I didn’t know where I was going when I dove into that lake. The water wasn’t clear either, which didn’t help. Nevertheless I curved my back and arms and threw my body head first into the murky water. It seemed like the thing to do. I needed to leave where I was, because there wasn’t anything left for me there. When my body hit the water I felt the coolness wash over me. It was refreshing and scary to be one with this massive body of ambiguity. Still I pushed myself through it and then I saw you. You were struggling, arms flailing to stay afloat. Your face was beautiful. Your eyes met mine, and I knew what I had to do. I swam toward you. My hand reached toward you and you grabbed it. We floated together for a moment. I knew you weren’t a strong swimmer. Part of me was strong, I knew how to swim but only because I’d taught myself that staying still was dangerous. But you stood there frozen, holding my hand like it was a foreign object.

“Come with me.” I begged you.

You silently shook your head and pointed toward the shore, which was far. I squeezed your hand so you’d remember what it felt like, but ultimately I couldn’t stop you. You released my hand, and my body and then it was I who struggled to stay above the water of indecision.

“Goodbye.” I said in my mind as I watched you swim toward the other shore. I knew what was waiting for you there, but there was not point in telling you because you were already underwater.


The Internet is Like High School

I just came back from BlogHer 16, which was a fantastic experience. I won Voices of The Year, and was able to read my blog post about being disabled in front of a largely supportive group of my peers. That was a fantastic experience. However, I won’t pretend that my interactions with everyone at the conference were full of rainbows and happiness. I am a mostly friendly person, who is overly anxious and enthusiastic about life. I talk to everyone and have no filter. I’m aware that my personality doesn’t go with everyone’s, but I make a concerted effort to be understanding and nice to the people around me hoping against hope that they like me.

That being said, when I compliment someone on their outfit and they have no visible emotion on their face when they say “thank you” and they cannot make eye contact with me, it feels like they are dissing me. When I try to talk to you, and you give me monosyllabic answers and look at your shoes, I’m going to go ahead and assume that you hate my guts, which reminds me so much of my high school experience. I’m not cool, I’ll never be cool and that’s what makes me, me. I hide in bathrooms when I’ve been around people for too long, which is a change from the pile of coats I used to bury myself under as a child. I don’t ever want to be afraid to sit at someone’s lunch table. Maybe I’m socially inept, but I would like to believe that we could at least try to be kind to each other. It doesn’t take a lot to say “thank you” to another human and perhaps engage them in conversation about something else. You never know what you might learn about your fellow human if you gave her a chance.

The funny thing is, the more that person ignores me, the harder I try to get them to like me and recognize my awesomeness. It’s counterintuitive, because obviously this individual doesn’t give a shit about me or my overly anxious nature. He/she doesn’t care that I want them to like me. I care too much, and it’s hurting my brain.

These interactions that I’m speaking to are in person. When people slight each other online it takes an entirely different form. I post a Facebook comment on your status and you intentionally ignore me, but respond to other people. Ouch, that hurts. I’m certainly guilty of not being meticulous about getting back to every single person on social media, but it’s relatively obvious when someone is intentionally ignoring you.

Similar to high school, the Internet has cliques and I try hard to just be a person and talk to everyone. The funny thing is that people want to pretend that there are no inner circles, but let’s cut the shit. There are those things and I want to break them down and make trapezoids out of them.

I couldn’t care less about who’s who in Internet land, just like I didn’t care about popularity in high school. I like people that I can have deep conversations with. I enjoy lack of small talk and an influx of real talk. So let’s stop being dicks and be nice to each other. We are all breathing the same oxygen and releasing the same carbon dioxide. Most of us wear shoes when we go outside, and a lot of us eat broccoli. I know we can find some things to talk about if we try hard.

I’m not better than you, and you’re not better than me. We are humans; humans that exist in the computer and also we walk around in the world. Before you write a sarcastic response to someone on the Internet, remember that they are a person with feelings. They have the capacity to feel anger and hurt. Be careful with your words before you make word salad.

I’m not sure how to end this thing, because I am extremely jet lagged. Keep being yourself and if someone is mean to you, give them a hug. If you’re scared to give them a hug, then smile at them. Wait until they look at you before you smile at them. You want the person that you are smiling at to remember that you smiled at them.



The Story Isn’t Over

The story isn’t over. There’s an intermission and I’m hungry but there isn’t a concession stand. I have to listen to the grumbling in my stomach for this indeterminable amount of time. I’m tired, starving and probably dehydrated. How long is the intermission? It doesn’t say on the program. Nobody seems to know. They are all busy talking to each other and laughing about how it might end or should end. I don’t want it to end. I thought it was going to go on forever. It feels great to watch it unfold and see the nuances. The creases in his smile, the way he sounds when he laughs subtlety, just enough to let me know that he got the joke, I want to see those parts.

It’s over temporarily and I don’t know when Act II begins.

Nobody wants to talk to me about Act I anymore. They said they’ve seen it and it’s great, but they’re ready for the second part. They are patiently waiting. I’m impatiently waiting. I’m fucking hungry damn it. I didn’t know this intermission was going to take so long. I remember the part of the play when they stood together on stage and the lights dimmed. He looked at her like there was no one else in the room. He held her face and she let herself be held by him in every way. The audience was silent as they watched these two characters frozen in time, drinking each other in. He told her softly in her ear:

I have to go. I’ll come back for you. I don’t know how or when, but I will.

Her face changed. It was full of fear and disappointment. A tear fell down her face as he turned his back and walked into the darkness. She collapsed to the floor in the fetal position. 57 birds flew over her head circling her; letting her know that her sadness was palpable and if she wanted to she could fly away from this place.  That’s how Act I ended and I can’t breathe, I can’t see, I can’t anything until I know that that isn’t how it ends. I refuse to let it end this way. She is broken and destroyed and that is not the end of this play. It can’t be.

Where is the playwright? Is he here? Someone needs to take responsibility for this tragedy. I didn’t realize that’s what I was watching when I bought my ticket.

I’m writing a letter to him.

He needs to explain what he was thinking.

I’m going to sit here in this lobby, hungry and sad while I wait for Act II, writing a letter to this incompetent quack who ruined a perfectly beautiful love story.


What I Want Matters

I ordered sushi for lunch today. I was too tired to make anything and I wanted to treat myself because I deserve it. When it arrived it had two kinds of rolls, one of them was an Alaska Roll and the other one was something that I didn’t recognize. Apparently I had ordered this kind of roll before because I clicked “re-order” on my delivery dot com order. I started to eat my lunch and I thought

I’ll try this mystery roll because it’s here anyway.

As soon as I bit into the roll I thought:

I hate this. It’s gross.

Then I thought:

I should eat it because I paid for it.

I sat with that for a moment and then I was interrupted by my mind, which said:

Fuck that! I don’t have to eat that shit. It’s gross and I don’t like it and just because I paid for it doesn’t mean I have to sacrifice my taste buds and happiness to eat some shit that I find reprehensible.

Then I realized something deeper about this encounter. I do this in my life frequently. I feel as if I should do something. I should sacrifice my own happiness for the sake of another person. That person is hurting and I should stop my own feelings and thoughts so that they can feel better.


Just like I have the right NOT to eat that disgusting maki roll, I have the right to express myself. I have the right to make my needs known and to ask for what I want. What I want matters. What I feel is valid and true. My feelings, wants and needs can co-exist with another person’s wants and needs. I have the right to be angry. I have the right to be disappointed when things don’t work out like I thought they would. I have the emotional right to say “hey, you hurt me.” I can say those words if I feel them. I’m tired of eating my feelings because someone else MIGHT be offended by my words. If they don’t like what I have to say, that is their right. I still have the right to say the thing that I feel and I will say it.

If you out there right now thinking that your feelings don’t have a right to exist – STOP THAT IMMEDIATELY.

Feel your feelings.

Speak your truth.

And for fuck’s sake put the sushi down if it’s gross.



When the truth is told and you hear it but you don’t really hear it.

Then you hear it so hard that your ears burn. They are on fire with the words. You hear so much truth that your stomach feels like it’s going to explode with the root of the problem. Only there isn’t a problem because you are the problem. You have put yourself in a position where the only solution is to stop talking. You aren’t good at being silent because you talk A LOT and words come so easily and freely and you thought you were wanted but it turns out you are actually someone else.

You don’t really know who you are. I don’t know who I am and all I want to do is eat ice cream and not feel anymore. That’s what happens when you love so hard that you forget yourself.

All this time I’ve been talking about you and I actually mean me. I am not the person I thought I was. That person fell down on the road and there’s a gaping hole in her leg. What happened? She didn’t think before she leapt into something that made no sense.  That’s the way life is. It makes no sense to anyone.

I feel numb because I’ve felt everything for so long that my body and my brain need a break and they are giving it to me for some reason. For some reason, I hate that phrase because there is a reason but I can’t seem to locate it.

Does anyone have that reason? I need a reason over here. Seems everyone is living reason-free these days.

I’m allergic to logic these days and have been operating on emotions. I need a shot of common sense.

I looked inside my heart and it’s cluttered and scary in there. I can’t figure out where the doors are and if there are any doors at all. All I see are open windows.

He Didn’t See The Rainbow, But I Did – Part 2

Evan did always know what Bryan was thinking. Whether he was scared, sad, or angry, Evan could read Bryan’s thoughts. It was both comforting and disarming at once. One day they were walking in the woods, near their house. Bryan stopped in his tracks. Evan turned to him and said:

“I know you’re afraid. But there aren’t any bears in this part of the woods.”

Bryan was irritated. He was comforted by the fact that Evan knew what he was thinking, but wanted to keep his fears and secrets to himself. He didn’t articulate any of these thoughts to his brother. They kept walking down the dirt trail. They were headed in the direction of the waterfall. There was a cliff that Evan wanted to climb. As they were walking Bryan had second thoughts about the whole excursion.

“I’m not sure I can make it to the top.” Bryan confessed. “I’m afraid of heights.”

Evan laughed, and moved his fingers through the grey streak in his hair, pushing it aside like it was a nuisance to him.

“You need to face that fear, bro. I’ll be there with you.”

Bryan didn’t say anything. He swallowed audibly and sighed. He knew that his brother was right. He needed to face his fear. But the idea of climbing to the top of a cliff was overwhelming and scary. Still, there was something about Evan that made it difficult for people to say no to him. He was engaging, charismatic, and he drew people into his world with his words. They continued walking down the trail. Bryan’s breathing was labored, sweat began to develop on his brow. He was beginning to panic.

What if I can’t make it up the cliff? What if I have an anxiety attack? What if I die before I make it to the top?

“Can you stop thinking so loudly?” Evan told his brother. “Dude, Everything is going to be fine. You’ll see.”

Bryan sighed. The two brothers walked onward. Bryan tried to distract himself by looking at the tall Redwood trees they passed as they walked through the woods. He imagined that they were all part of the same tree family; each tree was related to its tree sibling. There were brother trees and sister trees and somewhere deep in the woods were their tree parents. They were looking after the family from a distance. Bryan’s thoughts were interrupted by Evan’s voice:

“Look bro!”

Bryan looked and saw through the clearing and saw what Evan was point towards. It was a high cliff in the distance. It looked insurmountable.

“You can do this.” Evan said turning to his brother.

“I can’t.” Bryan confessed.

“Yes, you can.” Evan confirmed.

Bryan took a deep breath in. Evan grabbed his brother’s hand and looked into Bryan’s eyes, which were deep grey.

“I won’t let go. No matter what I won’t let go. I won’t let you fall.” Evan told his fearful twin brother.

“Okay.” Said Bryan. “Okay.”

They walked onward in the direction of the cliff. Evan did not let go of Bryan’s hand. cliff

He Didn’t See The Rainbow, But I Did – Part 1

Evan and Bryan were two brothers who did everything together. They were twins, both age 15. Evan was adventurous and Bryan was shy. They were brothers but also close. Evan loved to rock climb, walk in the woods, go swimming in waterfalls and drag his brother on all of these excursions. Bryan was more cautious than his twin brother, but he admired his audacity and appetite for life. Evan wanted more for Bryan. He wanted him to come out of his shell, to experience the world. It was harder for Bryan to do these things freely. He was scared of everything, bugs, people, even going outside terrified him. The only way he was able to do anything was with Evan by his side.

Though they were twins, they looked completely different from one another. Evan had one blue eye and one brown eye. Bryan’s eyes were both grey, but they looked blue in a certain light. Evan had brown hair with a single strand of grey in it, at the front. He looked a little like a skunk. It was odd that a 15 year old had a grey streak in his hair, but going grey early ran in their family. Bryan had dirty blond hair that got lighter during the summertime.

Evan’s grey streak marked him. People remembered him as different, and he was…different. He was wild and did as he pleased. He was impulsive and loud. Meanwhile Bryan spoke few words and kept his thoughts inside. Still, his wilder older brother (by one minute and three seconds) knew what Bryan was thinking, despite his intention to keep his thoughts to himself. Sometimes it frustrated Bryan. He wanted his thoughts to himself. But somehow, Evan knew exactly what he was thinking all the damn time. It was remarkable how he could mind read. Perhaps it was the fact that they had shared the womb together, or that they shared a bedroom, sleeping on beds across the room from one another. Whatever the case, Bryan’s thoughts were heard by Evan.

“How do you always know what I’m thinking?” Bryan asked Evan one day.

Evan smiled and pointed to the small grey streak on his head. He didn’t say another word.


I’m Writing Things Even If They Don’t Make Sense or No One Cares

I care. I think we can all agree that I care a lot. Kind of like the Care Bears. Sometimes I even care too much. I like writing on here because it lets me see what my brain looks like on “paper.” I said “paper” in quotes because this is definitely not paper. It’s a computer screen, or a phone, or a tablet or whatever the fuck you are reading this on. I doubt anyone is actually reading this except for maybe me. Whatever, who cares? OH I DO! I forgot that I actually care. So I’m writing a young adult novel (sort of, maybe it’s more like New Adult) but it’s about two teenagers who are in love. The guy is a graffiti artist. The girl doesn’t know where he is most of the time or if he’s in jail. It’s like a forbidden romance. I need to do research into what it’s like to be a graffiti artist because I have no idea about the language used in that world.

Side note I am pretending to be normal and go on with my life like nothing is happening in my brain that is sad but in reality I am really sad and distracted by sadness and it’s hard to pretend to be normal because I suck at acting even though I went to The Fame High School for drama. You know that movie FAME? I can’t fake shit. It sucks. I’m in pain and it sucks and it’s hard. 

Moving on.

Here comes another sad song on ITunes as I write this. My blog is so not about parenting anymore. It’s become a place where I journal and write nonsensical stream of consciousness things and hoping that the right people read them. I turned comments off though, so I won’t actually know if anyone reads this post.

Silence can be defeaning sometimes. It feels like a punch in the chest, the gut, the heart, the vagina. I don’t believe I have ever been punched in the vagina. One time when I was around nine, some asshole kid kicked me in the vagina and that was mean. And I told him so. I was like “HEY! You kicked me in the crotch!” Because at the time, I didn’t feel comfortable using the word “vagina.” It is a strange word, isn’t it though?

I wrote this killer poem and I am having difficulty figuring out if I am brave enough to publish it. It’s hard, it’s vulnerable, it’s raw, and I don’t know what my intention is for writing it. Not true, my intention is to heal and to release pain.


This is another ridiculous blog post. Bye.


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