Routines

I think we're starting to fall back into old patterns. I can feel you drifting back into the daily life we had before you left. I can feel myself drifting back into caregiver, peacekeeper mode. I'm not entirely happy with either situation. I don't want our old routines. I don't want our old relationship.

I want passion, I want boundaries, I want commitment, I want respect, I want love. I don't want the kind of love we had before, the kind where I bring you a glass of water and you get me an ice cream on your way home from work and those are little "I love you"s.

I want big love. I want hot, rough, fast, or loving, smoldering, slow sex, all day, every day. I want heat when you hold my hand, I want you to look at me like I'm the person you want most in the world by your side every day.

Instead you look at your phone.

I want, I want, I want. I've always wanted but never taken enough. Never taken enough for myself or spoken up for myself. I just compromise, and by compromise I mean that I say, "whatever you want to do," and "whatever you're hungry for," and "wherever you'd rather go this weekend."

I compromise myself and what I want and that's not okay. I don't want that anymore. I feel like you burned me and out of the ashes is rising someone newer, more confident, more selfish, more demanding. Someone who is going to be an equal rather than a doormat and I don't know if you're going to like the new me or if I'm even going to like the new me.

But I'm tired of giving and giving. Maybe you'll look back at this, even if we're still together ten years from now, and go, "I lost my girlfriend who loved me and gave with all her heart when I did that stupid thing." Because you did. You lost her.

Now you have choices. Me, or someone new, or be alone, or run back to the girl who has proved that she doesn't love you the way you loved her and she never will.

I can't tell you what to choose, I don't even know what I will choose.

But I do know we can never go back to who we were.

Birthdays

I had so much fun part of today. The part where I was swimming with my friends and taking photos and playing games. The part that felt carefree and relaxed.

And still you turned away from me. I didn't wake up with you and you rolled away when I tried to snuggle. Instead, I was awake at 6am on my birthday, alone and drunk in the dark in the pool. I watched the sunrise and thought it would help me feel hopeful about the year to come. A new day, a fresh start, a new beginning. 

Instead, my new beginning felt lonely, disjointed, cold, shaky, and disappointing.

And now I'm ending the day the same way. We fought, I cried. I'm sitting here and you're sitting over there and you don't want to touch me or be near me and I get worse. Everything gets worse. 

The loneliness increases. The feeling that I'm going through this and there is no hope it's going to get better hits and I just sob and sob and sob. 

This is what my birthday is this year.

I hate it. 

I want to feel better. I want you to love me and hold me and never stop. 

I want a lot of things. I don't think I'm going to get them. 

On Fire/Morphine

I can't put it down. I can't seem to walk away. I know I should, everything in me is screaming that this is not going to get better. That, fundamentally, there is a lack of respect for my feelings, there is a lack of prioritizing me first.

But all I want is to be closer. I want to crawl inside you and sleep inside your chest so I can feel your heart beating. I want to crush you, I want to kiss you, I want you to want me, I want you to fuck me- honestly, passionately, brutally, bruising me. I want you to claim me and never let me go. I want your purple handprints on my body so I have some confirmation of your presence when I leave for work or you leave.  I want to cleanse you with my body and my love so that the last person under you wasn't her. I want to claim you. I want to erase what you did.

But I can't. I'm on fire, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer. I can't think, I can't breathe, I can't tell if I'm crying or gasping because I feel your hand on my back as if it burns down to my bones and I want you but I don't because I'm picturing you and her and she's awful and I want you to shed your skin like a snake so I don't have to touch any part of you that she's touched. I want you to touch me and never stop; I want you to never touch me again.

And I'm hurt, so hurt, but you've always been my comfort. I want you to hold me and tell me this was just a nightmare and it wasn't real and you love me so much, how could you ever do that to me?

I can't cry. I can't scream and swear. It's like my emotions have been running high this whole time and now that you've told me the worst someone turned the dial back down. Is that because it can't get worse? Do I have no more anxiety because it's over? What I was dreading already happened?

Now the only thing amped up is desire. I don't get it, I don't understand it. But it's there. I feel like I hyper-sexual being right now when I should be a mopey awful mess. Is there a term for this? Is this normal?

Is everyone going to judge me for staying when I was packed up and ready to leave?

Countdown/Morphine

I'm counting down again and this time it's my stomach that's in knots.

I don't want to do this but I know I have to.

I'm like a morphine addict. I know this is the fun phase, the sweet phase, the kind phase. I love kind T. I want to be with kind T. I want to stay with her and hold her and live with her and have babies with her.

But kind T doesn't stay.

I have to remember that.

I need index cards for tonight:
1.This is not my fault.
2. You cannot blame me for your actions.
3. I deserve better than this.
4. I did not look outside of our relationship to make myself feel better. Only you did.
5. How could you spend three nights with your ex-girlfriend and come home expecting to still be in a relationship? How do you justify that for yourself?
6. You will do this to me again.
7. You don't respect me or my feelings. You betrayed me on the ultimate level.
8. You had an emotional, if not physical, affair. You had an affair. You had an affair.
You had a three and a half month long affair.
9. You still think that what you did was acceptable.
10. You expertly planned and executed how to lie to me on multiple occasions to continue your affair.

Put down the morphine needle. This is one drug that is fatal. This is one time you have to walk away. Love doesn't always conquer all. Not when two people don't love the same way, the same amount.

I love you, but you love yourself.

Cycles

Domestic abuse falls into a common pattern, or cycle of violence:

• Abuse – Your abusive partner lashes out with aggressive, belittling, or violent behavior. The abuse is a power play designed to show you "who is boss."
• Guilt – After abusing you, your partner feels guilt, but not over what he's done. He’s more worried about the possibility of being caught and facing consequences for his abusive behavior.
• Excuses – Your abuser rationalizes what he or she has done. The person may come up with a string of excuses or blame you for the abusive behavior—anything to avoid taking responsibility.
• "Normal" behavior – The abuser does everything he can to regain control and keep the victim in the relationship. He may act as if nothing has happened, or he may turn on the charm. This peaceful honeymoon phase may give the victim hope that the abuser has really changed this time.
• Fantasy and planning – Your abuser begins to fantasize about abusing you again. He spends a lot of time thinking about what you’ve done wrong and how he'll make you pay. Then he makes a plan for turning the fantasy of abuse into reality.
• Set-up – Your abuser sets you up and puts his plan in motion, creating a situation where he can justify abusing you.

Your abuser’s apologies and loving gestures in between the episodes of abuse can make it difficult to leave. He may make you believe that you are the only person who can help him, that things will be different this time, and that he truly loves you. However, the dangers of staying are very real.

I may have to read this a few times before tonight. I may have to read and re-read and a third and a fourth time as I wait in the parking lot for the apologies that have already started.

They've happened before too, and just like this cycle. "I'm so sorry, I was such a jerk, I didn't think about you. I won't talk to her anymore...We have so many more problems than her and this is all your fault because you were mean and fighting with me before B and I ever starting talking. But I won't, I won't talk to her."

You'll be so sweet to me, you'll buy me dinner, you'll promise you'll get me to trust you again. Then you'll call me out for something stupid, "you rolled your eyes at me." "I didn't even feel it happen, I don't know what you're talking about." "Oh my god, I can't believe you won't just apologize for rolling your fucking eyes at me. I can't believe we're having a huge fight over this!" two weeks later. And right after that I'll have to sit through 57 minutes of agony as you talk to her in our dark bedroom with the tv on because you don't want me to hear.

It's exactly this cycle. You set me up to justify what you're doing.

I can't believe that I thought I deserved this for so long. I can't believe I let you talk me into thinking that you and B was my fault.

I can't believe I can't believe I can't believe.

Thank you for finally pushing me so far that I couldn't bend anymore. 

No/Controlling

That's not how this is going to work.

You can't just text me when she's done with you, when she has to go back to her life and you start to get scared that what you've done might be wrong.

I know the moment you find out I've blocked you on instagram. You text me you're sorry for hurting my feelings, that this whole trip was a "poor choice." On your last day. When I am your ride home from the airport. When B is gone, back to her life because she's not going to leave a guy who drives a BMW and lives on a tropical island.

And then you try to be magnanimous. "I'll sleep on the couch for however long it takes."

No.

You don't get to choose your consequences. You don't get to tell me how to be mad at you. You don't get to tell me what kind of crime you think you did and then choose the punishment you think fits.

You lied to me. You straight up lied to me and said you'd meet her for lunch, maybe. Then you posted pictures, so you wanted to get caught. You shoved her in my face, left and right. She's in your cover photo on Facebook! You confessed to the 3 day trip with her. You've lied over and over more times than I can count on my fingers and toes. You checked out on our relationship and expect me to be here working on it for you when you get back.

You expect to walk on me like the doormat I've been for you for the last two years.

And you're sorry for "hurting my feelings."

I found some autonomy and some self respect today.

You're not sleeping on the couch. What couch?

4 Days/3 Nights

4 Days. 3 Nights.

That's at least how long you were gone with her, the numbers that you confirmed for me. That's how long you guys took off for a weekend without your fiance or her fiance to a remote island. Without telling me. Did you guys tell him? By the lack of an instagram tag, I'm betting you didn't.

I didn't think about who used to read this blog. I didn't think about the kind of feedback I would get, but K is right. I'm putting the pieces together and everything you are doing is sneaky, and lying.

You know that what you're doing is wrong.

I protected you. I found out on Father's Day and I still went to dinner because your relationship with your dad has been so rocky, and I pretended everything was fine, and I talked you up.

When you were short with me on the phone before your sister's wedding so I got the time wrong, which, by the way, I was doing errands for you and then I was 15 minutes late to pick you up, and then you didn't talk to me the entire evening, even though you weren't dressed when I got there and we weren't late, I still praised you to all your family members.

You know what Sarah said to me at the reception? She said I make you better, that I support you, that I lift you up. And I had to listen to her and nod and smile and not cry because I knew we might not make it past that weekend.

This has been the summer of pretending. Of me pretending I'm fine when people ask, and you pretending you love me, when you've been deciding how to best cheat and sneak behind my back.

You'll wake up later this morning and if you even care to look, you'll find I've blocked you on twitter and instagram. You probably won't find this, or remember it. I've left facebook for now because we still have to talk about things and I can't just shut you out completely, but I don't want to see any more photos from Hawaii and now I don't have to.

How could you text me you love me last night while you're with her? Maybe you slept together, maybe you didn't. I don't pretend to know. But I do know that I wasn't comfortable with you having lunch so I would never be comfortable with you spending three nights with her. But you did it anyway, and then texted me that you love me.

You don't love me, you pretender.

Testing 1,2,3

You're testing me, obviously. You're testing me, right? You're trying to see how I'll react? And I'm failing, obviously.

Why else would you tell me you're not posting any pictures because you don't want to rub it in my face that you're having a good time, and then all the sudden it's a video of you and her, clinking bottles on the beach.

Of all the things NOT to rub my face in, why would you want to bring attention to the fact that you're with her? Why would you want to remind me that you're alone on an island with your ex girlfriend?

Do you want us to break up? I mean, I feel like the only sense I can make out of all of your repeatedly hurtful decisions is that you are too cowardly to break up with me. That you are trying to drive the knife deeper and deeper until I can't handle it and I have to stop it before you kill me with it.

Is that right?

Or are you so overjoyed by her that you have to tell the world, my feelings be damned? Do you forget about me and about consequences when you're with her? Do you forget about how I feel? Do you forget about hurting me? Do you forget about the promises you made me?

I don't know which is worse.

Work, Work, Mom

I've called the hotline a few times now.  I know what they're going to say, almost by heart.

We take deep breaths. I apologize for calling. I apologize for crying. Vaguely, somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder what their stories are; I wonder what led them to this point, sitting on the other end of the phone.

This time she has the same name as my sister. I want to tell her, but I can't get the words out. Her voice is calm, quiet, soothing. She feels so reassuring and there is a small part of me that hasn't been able to be comforted in a long time that feels calmed.

"Have you seen a professional?" she asks. "Do you have a safety plan in place?"

We talk about what's going on. She validates me, tells me that my emotions are okay. That I'm really struggling with this and it is so understandable.

It's what I've been wanting a friend to tell me. It's what I've wanted with hugs and kisses and apologies and whispers that it will be alright, but I've promised not to tell our friends.

We make a plan to get through the night. Stop looking at social media. Stop expecting phone calls you're promised but not going to get. Give up control over other people and just focus on yourself.

Self care, she calls it. Take a shower if I can, journal, read a new, intriguing book, watch a movie I know won't trigger me, something I can get engrossed in. Doctor Who sounds great. Keep yourself occupied and maybe take 2 Benadryl so you can get some sleep.

Every moment now is a countdown. How can I get to the next thing? How can I get to work in the morning? Then after that I'm alone for 18 hours, then work again the next morning and then finally relief. Finally, I get to see my Mom and my day will be easier.

I can't think about the three days after that, filled with hours of loneliness and no way right now to make it better. I can't focus on that without crumpling, so right now I just count down. Work, work, Mom. Work, work, Mom. I can do that. I can make it to Mom.

T tries to tell me that I'm overreacting. That this is not catastrophic and I am making a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe I am, I don't know. I just know that I'm not handling this well. I feel so isolated, I feel so uncertain about my future, I feel so hurt, I feel so betrayed. It should be getting better but it's just getting worse. I know T needed space but all that space is doing for me is putting me back in that dark place. I'm right back to the middle of June. I'm right back to not eating, to sleeping all the time - I can hardly breathe, I don't want to be in our house by myself.

It's so hard but I'm trying. I'm making plans. Work, work, Mom. I'm thinking about my cats, but they don't want anything to do with me. I feel like they're mad that T is gone and that I'm such a mess.

Work, work, Mom.  I can do this.

Heavy

When Christmas gets heavy:

I skyped with my brother's kids late Christmas night. They're cute kids, 15 and 8, but they're a little overemotional. My nephew is funny and biting but can be sensitive, and so can his sister. My niece is a junior in high school, after she skipped a grade in middle school, and she's been dealt some heavy cards lately: her best friend died from cancer last year, and her other best friend went to jail for molesting younger boys after he himself was abused. Her life has sucked the past few years.

She wanted to talk to me about it this summer, but couldn't find the words, and being raised in a family where we don't push to communicate, I held her as she cried and told her she could come to me when she was ready. Last night's call was tense, grumpy, and awkward, and finally she kicked her little brother out of the room and broke down.

She's been anorexic for the last year. She has emotions she can't understand - feeling happy and normal one day, grumpy and depressed and introverted for no reason the next. She feels anxious, paranoid, stressed, and she doesn't want to tell her parents because she doesn't want to be a fuck up.

I'm pretty good at being calm and reasonable and compassionate when people come to me, but after the fact, when I'm writing about this, I can't help but start to cry. Should I have told her about my anorexia years ago? My depression as an early teenager? The year when I'd been lost and confused and tricked into thinking I'd fatally hurt one of my best friends? Should I be talking about these things to my other nieces and nephews who might be feeling the same way?

Luckily, her mom, K, is the sibling I talk to most, and she knows, briefly, about my struggles with anorexia. After ascertaining and making sure that my niece is not suicidal, I convinced her to talk to her mom. She's struggling, she's drowning, and she needs help and understanding. Maybe it's a conversation I will be part of, maybe I will end up flying out there to help, or maybe she'll find the courage to say something and then call me later. And I understand her hesitation, because she can be emotional and now her parents tend to brush her emotions off. But now I'm worried about her. Because this is what leads to drugs and sex and suicide.

I know there's a stigma against getting help, especially in our family - I mean, hell, I never got help or talked to my mom about any of my issues for that very reason. But I'd rather get her help than see her all over the papers. I'd rather she learn that help is okay than to lose her forever. She's my baby girl who is sarcastic and funny, who lights up at Disneyland, and wants to be a singer and has so much talent, who plays the guitar with me and can sing Katy Perry better than Katy Perry can. I refuse to see her light go out because she won't tell her parents or a doctor that something is wrong.

Tragedies

It's always hard to write about a tragedy. It's easier to keep quiet and not step on anyone's emotional toes. When last Friday hit the news, I was in shock like everyone else. I reached out to my siblings and their children, who felt hurt and confused and scared. I imagined my niece and nephew who only live a few hours away from there, in kindergarten and pre-k, so little, so funny, so ultimately helpless against violence of that force.

But my niece and nephew back east are no strangers to guns. In fact, their father collects guns and is an avid hunter. They never go grocery shopping for meat, and the littlest knows moose meat is her favorite. My whole family are no strangers to guns. We are police officers, sheriffs, military members, war vets. We know the power of a gun and the safety rules of owning one. We know that there are two safes, one for the guns and one for the clips, and the keys aren't kept together.

What we don't own are semi-automatics. What we don't need are guns that belong in war and action movies. No one needs to be able to shoot off thirty rounds at at time. These are people guns. These are massacre guns. GB has rules about what kinds of guns civilians can own. Hunting rifles are fine, but any pistol/handgun is prohibited. Anything that can shoot six bullets without reloading is prohibited. Can I stress that more? SIX bullets.

Wake up, America. We're not waiting on a zombie apocalypse. We don't need guns based off AK-47s in the hands of citizens. We don't need to buy bulk ammo at the nearest supercenter. Why can I only buy two boxes of cold medicine but can buy 400 rounds at a time? What on earth are we doing?

My mom brought up a sad point. Those parents probably already bought Christmas presents for their children. Maybe people will think me callous, but I hope those toys are donated to Toys for Tots or another organization. Those kids aren't coming home to open them, and they were never really "their toys" in the first place. I'm sure all their favorites and most played with will hold a special place, but for these unopened presents it will just be a haunting reminder. Something decent/noble can bud from this tragedy. I hope it will.

Snow and Stars

I don't know what other people are writing about today, but I'd like to write about something happy. Some of you might know that I hail from California, where it is normally warm and sunny 95% of the time, but these last few days it has been COLD.

I've been whining and complaining about it all over twitter ( @tabbyqt ) but today it started to snow. Yeah, you heard me right. It's snowing in California. It hasn't snowed here since I was a little kid. Granted, it's not falling at my house yet, just on the tops of the hills, but still. It's not just in the mountains anymore, and that's a big deal. That means it's freezing. I'm pretty psyched.

Magically, last night was perfectly clear, and the below freezing temps made it a beautiful night to watch the Geminid meteor shower for anyone who was interested. I caught two blazing gold trails while walking to my car but couldn't bear to stand outside and look for more. People got some really great photos of the shower and there were lots of multiple trails in the sky. I love the winter sky because it's so beautiful and clean and high-def compared to the warm, hazy, summer nights.

Don't forget to look up.

Screaming

I want to talk honestly. On four different websites this past week, the topic of anorexia has come up, and I've tried to throw my two cents in because hey, I've been there for a good part of my life. Instead of opening any sort of dialogue, I feel like I've been ignored, condescended to, and viewed as a fuck up all because of my anorexia. Now I just feel like I'm screaming at the top of my lungs and no one is listening. Good thing I have a blog :/

Let's start with the myths: 1. I'm fat-phobic. My anorexia didn't start because I wanted to be thin, and that's true of more than half of people with eating disorders. 2. I wasn't raised with loving parents. My family always told me I was pretty. In fact, they built up my self-confidence and independence so much that I consider myself to be a fairly vain person. I've mentioned this before. I love how I look. I love my eyes and my nose and my smile and my laugh and how smart and funny I am. Not an issue. 3. I need attention. No one in my personal life ever found out about my anorexia except for my drama teacher, so I think the attention thing is out. 4. It's a phase. I started food refusal in high school and I've been out for years. My life has stabilized, I'm more comfortable with myself and my paradigms and my world, but I still struggle with my anorexia.

One of the reasons I stopped eating was because my dad has a neurological disease. He regressed and started behaving like a raging alcoholic by the time I was seven (sweet one minute and would smack you the next) and morphed into a toddler by the time I was 19, and he actively pushed to instill in me this phobia that I was going to inherit his disease. My mother tried to keep me away from him as much as possible, and it's because of her and my other family members that I am so self-assured. But, this fear ate at me, and I felt helpless, powerless against my fate. I began failing out of school, falling into depression, writing poems about death and perfect suicides.

Then, I started restricting and refusing food and everything changed. Not eating gave me something else to think about, because hunger was always on my mind, and all my other worries went out the window. I finally had absolute control over something - over myself and my body and my fate. I finally felt free. I finally felt amazing. The depression stopped, my grades picked up, I was more social and exercising all the time.

It only takes a few days of me not eating to have a positive effect on my emotional climate, which is why it's so hard for me not to go back. It allows me to not worry about anything. It allows me to be in control. It's not that way for everyone with an eating disorder, but it's not just about looking thin. There's always something under the surface, so please don't brush it off like someone needs to be told they're pretty twice a day and their anorexia will clear up. It's hurtful and offensive, and eating disorders are about so much more than that.

Musical Expression

I thrive on confrontation, but only with people I see often and know well. People who meet me tend to come away from our interaction thinking that I’m sweet, quiet, agreeable, and kind. I’m a shoo-in with families and old people. When I was 14, I dated a very Jewish boy whose overprotective mother didn’t want to meet me. One lunch later and she wanted us to get married and have tons of cashew babies.

I like when people like me (kill them with kindness), which is why I tend to present myself as vague and agreeable upon first meeting. It's why I don't tell people I'm gay right away. My point here? People are shocked when they find out that the sweet, quiet girl loves to listen to rock music. I like all sorts, but I stumbled onto rock a few years ago and was so struck by the “I'm going to say what I want to say and I don't care if you like it or not” attitude. Lately I've been listening to more and more rock, and maybe it's because I'm clamming up so much in daily life.

We’ll take Aranda’s Satisfied for example; this guy is talking about his bitchy ex and the main lyric is “I never wanna see you smile, and I never wanna see you satisfied. Are you satisfied?” I could never say this. I thought something like this for 30 seconds before I took it back because I know Karma would strike me down, and because generally I want people to be happy. But for a band to lay it all out there - that takes guts.

Rise Against has been stuck in my head for weeks on repeat, and if you've never heard of them, you should take a listen because they're very catchy. Savior just makes me want to dance and sing and create a mosh pit in my shower. Except that I don't really want a mosh pit in my shower and I don't want to be naked and have strangers slamming their bodies into me. I'm determined to see a strong, badass, female vocal and guitar cover of Rise Against on youtube, so I'm buckling down and learning the chord progressions.

But this one. This one just breaks my heart. Gaza and Israel's conflict is all over the news. I understand war, even if I don't like it. I come from a military family, watched my little brother enter the Marines, see the family troops band together to create, but have heard my dad's horror stories from Vietnam. Rise Against are brilliant songwriters and musicians. Listen to it all the way through, or look up the lyrics.

And then listen to this and remember that a song can make you want to dance and also have a theme and great lyrics. That sometimes music can say everything you want to say but trap inside.

Day 11 Grief

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 11 — A Deceased person you wish you could talk to

I'm not going to write a letter. This is about remembering, connecting, and seeing the world as something bigger than yourself or myself. When you’re born into a large family, like I was, death is not uncommon. I’ve attended more funerals than I can count. But two hit me particularly hard – my brother-in-law when I was 14, and my grandfather when I was 18. Both were accidents. 

I wasn’t allowed to go to T’s funeral. We didn’t have enough money for me to fly back east, since both of my parents were going to support my sister. I understand the fiscal reasons, but as a fourteen year old girl my feelings were bruised. They left for 12 days and I stayed with my grandparents on a very cold air mattress wondering what his body looked like. He used to let me braid his rat-tail. He wasn’t exactly the greatest person in the world, but for some reason he had a sweet spot for me.

When my grandpa died it was sudden, unexpected and harsh. We had been very close, had a very good relationship, and he was practically a dad to Ladybug. So, when Ladybug and I were dragged into the court case surrounding his death it was a little too much for both of us to handle. Luckily, neither of us spiraled into drugs, but it took me more than a year before I visited his grave. It was shortly after this that I came out and as for Ladybug, he joined the Marines. To each their own therapy, I suppose. 

Grief is a funny thing; sometimes you think you’re done and then it sneaks up on you out of nowhere and slams you in the gut. Or sometimes you can be in the middle of it, and suddenly be blessed with an ordinary day where you don’t think about any of it and don’t realize it until later. Grieving is a journey, and when you can finally mention that person again without crying, you start to understand that life moves forward. 

Since my grandfather died, my brothers and sisters have given birth to four children with one more on the way. I can’t stop my whole life to grieve for one person, or I would fail to interact with and love all these new people. And I wouldn’t miss out on them for anything.

TeganAndSara

If you follow me on twitter, you know I have a great love for the ABC hit show #Nashville.They cover some beautiful songs on that show, and it has struck such a chord in me that I dragged my guitar out of its dusty corner.

I haven't played the guitar in months. Almost four months, actually, so when I picked up my trusty Layla today (when I was a kid I thought the song Lola, by the Kinks L-O-L-A Lola was L-A-Y-L-A Layla and it was my favorite song), I expected certain things to come back. Maybe the last song I learned to play or Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

What came rushing back instead was the first song I ever learned to play - the whole reason I bought my guitar in the first place. Every card carrying lesbian worth her weight in vinyl albums released in the 2000s  knows the lyrics to this song:


What a weird thing to come back to me. It doesn't apply to my life anymore, so I guess it's time to practice and learn a new song :)

Also, this makes me remember when I looked to Tegan and Sara for hair advice. Never again.

Lost/Found

I thought I had written up a draft for a new post the other day (which apparently I didn't), and instead stumbled upon a draft I had written up after the last time I saw first:girl. I saved the draft instead of publishing it because I was hurting, and I didn't want your first impressions of first:girl to be biased. I want to start from the beginning with her.

To do that, I have to talk about M2 and Patty, so that you can see the position I was in when I met first:girl. I want it all to make sense and go in chronological order. However, it's been a long time since first:girl and I stopped talking, and I still have a hard time writing about her.

It'll be posted. Eventually. I'm going to make that a goal. Talk about first:girl. Before June. In June, we enter each others' lives again, so I better be ready to deal with her by then.

Ignoring/Holidays

So, every time I try to write about first:girl, I have a major block that won't allow me to write anything at all. Therefore, I just feel like I should not try to write about her for a while, until I can really get a handle on things.

I realized, through lesbo's comment, that I have never really talked about schooling before, which is kind of a big topic for me.

I am an alumni of a performing arts college, but have recently decided to give up that career path in favor of something else. I was never really a great singer/actor/dancer and I also rather enjoy watching other people perform instead of doing it myself.

That being said, I made the career switch to journalism. I would love to be a theater/art/dance/literature critic, as well as articles about society's positive/negative impact, gender studies, queer theory, etc. Anything I can write about, I want to write about. My major is Journalism, and I'm hoping to minor in gender studies or psychology. Or maybe something else I've never thought of! Let me know if you have a suggestion that I should look into!

In other news, the holidays are approaching quickly, and this is the first year that I've been single and aware that I'm a lesbian. I know that I don't do well with men. I don't trust them, I don't like to be sexual with them, and I don't really like to be in relationships with them.

However, I've had a few guys who were more than happy to chat me up and be suggestive with me this past week, and I have been so lonely that I honestly thought about making out with one of them. I haven't been physical with someone in so long that the thought of kissing anyone is somewhat appealing.

This, of course, has thrown me into a tizzy. Does it mean I'm not gay? Does it mean I'm bi, does it mean I'm straight, does it mean that relationships with men may now work out because I fantasized kissing one of them? Does it mean I still love girls but am lonely?Do I even care what label I am anymore? It won't make life any easier for me once I've found a label for myself. And who is really going to come up to me at a bar and ask me to identify myself before she'll chat with me?

I had this thought the other day that maybe I want to date girls because I was so in love with first:girl that I'm trying to find her clone. Then, of course, I remembered that I liked girls before she came along.

I think it's just hard to be lonely.

PIP/Confused

PIP is Post in Progress, in my own personal language.

It's because I ran into first:girl last night, and it threw off my whole balance of being. I rushed home and scribbled out everything I was feeling and going through, but I don't want to, in haste, write something that I will regret. Maybe that particular post needs to wait until I can write about how first:girl and I met, how my relationship with her began.

I feel like if I write about her with how I feel right now, she'll be placed as the bad guy, but she's not at all, and I love her enough that I want you to view her from the good and bad. From the beginning. I just can't bring myself to go back to that point in time.

Activism/Compassion

I made a better activist for LGBT issues as a straight high school student than I do now as a gay, capable, intelligent adult.

I had this moment today where I realized that I had stopped caring. I had stopped caring about marriage equality and social equality and everything else. I went to the rallys, sure, but not for the right reasons. I went because I was gay, because these are my people, because I owe it to this community to be there.

When I was in high school, I never even thought about liking girls. It just didn't even register that I could. "The small valley I grew up in didn't really have any gay people, so how could I be gay?"

But even as a heterosexual teenager, I followed gay marriage every moment of every day. I organized campaigns, I got kicked out of classes for protesting, demonstrating, arguing against my Mormon teachers.

I followed it because my heart broke for every couple who loved each other and couldn't get married. My heart broke for the lesbian couples where one person had to legally adopt the child that was rightfully their own. It broke for the gay couples who weren't allowed to adopt. For the couples that were ridiculed and discriminated against. For partners who weren't allowed to stay together when the other was dying in a hospital.

My heart broke for them. And now I know for us, for me. So why is it that when I became a part of the LGBT community my heart stopped breaking? I lost all compassion. I was so caught up in the fact that there were cute girls at the rallys, and so fed up with organizations asking me for money, so fed up that we were losing in every part of the country, that I think I just shut down. I stopped thinking about it all so that I could ignore it all and not feel the disappointment and the heartbreak.

I realized today that I didn't care anymore, and that made me feel awful. I felt cold, callous, and completely detached. I don't want to be detached. I don't want to forget that this isn't just about marriage equality. That term sounds so detached from the issue it is representing. Like it's all about wanting to be married. That's scratching the surface, to say the least. It's about the struggle that LGBT couples go through every day that straight people don't. About the injustice that we receive. About all the places that won't rent to gay couples, and the adoption agencies who refuse to trust us with children.

I remembered today, why I cared. Why this was so important to me. Even though my heart is breaking all over again, I'm glad that I'm not detached and jaded anymore.