from.  I want him annihilated from existence–including mentally.  I want him out of my life with such intensity that I’m sure I would sigh with relief upon his eventual death.  I may even smile.  I think the sun would give me a high five and suddenly Chipotle would have discounts available to curb their tremendous prices.  All pets would be able to speak the native tongue of their owners, and junk food would no longer contain calories.  I’m telling you, my world, my LIFE would be like a ribbon in the sky.  I would go sky-diving, rock climbing…I would become an astronaut and explore outer-space, not even needing an oxygen mask because I would be living off of sheer thrill.  Fruit would taste sweeter, and I would suddenly have abundant wealth.  Yes, THAT is that joyous feeling when the saga of Nark is over.  Lord Jesus, it’s a fire!  It would be an incredibly freeing time.

Thing is, I hate sounding this way.  I am a kind person.  I just hate my narcissistic father with a passion, and it almost feels like I’m counting down the days until he’s gone (be that through a divorce or death).  It’s so fucking hard having a non-human parent.  I mean, scum of the earth–demonic.  DEMONIC!  And I’m not one to say stuff like that because it reminds me of that crazy fundamentalist upbringing, but narcissists are demonic persons.  Why torture us like this, Lord?  Why have us deal with such seemingly never-ending pain and sorrow?

Song of the Day: None for this post.  Pain is nothing but a white noise, floating in the air that is filled it dark space.


Perfect Peace

I want your thighs to caress my cheeks

As you rise to the heavens

In complete ecstasy

While I delicately kiss your delicious peach.

I want my face drenched in your waterfall

Cleansing me with your ecstasy

As you float back down

In perfect peace.

Happy Days

There is so much to say that I may have to break this up into two or more posts.

First, HEY everyone!  It’s been a while (well, at least for me).  A lot of positive things have been going on in my life, but before I get ahead of myself, I have to get something off my chest (and hopefull get myself onto someone else’s chest ::wink wink::).

So, two years ago, I became Facebook friends with this woman named “Suze.”  Suze and I became friends after I read one of her incredible comments on an LGBT page.  Her viewpoint intrigued me, so I sent her a friend request.  Well, she accepted, and when I went through her profile, I saw that she was partnered with this super sexy butch named “Jackie.”  Jackie, I swear to you, is, by far, the sexiest butch I have ever seen.  She’s big and has big breasts, blue eyes, loves to fish, cusses like a sailor.  I mean, fuck, soooo hot.  So, I also sent a request to Jackie for the sake of Facebook eye candy.  Now, before I continue, I’d like to make it clear that I am not a home-wrecker.  And while I have thrown away most of my fundamentalist beliefs, I still very much believe in marriage, faithfulness, and how sacred a marital relationship is–no matter what sex or gender the people getting married are.  Now, Jackie didn’t initially accept my friend request.  Not only that, but I think she actually rejected it, because a few months later, she sent me one.  Long story short, Suze and Jackie both became my Facebook friends.

Now, although I have never met these people in real life, they have both had a profound impact on my life.  When I broke up with Winny, both Suze and Jackie were very consoling.  At other times, depending on my status update, Jackie and Suze have responded kindly.  There was even one time when I was complaining about having severe PMDD when Jackie tagged me in a photo of a colorful flower and said, “I hope the color comes back to your world soon.”  Oh, swoon.  But yeah.  So, you can imagine my astonishment when Suze and Jackie announced their breakup after seven years together!  I was so sad for them.  They seemed like such an amazing couple.  Thing is, while I feel their pain, a part of me…deep inside…was ecstatic that Jackie is single again.  It felt weird to have a crush on someone else’s “partner.”  And on that note, I just want to say that I am highly against the word “partner.”  Just to reiterate on my previous point, marriage is a sacred thing.  Spouse, wife, or husband makes sense to me.  Partner is generic, and partnerships can very much end…but I digress…  So, for about two weeks I have been considering how much time I should give Jackie before blatantly flirting with her.  I’ve come to the conclusion that two months would be good enough, since I would think that any possible reconciliation between them would occur in that time.

Jackie is so fucking hot.  She’s like…OK.  In terms of looks, she’s like Pam.  Actually, a lot like Pam.  Jackie is about ten years older than me.  She’s a dog groomer who owns her own grooming business.  She loves to fish, watch football, and fix things.  She has a wicked sense of humor.  She’s Wiccan (I’m not, but I’m not against it).  I know that I may sound like I’m describing some mundane person, but Jackie is so hot to me.  Oh, like, lust at first sight.  Her boobs are so big…oh my goodness…just huge.  Oh, Jackie!  But Suze is my friend!  I don’t want to fuck up my relationship with Suze, because I genuinely care about her feelings.  I don’t know.  Jackie’s birthday is tomorrow, so I was thinking about saying something sultry to her then–just to get that bug in her ear.  What do I do?

Oh, Jackie! But moving on…

OK, so as you can read from the vast majority of my posts, I have been severely depressed for about a year.  But that all ended about three weeks ago.  Let’s rewind.  I have been wearing a hat that I got from Macy’s for about a year, but a few months ago, I noticed that I was getting bumps on my scalp.  So, I made an appointment with a dermatologist who told me that it was because of the hat.  She prescribed me a topical anti-biotic and some Lidex cream, which is a very, very potent corticosteroid.   I used both for about a month when I began to notice some hypopigmentation on my neck.  I called the doctor who then told me to stop using it.  Upon looking up Lidex online, I saw that it was extremely potent and could cause some severe side effects.  I had noticed that my cycle had begun to change.  I am a text-book 28-day cycler.  But when I began the cream, my cycle went from 31 days to 19!  It was insane!  And my cramps were horrendous.  So, I stopped the medicine.  Then something told me to look at my lotion.  I had been using some eczema lotion for about three years.  I get eczema on my face around my nose, but it clears up when I used the medicated lotion.  So, curiously, I read the label to see that it was 1% hydrocortisone cream!  My life!  I stopped using that as well.

So, for the past month, I have been going through topical steroid withdrawal.  My face was peeling so badly and was so dry that no lotion would even penetrate it.  My chest broke out into hives (I’m assuming “flares”).  Currently, my hand has a flare going on with lots of tiny little bumps.  It has definitely been a rollercoaster.  Thing is, though, MY DEPRESSION ENDED AS SOON AS I STOPPED THE STEROIDS!  It’s the most insane, wonderful, awesome thing ever!  My period went back to normal.  I barely had PMS, when I have spent MONTHS having severe PMDD.  My life finally has sun!  And it makes me wonder if all those things I went through last year were just side effects of me being on corticosteroids?  So, seriously, people, read your labels and trust your instincts!  Be as natural as possible!  I have started using jojoba oil and coconut lotion for my moisturizer now.  My face is doing do much better, too.  I still have a ways to go, but knowing that I am healing is enough to stand strong.  I actually think these flares are my body trying to get me to use some anti-itch cream (aka corticosteroids!).  I have been juicing a lot and adding tumeric, ginger, and cinnamon to my juice.  I’ve also started taking an apple cider vinegar tonic.  I just feel so good now.  It’s a wonderful, incredible thing.  So thank all of you so much for putting up with the most depressing blog posts ever.  I’m finding myself again, and I literally see Venus up ahead.

So, hopefully you will hear more from me more often–especially about this Jackie situation.  My life feels like a deep breath now.  It’s just…lovely.

Songs of the Day: Easy Lover by Phil Collins; They’ll Never Be by Switch

Time Travel

I have noticed lately that I have been doing things that I used to do back when I was a teenager.  I found my old mp3 player a few weeks ago, and I have been trying my hardest to use it as my current device.  I also have been playing the Tony Hawk series on my GameCube non-stop.  In addition to that, I just set up the old Windows ME computer–mainly so I could get onto AOL 5.0 and stroll down memory lane.  Each morning, I eat my breakfast while watching Family Matters (my favorite show as a kid).  I even cancelled my Netflix subscription in favor of watching DVDs.

This, to me, is the same thing I have been doing for months, just without the time travel.  I have overeaten like crazy to feel something.  When that got boring, I almost became a shopaholic, buying all kinds of useless shit because I thought it’d make me feel better (big ticket items, too, like an XBOX).  Then I began eating candy (and I’ve never been one to have a sweet tooth, but lately I can’t seem to get enough).  My current obsession is watching Melissa McCarthy movies.

With all that said, I don’t really get joy out of anything.  And as far as the time travel goes, I almost feel like I’m trying to go back to a time when I didn’t feel so bad, and for me, that was being sixteen.  At sixteen, I looked forward to my life.  I still had a sense of awe in what was to come.  I wasn’t jaded at all.  I still imagined things working themselves out and me finally being around interesting people and living in interesting places.  Sixteen.  And Tony Hawk games just scream 2003.

I don’t know what’s going to happen when this binge ends.


Dreams from February

This is literally a post of my dreams from this month so far.

February 2 or 3, 2014:

I was on an Amtrak train with a group of people.  And there was this huge cow next to me on my right.  I wasn’t afraid of the cow, but I was afraid that it would fall on me and crush me since the train was rocking.

I ended up back home, and there was a big gorilla in the house.  It started in SuckaMC’s room, and it began chasing me.  I escaped to the bathroom and hid in the linen closet.  I tried to breathe very softly so he wouldn’t hear me.  I then ended up downstairs and he was still chasing me, so I went out the patio door into the backyard.  He followed, and then I ran back into the house, Jack (my dog) ran in after me, and then I slammed the door in the gorilla’s face.  I wasn’t afraid of the gorilla.  I was afraid of what he would do to me—his power, lack of control, etc.

February 3 or 4, 2014:

I was on a trip with a group of 20.  We stopped in a southern restaurant that resembled a Cracker Barrel but it was privately owned.  While there, the group leader decided to put on Fox News for all of us.  I rolled my eyes and he said, “Oh, so you’re an anti-conservative”  I said, “No, I’m an anti-whoever is against me.”

I ended up back in the hotel room, and it looked like a large, unfurnished condominium.  It had wall to wall carpet, a kitchen, and a large patio door.  I looked out of the patio door and I was mesmerized because I saw a beautiful beach.  I also saw, behind the beach, a string of tall, snowy mountains.  I also saw a perfect round sun, and the sky was gorgeous.  I was totally staring at it, completely immersed.  And then I said, “I have to put my feet in that water.  I just have to.”  So, I went over to my bag, and I realized that I only had one room key, so I decided to keep it in the room and just leave the patio door open for me to get back in.  I was absolutely determined to put my feet in the water.  And then the group knocked on my door.  I opened it and they were telling me that they were about to go somewhere as a group.  I said, “Go on without me.  I’ll catch y’all later.”  Then I said, “You know what, just go on and do whatever you’re going to do, even if that means going back home.  I will find my way home—don’t worry about me.”  And then I shut the door, determined to get to that water and at complete peace about being alone and finding my way back home.

February 5, 2014 dream:

Dream 1:

In two days, I was supposed to go on a cruise with my mom.  My sister wasn’t going and neither was my dad.  It was a Christmas cruise that my aunt had suggested.

I was laying in my room when I realized that the wall that the door is on had a long, missing drywall strip running east to west.  I was shocked.  Come to find out, the crew that put up the wall (and Tina Turner was apart of that crew) had plastered bad pieces of drywall together which is why I never knew how shoddy it was.  Now, at the same time, I looked up to the ceiling, and there was a brick-sized chunk missing.

I got up, went over to the wall, and effortlessly removed the remaining drywall.  Once I did, there were these huge, old spider webs handing there.  They had dust all over them.  I showed my parents the wall, and then my dad said he’d repair it.  I was super cautious and nervous because I was going on the trip in two days and I didn’t trust that he (or the drywall company) that he eventually hired would be competent enough to put the wall up.  I felt that I had to be there to watch them to see if it was done correctly.

Dream 2:

I had ordered an old Crazy Taxi Accessory from ebay.  It was a handheld device that looked like those old Tiger games from the 90’s.  Anyways, it was an accessory for the game which would show three numbers: kph, mph, and speed.  I was stoked that it came in, and all I needed to do was change the batteries.  I opened the back and it required like eight batteries, and they were all different sizes.  There was one AAA, a couple of AA’s, a couple of AAE’s and they were different in terms of their length and width.  They were also foreign batteries, and they were dead.  So I thought to myself, “How am I going to get these battery sizes?”

February 6, 2014:

I was at home with my mom, my sister, and my dad.  He was somewhere in the house with a construction crew.  SuckaMC and I had been in the garage (this was not in the dream, but we referenced it), and she found a row of elevator buttons still in the decorative shell.  We were amazed, because we didn’t know if the house had ever had an elevator in it.  So, we went to mom’s room, and we saw a new door next to her room door to the left.  I asked her what the door went to and she said, “Y’all go check it out if you want.”  She didn’t know, but she didn’t care enough to find out.  Anyways, I was super curious about what was behind the door.  Before I went in, I asked her why this large construction crew (full of Africans) was in the house.  She said, “When your daddy bought the house, he was so broke that the bank told him that they would never let up on having people in the house so they have been here ever since.”  I got hella loud and confused and I said to her, “Uhm, mom, that was years ago!  You pay the mortgage now!  Go and refinance so they can leave!”  She then laid there, non-chalantly and gave some lame excuse about how she didn’t want to get involved.

So, I was walking around the house, me and SuckaMC still looking for the elevator, and then we found it!  It was in some new part of the house on the second floor.  And it was beautiful.  It was old looking and had one of those dials that go front left to right showing you what floor it’s going to.  The dial went to number 5.  I was so excited to find it!  Like, I was amazed that it had been in the house for over twenty years and no one ever found it or even tried to look.  So, I said to myself, “I have to put this on facebook.”  In my mind, the status was going to be, “When you just happen to find a hidden elevator in your house…”  I took a picture of it with my tablet, and then the group of African’s came in behind me pushing me out of the way.  The first picture I took was bad, so I was gearing up for the second picture and they pushed me out of the way.  I started screaming, “Get off of me!”  Because this one African kept touching me.  I then pushed him off and he put up both of his fists and was like, legit gearing up to fight me.  Thing is, my dad was right behind him doing nothing but watching the whole thing.  And I wasn’t even offended.  Nor was I scarred, because I said, loudly, “I AM GOING TO CALL INS!  INS!  INS!  INS!!!”  And they all stopped messing with me and got real silent.

Thing with the elevator was, it was hidden and beautiful.  But it was also under repair.  I didn’t get on it, because I wasn’t sure if it worked.  Plus, the crew came in and they were supposed to be repairing the house.  In real life, I avoid elevators usually, unless I am with someone else.  I don’t like the thought of being stuck in one.  I usually take the stairs.

February 9, 2014:

I was out shopping at Target.  And I parked my car in the parking lot, but slightly far away.  I went into the store and it was kind of run down.  All the DVDs were bootleg.  It was wayyy ghetto.  Anyways, I paid for my stuff and as I went out to the parking lot, I couldn’t find my car—at all.  It wasn’t there.  I spent the rest of the dream looking for it.  I even went over Winny’s house (her parents weren’t there), and they told me that they saw the car in the past few weeks.  I was talking to them while they were in their bedroom.  Her mom was topless.  Then I ended up talking to Sapphire on the phone a year later who had apparently “borrowed” the car.  She said that she took good care of it and made sure her “friend” did too during a time when it wouldn’t start and her friend began to punch it.  I wondered why she didn’t just bring the car by my house since she knows where I live.  When she told me that it had been broken down for a year, I was so upset…sad and anxious, because I didn’t think it would be like my car anymore.

February 19, 2014:

It was nighttime, and I was in the backyard.  It was raining, and I could hear it, but I didn’t get wet.  I went into the gazebo, which was in the middle of the yard.  When I was in there, so was “Jade” (this girl I like who I’m friends with on Facebook), and I was flirting like crazy with her (and she was flirting back).  I remember me sitting down and telling her to sit on my lap.

Second part of the dream.  I was up the street at the grocery store.  It was still nighttime, and I was driving my car, or so I thought.  Thing about it was, it drove very funny and the brakes didn’t work.  I would try to reverse and go forward, but It was do a funny spin and seemed to drive on it’s own in odd directions throughout the parking lot.  There was a moment when I almost killed a guy because I couldn’t stop.  This was in front of the CVS.

Third part.  It was still night, and I was driving down Fundie Academy Road.  It was pitch black, and I couldn’t see anyone—I remember turning on my high beams, but they didn’t come on.  I saw that there were people standing in the road, and I just kept praying that I wouldn’t hit them.  I didn’t.  Anyways, I got to the end of going down to the point where you go up.  And then there were streetlights, which I was grateful for.  I tried to turn on my hazards, but I didn’t know if they were on or not, because everything was so dark plus I couldn’t hear the ticking.  Eventually, I got out of my car, which come to find out, was really a tricycle with a motor!  The “up the hill” part of the road suddenly had wooden steps on both sides of the road.  I saw Wets at the bottom fixing something.  Apparently, I was headed to a high school reunion.  I saw “Painge” (a girl from high school) walking up the road.  We spoke, but there were no niceties—not even in tone.  I walked my trike up the hill and ended up at the new building, but it looked like the old building inside.  We were all in the Multi-purpose room—everyone from every grade that was there when I was a senior.  So basically, the 9th grade on up during 2005 was in the room for the reunion.  My class had the table at the end.  I sat down with Staz (who looked just like he did in 6th grade).  He sat next to “Blue” (guy in my graduating class), who, of course, was sitting with “Pink” (girl in my class who dated Blue)—who looked like she’d gained weight (which I loved, because it felt like vengeance).  Painge was also fat.  None of us really spoke, and there were no niceties.  I was wearing all black and my hair was cut short as it is now.  We were facing the stage, and then I woke up.


A part of me feels like I’m losing it.  I miss writing, and I just got the epiphany that I write because I feel like no one listens to me.  It’s a glorified way of me talking to myself.

Lately, I have been debating whether or not to see a therapist.  I have been in a lot of physical pain, and I’m pretty certain that it’s not for physical reasons.  The whole thing about it is that I feel like no one can help me.  I feel almost hopeless in terms of whether or not a psychologist will be knowledgeable enough to help me move forward in my life.

And I feel so alone.  I don’t feel like I can even talk to anyone about my loneliness without getting some kind of recommendation as to what I should do to cure it.  I haven’t felt comfortable opening my heart to anyone, and it seems like when I do, I am met with an unfavorable reaction.

My back has been hurting lately to the point where I literally feel like it’s going to break.  Like, seriously break in half…as though my bones are as weak as glass.  All my days feel the same.  I feel directionless.  One thing I have been doing, though, is writing down my dreams.  They have been so odd this entire month, so I wake up and write them down, because I feel like I’ll get the answers later.

I feel trapped.  No plan of action feels attainable.

I had a moment earlier today where I made a choice to stop speaking except to myself, my dog, and God.  I don’t feel like whatever I’d say would be worth saying to anyone else.  I feel like no one cares.  I did decide to respond to questions though, because I’m not an asshole.

The other day, I cried so hard that I didn’t think I was ever going to stop.  I’m so serious, too.  Actually, it was two days.  The first day, I wailed while apologizing to God for being so fat.  I don’t know why I did this, but I just couldn’t stop saying how sorry I was.  I felt it was necessary.  The second day, I was crying so hard that I just happened to walk past a mirror during the process, and I scared the shit out of myself.  I had never seen myself that way.

I’m afraid of time–so much so that entertaining the thought of death seems easier.  If I were a car, I feel like I’m in the emergency lane during a huge winter storm with a dead battery and no cell phone.  Yes, I feel like that car.

I drove past Fundie Academy the other day and saw that the stained glass burst out of the building during one of the recent storms.  There is a blue tarp covering the whole thing now, which is great.  I also saw the steeple mangled and laying in front of it.  Such a metaphor.  And, in addition to that, those cheap bastards have “Jesus is Ord” written on the marquee.  Yes, you read that right–“Ord.”  Guess they couldn’t afford the “L.”

I don’t know what to do.  I mean, seriously.  I don’t have a clue.

Blogging to me is like being in a cave, digging in my pocket to find a match, and then striking it on the wall near me.  Thank God, I can see with a little more clarity right now.  I mean that, too.  It’s still dark in here, though.

It’s possible that I could be depressed, but how can any doctor help that?  How could any pill help that?

Song of the Day: Private Dancer by Tina Turner; Hold Me by Fleetwood Mac

Brain on Butch VII: Sigh

I loved you the first time I saw you standing at the end of the line, talking to that guy, and looking so confident in all your butchness.  I couldn’t stop staring at you, because I was seeing my dream in reality.  I had to find a way to let you know I was gay, so I put a rainbow cord on my purse, just hoping that you’d possibly notice it one day.

I did that for you.

And as time went on, I couldn’t get you off my mind.

I’d find reasons to grocery shop when there wasn’t a need.  “I need some Cheez-it’s,” I’d say.  “Oh, no, we must get a pumpkin from Food Lion,” I’d protest.  Each time I’d get out my car, I’d scan the store windows to see if you just happened to be on checkout.  Sometimes, I’d walk around the store aimlessly, looking for you, leaving with nothing, hoping that the staff wouldn’t think I was crazy.  But then I saw you as I entered the store crying, and there you were, at the water fountain, drinking right before I did.  And I finally had the courage to speak to you later without sounding foolish.  And that was the day you gave me the simple gift of your presence.  It was perfect that day, seeing you as my heart beat faintly.

But now, as months have gone by, I haven’t seen you.  A couple of times, I tried to find the courage needed to ask the Boy if you were in.  He was rearranging the apples.  But I was scared, so I didn’t.  And then, again, I would walk around the store, hoping that I’d run into you like the last time, but you still weren’t there.  And I’d think to myself, “Damn, maybe she began working in the back again?”  But today, I saw the Boy again, checking out, and I asked, because my soul couldn’t take it anymore.  “Does Pam still work here?,” I boldly said, to which he replied so nonchalantly, “No, she left a few months ago.  Credit or debit?”  “Credit.  Do you know if she got transferred to another store?”  “I don’t know, but I don’t think she moved.  I think she still lives around here,” he said, along with a price that, shit, could have been for a billion dollars, because I found myself staring at the swipe screen, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do next since the world had suddenly turned gray.

So Butch Pam, my heart is broken.  I’d imagine your strong, butch hands, holding me as we floated upon a local sea.  I imagined cuddling with you as the blue light of a TV show would glare at us, vying for attention.  I imagined you behind me at Pride, protecting me in the midst of it all like that butch did last year with her precious femme.  Sigh… 

IMAG0741The photo of that couple.

Song of the Day: Sara Smile by Hall and Oates


I am really tired.  I really am.

I hate religion with every fiber of my being.  I also detest TD Jakes.  I happened to catch him on OWN talking to Oprah.  After she asked him what he believed about gay people, he had this whole explanation about how people can believe that same sex marriage is a sin, but not hate gay people.  Uhm, to me, that’s like someone saying that they have no problem with black people but they just don’t want them drinking from white fountains or attending white schools.  FUCK THAT DUDE.  I feel—in his own, subtle way–he and people like him are dividing families irreparably, and he doesn’t give a fucking shit as long as he’s still a big Christian superstar.  To just remember how many of his books I’ve read and just to loathe him so much now…ugh.

Sometimes, I wish I could classify myself as a social atheist–meaning that I would love to be a religiously blank person to others.  I don’t want to ever be identified with a religion that so adamantly hates me.  And this is not me saying that I believe God hates me.  It’s me saying that I believe Christianity does—and that most Christians do—and that most people will “tolerate” me but not fully accept me because, truth be told, they think they’re better than I am.  I hate religion more than anything else in the world—mainly, because it marginalizes.  Why can’t I just be me?

Sometimes, I feel like my essential self—my soul—my authenticity is taking a backseat when I talk to religious people.  It’s hard talking to someone when, you know that there is a strong possibility that they don’t accept me as I am.  You know what?  I blame is my fear of Christianity.  I don’t want to be in relationship with anyone who holds a belief that I am somehow below them—that I am somehow unworthy—even if that belief is unspoken and subconscious.  I am NOT a sinner.  I have NOT done anything wrong.  This is just the way I am, and I will not apologize for it just because YOU don’t have the capacity to understand differences!

Sometimes, I feel so, so alone.  I feel terribly alone.  I want friends who are not bound to religions.  Or, if they are religious, liberal enough to know that they are not better than anyone else.  I don’t need the fear of hell to keep me in line.  I don’t need to believe that God is exclusive.  I don’t need to believe that God is keeping detailed records of all my sins.  I don’t need to believe that I have to do anything for God to love me.  I don’t need to believe that I am separate from Her.  I don’t need to believe that God is male.  I don’t need to believe that God hates me.  I don’t need to believe that I am not worthy to be in communion with Him if I have not been baptized—or if I don’t take communion—or if I don’t attend church—or if I don’t tithe—or because I cuss—or because I’m gay.  I don’t need any of those things anymore, because they’re all bullshit.  It’s man-made bullshit.  And I have to believe that God has more character than I do.  I have to believe that God loves people better than I do—that God is more inclusive than I am—that God isn’t petty—that God loves selflessly and freely; purely and openly.  God HAS to be better than I am!

Sometimes, I wanna go silent and just be at peace.  I hate church.  I hate preachers.  I hate the whole fucking system because it’s all pain.  All of it.  I have lost so many relationships because of religious beliefs, and it hurts.  Religion is the most evil of fires.  Religion is hell.  Seriously.  Hell on earth.  A deadly killer of souls.  It belittles people by marginalizing the delicate intricacies of humanity, and I want no part of it.  Religion is like an eight color box of crayons.  Do you know how many colors there are in the world?  They’re endless.  And that is how I see people—each completely unique and incomparable.  How can you live in a world with just eight colors?

So, I guess you can say that, at this point, I want to silently slip away to a place where I am with people who have my same beliefs.  My religion is simple: Life is a flow; Love is life; I am human, the Universe is vast, what I know is nothing in comparison to what is, and that is OK.  My new religion is simply that I have limited knowledge, but my soul is connected to Life, which is all that matters.  Religions want to tell you  that all things can be known, but it’s not true.  I am tired of preachers behaving omnisciently.  I am tired of lay-persons believing blindly.  I am tired of all of it.  I’m done.  I’m so fucking done.

Song of the Day: Time by Labelle


Back in 2007, I noticed that there was this lesbian chick working at the front desk of my college library who would check IDs when people would enter the building.  She intrigued me, because, as I have stated, I was deeply into the whole “ex-gay” movement so any gay person that I saw was like the forbidden fruit to me.  So I befriended “Shant,” and then found out that she was a sophomore and also an English major.

We, of course, ended up having several classes together because of our shared major, and unlike the other girls in our classes, Shant wasn’t stuck up nor was she cliquey.  In addition to that, she had a sense of humor which I loved.  For instance, one time in our African American Women’s Literature class, our professor referenced Civil Rights leader “Malcolm King.”  We almost died from laughter.  No one else seemed to catch her hilarious error.  Anyways, anyways, Shant and I never hung out much.  Other than having fun in class and talking public transit together every so often, we weren’t close.

Skip to 2011.  I had just come out during August of that year, and I was slowly in the process of rekindling relationships with people who I’d lost contact.  Shant was one of those people.  From there, we became Facebook friends and would comment on each other’s statuses or pictures, as people do on Facebook.  Now, about a year later, Shant asked me to go out with her to a bar in the city.  I am not a drinker, but I figured she was my friend, so I’d go with her.  She invited her girlfriend as well.  As soon as we got there, Shant had two rail drinks and was completely drunk.  While drunk, she began asking me all kinds of personal questions, which was something I am not used to dealing with–especially from her–especially from a drunk her.  A few months after that, she invited me out again.  This time, she called at 11:00pm on a Saturday night and said she wanted to go to the lesbian bar in the city.  I told her that it was late, but then she said, “You don’t ever wanna do anything.”  Now, that phrase has been said to me throughout my life, and as time has gone on, it has become an insult to me.  I now know that I am simply an introvert that prefers quiet surroundings, but that phrase has made me question if there was something inherently wrong with me for many years.   To fight my ill feelings toward her comment, I told her that I would go.  She then said that I would drive them to the bar in my car.  So, in the middle of the night, I drove to the bar with a drunk Shant and her girlfriend.  When we got there, Shant was pissed because I wasn’t dancing (which, seriously, if I was with my girlfriend, as she was, I wouldn’t have given a flying fuck about what my friend was or wasn’t doing, but I digress).

About two months after that, Shant invited me out to a lesbian event taking place during Pride week–again, in the city.  I went again, mainly to fight the whole, “You never wanna do anything” phrase that makes me feel so bad.  So I went with her  and was having a pretty good time until Shant got pissed off about something and left me and her girlfriend at the event.  Like, left like, went walking down the street and was gone left.  I was stunned that she would be such an immature asshole.  I swore to myself that I would never go out with her again.  And of course, she invited me out several times after that, but I always declined kindly, knowing that I would regret being around her later.  So, in late November, she invited me out again–this time, to a strip club for her birthday.  I told her that I wouldn’t be going and she said that fucking phrase, “You never wanna do anything” again.  This time, I let her have it.  I figured, fuck, if she wants to keep trying to belittle me, I would confront her on her actions from our previous outings.

So yesterday, I log in to Facebook and realized that she had deleted me as her friend sometime in the past week.   I knew this because, since we went to the same college, we had about fifteen people who were mutual friends, and while she was still friends with them, the ever-so-infamous “Add a Friend” notice was on her page when I visited, and I was pissed!  Not because I felt a deep connection with her, but because after using and abusing me, she got offended by being confronted about her behavior and now she suddenly felt like the victim.  Just a bit more about me: I am one who confronts issues with people I’m in relationship with.  I don’t like letting shit linger in the air, which I find to be much more frightening than confrontation.  So, I called her after I realized what she did.  She answered, and I said, “Shant, did you delete me as your Facebook friend?”  She sounded disoriented and said, “Lemme call you back.”  I hung up and then blocked her paltry ass from contacting me.  I even changed my number just to make sure I never hear from her shitty self again.  In addition, I had a massive epiphany.

I cannot trust any relationships I’ve had from ages eleven to twenty-fou..  I say that because those are the years where I didn’t have a clue who I was.  I simply accepted any worthless person who decided to be in my life, because I didn’t have any self-worth.  My life began to change drastically in 2011 when I came out at age 24, and since that time, many people from those dark years have been removed from my life either through their elimination of me or through my breaking up with them.  Truth be told, had I loved and known myself back in 2007, I would have never been friends with Shant.  She is literally the antithesis of the kind of person I would ever want to surround myself with.  I am drawn to authentic, life-giving, life-sustaining, kind-hearted, open-minded, love-centered, intelligent people.  Shant was life-sucking, close-minded, manipulative and toxic.  My self-hatred attracted her, just like it attracted most of the “friends” I had during those dark years.  Like attracts like.  Anyways, I was upset about her unfriending me, because, for the past two years, I have technically been “unfriended” in life by about six people who I believed I was extremely close with.  Thing is, all of those people are toxic and needed to be out of my life.  But I was upsetlast night, wondering to myself why I am being rejected so consistently by all of these people that I know.  I then yelled to the heavens, “OK, who’s next?  Bring them forth, because I wanna get this over with!”

So today, Chocolate Baby came over and I told her about what happened, and she smiled and said, “Rheeb, don’t you know that this is a part of your process?”  We talked for about an hour until she had to leave, but when she did, I realized that the burden I felt for several hours had been lifted.  And that is what a true friend does.  They make you feel lighter.  CB made me realize that there is nothing wrong with me.  I’m simply going through a time of purging that is absolutely necessary for the next stage of my life.   I haven’t mentioned this on the blog before, but let me lay out what I really want in my life.  First, I want to be around awesome people.  Seriously.  I want the people in my life to be, again, authentic, life-giving, life-sustaining, kind-hearted, open-minded, love-centered, and intelligent.  Secondly, I want to have an amazingly wonderful marriage.  I want my wife to be my best friend, and I want us to grow together and be teammates through life (and also have mind-blowing sex!).  I want to live in a beautiful place like San Diego, raise two kids–a girl and a boy–and have several cats and dogs.  I also want to be a screenwriter, a novelist, and an essayist, in the vein of Nora Ephron.  This is the life that I dream of, and it’s so worth going through the excess bullshit now just to get to live my dreams without baggage later.

So, I know what it’s like to have a real friend.  I can breathe around CB and be fully myself.  That is a precious gift–to feel light in another person’s presence.

Songs of the Day: You Only Get What You Give by The New Radicals; MMMBop by Hanson


Dear Christine,

You were a pleasant surprise at the Walgreens pharmacy.  I knew you were special when my usual impatience seemed to disappear as I saw your face.  Lovely, you were!  So beautiful.  Sandy red hair and perfectly chubby.  I lost all words as you kept filling prescriptions through phone calls and with drive-thru patients.  And then, of course, you’d come to me, telling me to fill out paperwork and consoling me when you found out my plight.  But you know what the best part was?  The moment your assistant told me that you would be administering my shot.  I walked over to the consultation room and saw you through the two-way glass, gathering the needles and preparing the room.  And then you said, “Come on in,” so I did, and I found myself talking nervously–behaving buffoon-like, not knowing what to do with myself in your presence.  The room was pregnant with small talk requirements that always make me feel odd, like a three-year old who simply wants to hide and stare.  But what was I to do, Christine?  You were so gorgeous that I was at a loss for words.   And then I asked, “What’s your name?”  Boldness was welcome at that moment.  “Christine,” you said.  And then, coming from my lips, “Well, this is my last shot, so too bad I won’t get to see you anymore.”  And that was that, in the consultation room at Walgreens on a lazy Sunday afternoon.