Books as a metaphor, or something

I’ve always loved myself, once I learnt what that meant. I certainly wasn’t raised with that idea: I was raised from the school of thought that value is earned, that certain people are born with more value than others and that I was one of those with lesser value. (“you’re pretty, but we’ll not say that, wouldn’t want you to think you’re more than you are, you can ruin people by telling them you love them too much”) and from an early point I understood that this was in fact, stupid, despite many attempts to convince me otherwise.

Still, I’ve loved myself.

I’ve loved the fire that rose up through my chest and through the top of my head like the eye of gods, I guess that’s called inspiration.

Because I wasn’t supposed to.

(You couldn’t tell a child-sized me how I was supposed to be, any more than you can tell the wind to not blow the dust around)

Because I was what I had.

Because when I was crazy, I knew it. (When I was crazy, I was like a bullet  crashing through other people’s lives and they loved me, even as the havoc occurred and bones (often mine) broke, even as I couldn’t stop the disaster and hated them for not seeing,) I loved myself a little, even when I hated myself, when I wasn’t trying to die. Somehow I left that part behind, even though I’m saddled with regret from all the damage I caused in peoples lives.

I love myself because when I should have fractured a hundred thousand times or collapsed like some 5-foot-4 black hole, I had the innate sense to hold the pieces of my soul together.

It is because I have loved myself truly and honestly, that when someone holds me in their hands like a book with scars in its leather, I am confident that he will read the book all the way to the end.

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A girl has no name

The results of my tests from 23andme tests should be back any time, and  I’ve been nervous for reasons I don’t completely understand . What is it that I’m afraid of, what answer do I not want?

I do not expect answers to my genealogy: I don’t expect anything but to see that I am 1/100th everything.
This entry was intended to be much longer, more obnoxiously introspective and witty. Instead, I did average things we all do. Make the cat a vet appointment( he grinds his teeth), pick up a check, pick up Alvin, make dinner for him and my *lovely friend. Apply assorted creams. Worry about millennial/human/american things. Tomorrow, I’ll return here with something more.. Something. 

For now,  I must spend precious dozens of minutes of gazing at imgur and drooling gently into a pillow.

Goodnight, you voyeurs. I love you. Most of you.

*you’re lovely even when you leave sad, lonely boxes stranded in the living-room.

 

Go write your message in the pavement

It’s taken me a while to come to terms with or even understand in any real way, who and what I am as a person. In the scant years that have passed since I’ve figured myself out, I’ve tried to be honest with the world about my being, to varying levels of success.

My background and my early personhood doesn’t lend itself to total revelation because it sits outside “the way things are usually done”, and tends to weird people out.  It was weird. We’ll leave it there. It’s also not really something I enjoy talking about and frankly, unimportant , other than how it informed me as a person. I could’ve been  far worse off, given what I had to work with and I’ve crafted myself into an attempt at a good person so that’s what ultimately matters.

The past few months I’ve been  low-key navel gazing and have decided to out myself in regards to a few things.

I’m gender-fluid. After years of trying to make excuses for the ways I feel/live/experience my existence, *I’m okay with saying that. I fluctuate day to day as far as the masculine and feminine go.  (I’m not going to  even get started on gendered language, gender in media or social enforcement of gender here, but trust, I have opinions, specifically that the gender binary is outmoded )The way I choose to perform my genders changes. I’m not going to throw a label at anything, because it feels unimportant to me. I’m two souls in one physical body. That’s the truth I know and have known since childhood. I don’t feel much need to look to die on the hilltop of forcing people to understand me right now and the world has more important things to think about than my definition. You can interpret me and how I appear to you in any way you like,That’s my superpower. People see in me what they need to see and I roll with it. #yolo.

I believe in something. I’m actively spiritual and I’ll call myself pagan with a little “p” for the lack of a better-fitted word. I’m also fascinated by transhumanism, but I’ll save that for another conversation. I was furious at the idea/construct of the Judeo-Christian god. That religious construct wrecked my mother, and therefore my early life. I called myself an Atheist for a long time, but what I really am is a person who believes that people created gods because we needed them, maybe some of them created all of us or some of us, and we have no fucking clue. I believe in universal consciousness, astral projection and that people have more power inside them than most acknowledge , and I believe in the reach of science soon explaining all that and de-mystifying it. It’s our lack of understanding that makes things mystical. We live in a time where science and tech are peeling away so much mystery and I’m so thrilled about that, aren’t you? FUCK YES YOU ARE.

 Religion is a tool of the oppressors.  The largest global religions are used by whoever’s power to oppress. I believe in your right to all the gods you need or don’t need to pray to to fill your life with meaning, joy and peace. I fucking hate religions and dogma and narrow-minded thought.

My own practice is my my business, so are the gods I send prayers out to. You do you. I’ll do this.

I believe in using what you want to free your mind, because it’s you goddamned mind. I believe I have a lot of beliefs and opinions jammed into my logical brain and I’ve not sorted everything I know out yet.

I Love You. Whoever you are in this moment, whatever you are, I love YOU. Close your eyes, and feel it.

 

*

I’ve said this in a handful of ways , for many years., but always sort of skirted around really saying it.

no, my husband isn’t weirded out by my gender stuff. Thanks for your concern.

 

 

 

Hurry up, we’re dreaming

 

With the exception of 2 years in my early twenties,  I’ve been on some form of hormonal birth control since the age of 17, when I responsibly  drove my tiny, frizzy-haired, boney-child-kneed self  to a Planned parenthood in the midwest town I lived in, but wasn’t from. That experience was both frightening,(as some things just are when done alone) and liberating for some of the exact same reasons it was frightening.

Now, more than ten years off from being that kid, and I’m sick of this shit.

My hormones have always been off, my androgen levels high and my periods are exceptionally irregular. They’ll be  non-existent for years or, conversely, every fucking day for 2 months. My period and the hormonal nightmare hell-scape that comes with it fuck with my perception of self and my life.

I have no intention of having children. Even if I could , even if wanted to and it was a physical possibility,I wouldn’t. That’s rough sometimes, I’ll admit. Sometimes I look at Alvins’ little nose and face and want to make am adorable amalgamation  of the 2 of us, but the other 98% of the time, I know I want a life where all my options are still options, (to quote Aziz Ansari) and I can travel and spend my time being the person I spent my twenties wishing I was, with this amazing human I’ve married. I  know as well,  that I can’t saddle a human being I might create with the burden of mental issues and physical problems that ran like Noble Rot through the vines of my family.  Which is sad really.. I could make some hot, smart weirdos.

I want a Hysterectomy. That’s what I’m getting at. This junk doesn’t work properly, never has, and won’t have children, and I’d like to wear white linen pants.

Carve this shit out with a grape-fruit spoon, if that’s what it’ll take . That’s what it feels like might be an option, if this country keeps disposing of women’s rights to govern their own bodies. Fuck.

I feel like this goes without saying, but I’ll add here, that I’m going to, at times, Write About Sex And Sex Organs and Gender.

This has been your content warning.

 

Covefefe,

Dez

Melatonin

Recently I started taking melatonin.  I don’t know that melatonin actually succeeds in helping me sleep, but then again I’ve taken actual sleep aids invented by doctors, so I feel like my view towards supplements can be a bit skewed. I take  a handful of supplements that have been proven to work by scientific research. After you’ve taken drugs that actually work you can’t go back to supplements and pretend they’re even remotely similar. They are fucking not.
At any rate, Gabba and melatonin are causing me truly  strange dreams that are boring in their usual-ness.

The dreams don’t tend to lean either  good or bad: They’re generally problem-solving scenarios.Basically, I’m trapped somewhere with some people and I have to help them get out of the situation. It tends to be incredibly stressful,  the Landscapes are strange and there’s an Ex thrown  in there that I can’t actually talk to easily.

Last night’s abstraction was loosely about wine labels. Basically,  I was running a business on what seemed to be another planet, and the same ex that always shows up in stress dreams showed up and was vaguely denunciatory. (maybe? It could be I just always worried he was?)  I’m attempting to defend my product while also not looking defensive and being genuinely happy to see this person, there is a massive fucking earthquake.

Cue the rest of the dream which is trying to get a person I have a difficult time communicating with out of a dangerous situation, while trying to find Alvin.

I’m sure that the specific ex-boyfriend shows  up in my brain because I feel some guilt over that relationship. A lot, really. You don’t always get to go back and say what you’d like, nor should you.

He’s always much, much taller than his reality, like a giant, as people tend to become in memories. As far as the stress dreams are concerned, this is literally been pretty much every dreams was my childhood . just a Labyrinth of anxiety and flop sweat set against a sexy topographical map of “aaaaaggghhh”, and then I wake up.

It’s Tuesday. That means I work in the evening. I woke up at 7:30 this morning without the assistance of Hades Yodeling to the cat-gods,and made Alvin French-toast with bread that I’d actually made, but sadly is too dry for my liking. Now, I’m sitting , trying in vain to stretch my ass-muscles out before going to the gym.

You’re welcome for the visual.

Throw your body against the floor of the sky

You will run the world, uncaged and unfettered but still feel as trapped, so long as your heart is still an angry , hungry, young thing.

I would know.

My temples have gone shock-white  from fighting my own child-self, with her broad, stubborn shoulders and skinned knees.

We have sat in the ruins of temples and on mounds of ancient bones, but felt as trapped as canaries in the mouths of temple cats.

 

Yesterday

Rain’s pouring out of the sky and reminding me of gray cities with bridges for backbones. I’m at work, sitting at the little square table 5 rows from the door that I occupy when there’s nothing to do and no one to serve: There’s  a cornucopia of things I want to do for the enrichment of my own personal brain, but I keep getting distracted.

 

I came to some realizations about things and myself this past month, so here they are in no real order or importance.

 

1.I’d like to genuinely be all the good things I aspire  eventually to be, rather than just be perceived as being them. I’m far being the full person I’d like to grow into, in experience and spirituality. I’m hungry and ready to be filled.  When I was younger, I spent time planning out what I’d like to do and be. Time goes so much faster now.

3. My heart is soft and uncallused somehow, but nothing horrifies me anymore.Nothing human feels alien.

4. I need the frivolous things that bring me joy when the world shows more of its dark side. I’m not ashamed of my frou-frou. I like fashion and makeup and weird architecture and being in places that are beautiful to me.I despise “common” and I plan to continue to rebel against it in the most beautiful way I can think of.

 

I know this is disjointed. I started writing yesterday and got busy half-way through because life interrupted. I’m publishing the shit I write even if it’s terriblah , because that’s the deal I made with myself. Sorry about yer eyeballs, friend.

 

 

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