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Fighty

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when you let in love

For so long…

You’ve kept your heart guarded, you promised yourself that you were going to work on you. You were going to work on being stronger because that’s what your kids needed.

You have stayed away from letting other people “in”, even friends because at the end of the day you can really only count on yourself – and even then you often let yourself down.

You did most things alone for long enough that the ache is now dull enough to ignore.

You told yourself that it’s easier because exposing yourself to possible hurt and harm again isn’t worth it. Being loved, that is, is too dangerous.

You became used to sleeping alone; though you hate it. It’s something you’ve trained yourself to become numb to. Waking up alone, going to sleep alone. Waking up in the middle of the night and having to go back to sleep alone.

So when it crept in…

You were not expecting it.

You didn’t notice.

It wasn’t the first time these questions were whispered; do you want to keep being numb? Do you want to keep going without?

the answer this time though, surprisingly – No.

Love is not designed for the cynical.

Let it happen.

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The Lioness

The thump of her heart was loud in her ears as she continued to run. The lioness in her raged through every muscle fiber in her legs sending the signal back to her brain with the instinctual message; 
Run.
The only other sound was her fevered breathing, the volume seemed amplified as if routed through a microphone and replayed for her through a loudspeaker back into her own ears. She tried to squint at what was ahead as if she concentrated on another sense, it might drown out the thumping of her heart and the sound of her breathing, but it only seemed to make it worse.


Run.


Her head whips backward over her shoulder with worry, checking the shadows behind her for the things moving in the unseen shadows – perhaps they would reveal themselves. Sometimes, a faint glimmer would seem to ripple and catch her eye and make her believe something might be there… forcing a stumble. Her feet suddenly slip on something causing her to look forward again at the path in front of her.


Run.


Again, she’s distracted by some fast jagged light. It almost blinds her as it casts rays of yellow and gold over her face. She brings an arm over her eyes as if to hold the light up off her, the weight of it heavy against her. It shimmers and twinkles, feeling perhaps hopeful as it stops for a moment to decide that it might float away or melt into the ground past her and leave her alone undisturbed.


Run.


Her chest lifts, the light pulling at her arms and feet as they fly across the ground. For a moment she doesn’t hear the sound of her heart in her chest and the thump in her ears. She moves her arm to the side and the light caresses her face. For a moment. 


Stop.


Almost as quick as hope shone on her, the gift of promise and warmth upon her face, it is darkened once more. Her feet are met with what feels like rubble, causing her to lose her balance and footing. Her heels slip out from under her, the light now is daggers in her eyes sharp and harsh. Her breath is stolen from her chest as her back hits the ground, her whole body slamming into the cold stone earth. Her heart rattles around her chest feeling as if it will shatter. 


Stop. 


The pain reeks on her body like a stink, the smell permeates her nostrils like a gas emitting its gross tendrils through her skin, down her neck and over her arms and legs. The feeling of the sweat from her exerting run pooling between her breasts. She inhales despite the pain. Her arms fall backward and push up, even though she dare not open her eyes. For she might see the blood on her hands. She might see the dirt on her body. She might see the mess of her life.


Get up.
Run.

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Loving yourself first.

If there’s something that’s become increasingly more obvious to me as I’ve become older and more mature is that to deal with life’s challenges and be a better more whole person is that we have to heal ourselves and learn to love ourselves first, before we can be loved and be of true use to the world.

Not to say we can’t be loved and be useful to others without it – but I’ve come to a certain understanding slowly over the last few years.

I really don’t like myself.
I don’t think I deserve love. I don’t think I deserve happiness.

I do an awful lot to purposefully sabotage great things that are placed in front of me. Yes, purposefully. Why? That’s what therapy is for.

I am pretty sure it has something to do with deep-seated low self-esteem brought on by years of tormenting by bullies in grade school, sexual assault in my college years, and a challenging upbringing where I was not ever really held accountable for my actions.

When I begin to find myself comfortable or challenged I pick at the wound, like a scab. I do things unconsciously, railroading relationships and engaging in behaviors that cause my life to sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly careen off the tracks.

You would think by this point in my life I would have it in me to figure out how to stop it. Acknowledging and trying to do something about it is where I am right now, hoping that I can find a way to make the crazy train stop before it hits the next station, and heal enough that someday I’ll be able to really feel worthy.

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When you need others.

Asking for help isn’t inherently a bad thing. We’re often told that to be strong, we have to do it ourselves. To be brave, we can do it alone. To be stoic, to have a stiff upper lip, that we should and can tough it out. 

This isn’t a thing that just men have to deal with, though they have it MUCH worse than women do. They have to do it without showing emotion. Women are at least given a pass that they have to do it, but people will wait if they cry first. 

I recently saw an article titled how to “Not cry at your child’s IEP meeting” and while the content of this post was mostly positive – I saw it circulating as an answer, after another Mom’s teary-eyed car video talking about how she just couldn’t handle this-that-or-the-other-thing anymore. I FEEL YOU MAMA. We’ve all been there. CRY. Girl, cry. 

Having emotions is OK. Don’t fucking let anyone tell you, that you shouldn’t cry. I saw so many responses to her video telling her not to cry. That it’s going to be ok. That she just needed to calm down, crying wasn’t going to help anyone.

WHAT THE FUCK. CRYING HELPED HER.

Having emotions does not make you weak. Having emotions makes you a person. Crying was helping her deal with the situation. Sharing her video was helping her deal with the situation. Posting the video was how she was dealing with the situation. Unfortunate assholes posting telling her NOT TO do the thing that she was doing, was not going to help her. 

When you seek the help of others – or just NEED someone else to witness you, you express a vulnerability that immediately exposes you to the opinion of others which I’m finding these days is the unfortunate issue with so much of what’s troubling in the world. Saying “I need you.” means the person suddenly is allowed to say, “Ok, but…” 

Fuck, no.

My bandaid for the world right now (’cause I can’t see a way to really fix things right now) is the following; next time anyone you have the chance to help says they need help, just say, “Yes.” stop and listen. Don’t do anything else. Humanity needs you to only listen and help.

If the help is to get something down from the high shelf, do that. Don’t then suggest they don’t put things so high if they can’t get them down themselves.

If the help is to lend money because they are in a tight spot, and you’re able to help, do that. Don’t then suggest they don’t live so frivolously that they don’t have any savings themselves.

If the help is to listen because the person needs to process emotions and a situation that was difficult to deal with at the moment, do that. Don’t offer your opinion of how they should have dealt with it at the moment or how they should manage their emotions now. 

If we could just, NOT. Offer one hand over our heart and one hand for them to hold should be what we strive to do, friends. Give it a try.

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On Being Sexy.

It took less than a day.

I had been streaming on Twitch for less than 24 hours.

One comment in my public channel while playing Sims4, and then a direct message. One said, “What would you do for $1?” the other told me, “God, you are so sexy.”

Being told you are sexy will most likely bring about specific emotions in a person. Which emotions may depend on a few things; the person delivering the message, the context, the platform, and familiarity with the person delivering the message. 

Flattered? Disgusted? Desirable? Confident? Repulsed? 

Without a base in familiarity, an unsolicited comment on your sexual desirability is inappropriate and meant to degrade and disrespect you. Whether they are calling you sexy, lovely, gorgeous, hot, yummy, tasty, it doesn’t fucking matter. This doesn’t just happen to women, either. 

Shouted at you from across the street is harassment as it’s designed to debase you. A similar reaction was likely the goal by the anonymous troll in the message sent to me on Twitch, of which I reported, and blocked. 

What, if anything did this person expect to have happen next?  That I would fall down with my legs in the air and say, “OH MY GOD, THANK YOU!!!” and begin masturbating for their viewing pleasure because clearly I’d never been shown such lush affection? Did they assume that I would strike up a conversation and pursue an intimate conversation where I would eagerly invite the digital transmission of close up images of their genitals?

I really am honestly interested in knowing the true nature of the reason behind such behavior. Is it that we’ve lived so long without consequences for bad internet behavior and are at times provided with the occasional humorous reward for being such a garbage person?

The kicker in the cases I’ve experienced in most scenarios is that there isn’t a right reaction, either. If you say nothing you are called a bitch, a cold-hearted cunt, and you’ll die an old spinster with a spider web infested cunt because no one will ever want to fuck you. 

If you acknowledge the comments, with (and I speak from first-hand knowledge) “I know.” because you possess even a slight amount of confidence when told you are attractive you are again met with indignant rage and told you are a bitch and you deserve to die in a fire. 

If you acknowledge the comments with “thank you”, you are clearly just a fucking tease and should die in a fire. Of course, if you don’t immediately turn your 100% attention to the commenter and relish the compliment as the most beautiful one you’ve ever received, you’re a stuck up conceited bitch.

This word “Bitch” is used often if you haven’t noticed.  

If you’d like some other examples of this, follow the Instagram account @sheratesdogs. It’s a collection of posts from, mostly women, where exes or guys have gone off the deep end. It’s illuminating. Take this one for example.  

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Read this in an anime villain’s voice (-9/10)

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Buh? 

The culture of “being” sexy is that if you show your sexy to the world (and by that I mean you leave the house, have your photo taken, post a picture on social media or really dare to breathe) it instantly belongs to the world, and can be judged, dissected, dismissed, shat upon, and held to whatever standard the world decides it has for you – at that moment without your consent. 

But here, my darling, I am going to tell you a secret. Though it’s difficult to not react to those who shout at you from across the street, and it’s hard to smile and pretend you are not affected as the words change and cut from a smile to a snarl – that’s what you have to do. Be deaf. 

Whether it’s an anonymous online troll, an ex, an a-hole. a weirdo from work, a Tinder match that should have been a left, not a right, or the cute guy in the bar that was cute until he wasn’t. 

You don’t need anyone’s permission or gratitude to be sexy. Be cute, attractive, pretty, yummy, tasty, nice, whatever you want to be without the validation of anyone else on the planet. You do not have to say “Thank you”. You don’t have to be made to feel bad for taking up space. You don’t owe anyone anything for being there.

You deserve attention and love and appreciation for spectacular reasons like your joy for string cheese, or the way you stretch before you get out of bed. You are not defined by the ability to make someone’s genitals tingle.