Heaven or Bust

When I was younger, my father took me to church. While he sat upstairs with the other adults, I was downstairs with the youth group. The only thing I can really remember about Sunday school is that I asked a lot of hard hitting questions that the teachers really couldn’t answer, which made me start to think that this church thing wasn’t for me. The church I went to was rather small, and it seemed that everybody wanted to know your business outside of church. It didn’t help that I was from a small town, and that this was normal. I remember asking a lot of questions, much like adulthood I was a curious child. If there wasn’t evidence, I was less likely to believe it.

At the beginning of every Sunday school session, a video was always played. One song was the go-to:
“Jesus loves the little children ………. – red and yellow, black and white…..” being the curious child I was, I immediately raised my hand.
“Does everybody have the same God as us? Like everybody in the world prays to the same God as me?” I had to be nine or ten at this time, but the look I got from my teacher began feeding my doubts.
“Of course! Didn’t you hear the song? God created all of the children, and expects them to sing his praises to other people, people who may have strayed from Him.”

This reply, of course, got the wheels in my mind turning. Strayed away? How can someone stray away from God? What makes people decide to stray away? If God created all the children, why do certain people believe in other things? I needed answers! I didn’t know at the time, but the questioning made me a problem.

I recall coming home from school one Wednesday, and my step mother told me that I need to go to church with her that night. I choked up, not wanting to go. “But why?” I managed to choke out.

According to her, I was straying from Jesus. I later learned that the Sunday school teacher was concerned with my constant barrage of questions about religion. I learned at a young age, long before the teenage years, that adults don’t like to have to explain something like religion. You blindly follow, because that’s just what we do.

After a couple months, the church as a whole learned why we never seemed to expand our small church. Our pastor was skimming from the collection tray, using the money for himself. My mind went spiraling with questions again. If he is the voice of God for our church, why did he do it? The answer was always “he strayed from God”.

I have to give major props to my dad. He asked my step mom why she made me go to church, if all I did was question. “Why force her? Let her choose on her own,” I heard him tell her, and her reply was her famous exasperated scoff. In the end, I didn’t have to go to church anymore. When the rest of the family would leave the house, I would jump on the computer and turn to the one place that would always answer my questions without trying to derail my thought process – the internet. Over the course of a month I learned that not everyone prays to the same God as me. There are people that believe in many deities, and some people that didn’t believe in anything. My mind was singing with this newfound information, and I just had to know more.

There came one Sunday where my stepmom wasn’t feeling well, and nobody went to church. Instead of diving into the internet search, I launched the encyclopedia we had on our computer and started looking up other religions. Buddhism, Paganism, Catholicism, the list went on! There were so many religions, and I was swimming with knowledge. I remember that night at dinner, I was bursting at the seams, ready to share the information with my family. My dad listened intently, happy that his daughter was finally getting answers. When he walked away, my step mother scolded me for believing the lies. From that day forward she watched what I did on the computer.

I didn’t understand what was going on. Not everybody believed in the same God…not everybody was willing to follow something so blindly. I resented religion with every fiber of my being, and specifically mine for lying to me, for never answering my questions. I couldn’t understand why it was such a big deal to be curious.

Now that I have a child, I swore to myself that if ever he wanted to go to church, that was his decision.  I wouldn’t force him to go like my stepmom did with me. If he has questions about other religions, we will approach those as they come. Because I know how his mother was. His mother was curious, and naturally he will be too.

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Update

Good morning people of the internet! I’m currently on my last day off for this week and decided to go back and read some of my old posts, granted there aren’t very many, and I noticed a pattern. 

On the later posts, I noticed I’m not my chipper and happy self. I’d be lying if I said that I was okay, just moody. Over the past month or so I’ve been pulling away from things that make me happy, and kind of falling into my own little bubble of sadness and self depreciation. Things happen sometimes, and I figured instead of posting more little posts that are basically just me complaining, I’d not post until I could find myself again, and go back to being happy. 

Boy was that a tough journey. It took a lot of spoken word poetry, watching gamers play some amazing games on YouTube, and self talks to get me to where I am now. I don’t ever want that feeling of sadness to come creeping up again. The feeling of being sad all the time with no indication as to why you are sad is just monsterous. 

I can’t explain why it happens, nobody really can. Sure scientists and psychologists will say it’s the makeup of the mind, but nobody can explain why the mind does what it does. 

I’m pulling away from my real intent on this post. My real intent was to a) apologize for the depressing posts b) apologize for the lack of posts and c) to let anyone reading this know that no matter what you are dealing with, it isn’t permanent. Eventually everything will be okay. You just have to hold on tight. 

That’s all for now! My posts may not be daily, semi daily, or whatever I decided, because I want these to be true and genuine. So ill be posting more often, but without a set schedule! Have an amazing day! 

Reset?

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Found this gem on Facebook, thank you to whoever posted this for the post inspiration.

If you were given the opportunity to reset your life, would you do it? This is a question I get asked a lot. I have many questions, but never the answer. Do I get to remember everything I’ve learned so far? Will I get to right my wrongs and still have a decent outcome in life? I guess now is the time to start thinking of the answer.

There are a few things in my life that I’m not proud of. I’m not proud of giving my all to people who didn’t give a damn if I was there or not, I’m not proud of quitting school when I was younger, and I’m certainly not proud of how I handle the stresses of everyday life. But would I really reset? This reminds me of a line from another great Spoken Word poet, Neil Hilborn, from his poem “The Future”. He says “I think a lot about killing myself, not like a point on a map, but rather like a glowing exit sign at a show that’s never been quite bad enough to make me want to leave”. Resetting your life is essentially killing the old you to make a new you, right? Or maybe that’s just my morbid thinking. Maybe this is why I love slam poetry, it makes the morbid thoughts of mine seem normal. Let’s get back to the main topic, shall we?

If I were to ever reset my life, how far would it take me back? Would I get to pick the age where my life started sliding into fuck town, or would it be an automatic reset of life in general? Would I get to choose my gender? That would be nice, not being a woman, but then I’d never have my son or the man who loves me today. But I’d be paid more and treated less ignorant than I currently am. Then again, I’d never be able to show emotion as a man without being told to “man up”, which leads me to another poet, and his “ten responses to the phrase man up”. The problem is, like Neil said, my life is a show that isn’t bad enough for me to leave. Despite how much I bitch and complain about my life, it’s never that bad. I don’t even think it’s that bad, at least the normal part of me. There is always one part that wants more. But what more could I have? Most people would kill for the job I have, or at least the pay. I have a very loving and accepting boyfriend who takes each and every break down in strides. You see, he isn’t used to someone like me, someone who can go from happy and content to sad and morbid in just a matter of days. He isn’t used to someone who’s mind thinks that everything will be fine, just as soon as you blow all of your money on things you don’t need. He now understands why I am so persistent on making sure all of the bills are paid, because if there is ever a moment I cannot control the constant nagging of my mind to do the dumbest shit, at least I’ll know we are set for that month. You see, he has dated normal girls before me. Now these girls danced dangerously over the line of ignorant and selfish, but they were normal none the less. Now that’s something I’d kill for – normality.

How many people do you know can’t go to a funeral of someone they don’t know? Well, if you came to this post not knowing anyone, you will leave knowing that I can’t. That’s right. Hypersensitivity is one of the WORST  things ever. I remember getting a call from my friend, begging me to come to another friend’s funeral, someone I had never met. She needed moral support, and more importantly a designated driver. I got ready, picked her up, and made the quiet drive to the funeral home. It took five minutes of being in the room, and I was whisked away by my own emotions. Tears streamed down my  face, my chest tightened, I felt like it was my best friend that died. Needless to say, my friend got upset. She couldn’t understand that I, being in the same room as roughly fifty distraught people was enough to send me over the edge.  That is a moment I would love to reset.

I struggle with my makeup, making sure it looks perfect. My sister sits next to me, talking me through each step. She smiles as I complete each step correctly, and she explains where I messed up. By the time I am finished, she is beaming. It was just a small amount of time spent with her, but I treasure it forever. Don’t take this away, Reset.

Or the time I came to my boyfriend now, when we first met, and told him I wasn’t ready for a relationship. I wasn’t ready for someone to treat me right, because at the time, I didn’t know I was worth being treated right. Hell let’s be honest, there’s still moments I don’t think I need to be treated right. But there’s something so special about someone who wakes up at 2:00 am when he should be sleeping to roll over and hug me tightly, no words spoken for a long time because he knows that all I need is to be held. He does this because he knows I can’t hold myself together, so once again he needs to be my glue. I wish I could tell him I get better. I wish I could tell him that this is the last time he needs to piece me back together after I have slowly destroyed myself from the inside out. This is a moment I wish I could reset.

My boyfriend and our children are preparing to head to the lake, and even though I can’t deal with cold water, I go with them. I haven’t smiled this much in a long time. Our children are the best behaved kids in the water, and we are still so much in love, much like the first time we met. Our fingers laced with our children’s, we floated there together, as if we were all slowly floating into space, dancing among the stars. I would not change this for the world.

My son comes home, throwing his backpack to the floor with such a high amount of sass that I am taken aback. I’ve noticed a pattern, this only happens on days that I have to leave before dinner is finished to go to work. He is angry at me, but I hope that one day he will understand, but until then he holds his anger inside. He learned this from me. He bites his tongue to drive the tears back to the deep well inside, but that well is about to overflow. He is only seven, but he is already learning how to numb himself. Part of me wants to pick up the phone and call work, telling them that I can’t come in because my son needs me, but they wouldn’t understand. I’d have a point against me, one less point to use when absolutely needed, and one day less that I may be able to pay the bills. Please let me reset.

I am standing on stage in my graduation cap and gown. My mother, father, boyfriend, son, sister, aunts, and uncle are silently holding their breath. This is a moment we all have waited for this moment. The announcer slowly says my name and I glide to the small black X located center stage. I hold my breath as the two people I’m standing in the middle of hand me my diploma. I finally did it. There are cheers from my family and I am shaking, fighting the happy tears. This is a moment to remember forever.

My father and I bond over a cup of coffee after he takes my child to the bus stop. We talk about life, or listen to The Beatles, or bake, or just sit in silence. I remember a time when I looked at him and said that I wanted to live with my mom, because I didn’t like the woman he married. I remember watching his eyes flash and pain replace them. I am not proud of myself. This man taught me how to be happy with what I have, how to love people for how they are, and because I didn’t like his current wife I am abandoning him. Perhaps that is why I’m afraid to start my own life, because I don’t want him to feel abandoned again. Please reset!

As you can tell, life is a mixture of happy and sad times. But for the life of me, I can’t find any reason to press the button. Resetting my life would mean killing every moment that has made me who I am. In some cases, resetting seems like a great idea, removing the extra stress on those I love. But they love me, and they would help lift the metaphoric boulder on my shoulders that I seem to feel that I need to carry. Resetting isn’t an option, moving forward is. And as Neil said: “I saw the future, I did. And in it…I was alive.” My future will not involve a reset button, because my memories and lessons need to be kept alive.

Enjoy “The Future” – my ultimate go to spoken word poem.

Thus Far

Over the last month, I have noticed that I haven’t been feeling right. My mind is nothing but a storm cloud, threatening to strike when I need a moment to be happy. I have tried imagining myself in what others refer to as “happy place”, but even there the storm cloud hovers, bringing with it vengeance and anger. Even my happy place isn’t safe from the demons of depression. Yes, I’ll come out and say it: I suffer a terrible concoction of Bi Polar Disorder, Generalized Anxiety, and Severe Depression. This unwanted combination is trying at times, since the depression and anxiety like to team together and make my life a living hell. Meanwhile, the Bi Polar disorder is screaming in my head “WE AREN’T HAPPY, GO BUY THINGS AND DO STUPID SHIT THAT WILL ULTIMATELY RUIN YOUR LIFE, BUT HEY IT FELT GOOD AT THE TIME”.

I know your first thoughts, “go to therapy”. As much as I would love to, I work midnights and I don’t know of any therapists in my area that are open 24/7.
You’re probably thinking “What about medication?”. You see we have tried medication. It’s become apparent to me that whatever is going on upstairs, medications only aggravate it. No, that is not just another excuse to not get treated. I’ve tried many medications. Most made me shaky, made me not hungry to the point I lost a lot of weight, and some even made me suicidal. No thanks, not about that life again.

To those that are not judgmental, you’d probably like to know how I’ve gotten along with no help of medications. My friend, I’d like to know that as well. How in the world have I made it this far without crumbling to bits and giving up? I don’t even know. What I do know is that learning things about yourself is a wonderful thing.

The things I have learned thus far:
~Music from the time of The Beatles is essential if I am to get through whatever the upstairs decides to throw my way.
~If the sun is shining, there’s always something that Pig can capture to remind me that life is beautiful.
~I need to accept that people see good in me. The upstairs is what sees the bad.
~I don’t need to be perfect, in fact, my imperfections are kinda nifty.
~Positive is good, I need more of that.
~Arrows are somehow very empowering to me. Don’t ask me why, but when I see an arrow, I’m driven to do my best.
~Spoken word poetry is a gateway to happiness. I refuse to go one day without watching either Sarah Kay or Phil Kaye.

You see, I have dug into the depths of my mind to figure out who I really am. I am happily taken by an amazing man, I’m a mother to my two wonderful children, I’m a hard worker, and I’m a loving daughter. But on top of that, I’m a member of the LGBTQ+ community, I’m a woman, and if you dare tell me that God would be displeased with whatever I decide to do with my body, just know that I’m agnostic. Your threats of your supreme being do not scare me, because it is not my supreme being. I love and accept everyone that comes into my life for how they truly are, and if I get confused, I ask for more time to learn about things.

I used to have these dreams where I’d wake up and the world was dark. Stars would twinkle all around me, leaving no doubts that I was in space with my feet planted firmly on the ground. I’d spin as fast as I could, watching the stars slowly attach themselves to my body until I was dusted head to toe with twinkling lights. The stars replaced every inch of skin and soon, I began dancing. A mixture of Virgo and Libra, I formed a new constellation. The more I danced, the less fear I felt. I’d dance for years, sometimes centuries would pass. When I came back to earth, I was in my star skin. My family was beaming as they hugged me, telling me my inner beauty has finally reached the surface. There was no anger, no sadness, no second guessing. I finally became who I was intended to be.

I’ll get there one day, I just have to take one starlit step at a time.

 

As an added bonus, my favorite Spoken Word Poet performing my favorite poem:

SoCS – Project

Welcome! When I read the prompt for Saturday I decided why not try a poem? I hope you enjoy! This post is a part of SoCS~

The mirror shows a face

Of a girl I don’t remember

The makeup hides the flaws

That I know so well

My pale skin seems brighter

My thin lips are fuller

Yet I feel like an empty bucket

Once filled with emotions

I have gone numb lately

A feeling which I hate

Or do I enjoy it?

I haven’t taught myself yet

I have learned from many

The lessons of life

Yet I fail to learn

From my past

I am yearning for reality,

But it never comes.

I am an empty room,

When all the lights are low,

And all the music stops playing.

I am the unsettling silence.

I am but an empty notebook

Begging for the ideas to flow

Longing for a sense of wonder.

I am a picture with no color

I am a joke with no punchline

I am empty

I am an unfinished assignment

I will continue to be

An unfinished project.

Apologies for the spacing, mobile isn’t being too friendly today!

Coming out 

Many people will tell me that I’m not bisexual because I only date men. Others tell me that I’m just confused, and that I can’t be attracted to girls because again, I’ve only dated men. 

I came out when I was in high school. There was a small group of people I would sit at lunch with and I figured it would be okay to come out to them. I wore my black I love Lucy shirt and now that I think about it, it must have been best to keep everything to myself. Only one of the four girls were accepting. The others called me names, and even told me they didn’t feel comfortable around me. Feeling wounded and scared, I told them not to worry, none of them were my type. 

As the day dragged on, the word got out that I liked both guys and girls. I counted how many times I was called a dyke – fifteen. I figured it was best to just keep it from my parents for as long as I could. My friends didn’t accept me, so my parents certainly wouldn’t. I would have fake Christian values shoved down my throat, of which I decided to pass. 

The secret of myself held me down as if I were in a lake. My sexual preference was the mucky bottom that had gripped at my ankles and refused to release me. Each passing day of this secret being buried deep within me was another moment that I was losing air. I became depressed, and turned to the internet. Maybe I was confused? No, that couldn’t be it. I remember dating a girl at fourteen and remembered I felt more alive than when I dated a guy. I felt nor.al during those four short months. I smiled more, laughed often, I was truly happy. But she wasn’t. She left me for her ex girlfriend and I wondered if I would find a girl who did that to me again, or even a guy. I decided to lay low, take the awful names as they came, and just live with my secret. 

I don’t know what prompted me to tell my parents that I preferred both men and women, but I remember when it came out it wasn’t pleasant. I remember trying to tell them I wasn’t confused, and they still didn’t understand. 

Fast forwarding to 2014, I found myself in a gas station, paying for a pack of cigarettes and four gallons of gas when suddenly the cashier saw a pin I wore on my jacket. It was the gay pride rainbow, and the bi pride pink, blue, and purple. As I shuffled for the $15 in my wallet, I heard it. “It’s because of people like you that gays get no respect.” No respect? People like me? I asked him to repeat himself and when he did, my heart dropped to my stomach. “You people date both genders…You can’t be happy with just one. My partner and I get no respect because of people like you.People who are bisexual ruin things for gays? I threw the money at his face and stormed off. Doesn’t the B in LGBT mean anything, or was I told wrong? I sat in my car, hot angry tears soaking my face. No support from my family, my friends, and now even fellow members of the LGBT community were metaphorically shitting on me. Why was being bisexual such a bad thing? 

In 2017, I don’t care what people think of me. I had been written off as confused for far too long, to the point I was afraid to date who I wanted. I am now in a relationship with a man that I love very much. I still find women attractive, but I am loyal to my boyfriend, and I am in love with him. I don’t use my sexual orientation as an excuse to date many people, though I will not cut down someone who does. You see, we are responsible for our own happiness, and I failed to see that. I allowed other opinions to make me think that I was broken. I’m not broken, I’m unique. I will stand my ground and making sure that nobody feels like they are not normal, that they are broken. You are beautiful, no matter who you are attracted to. 

4 AM

A lot happens at 4 am, usually I arrive home, change from my work clothes into pajamas, turn on YouTube and I’m on my way to winding down. However, lately that hasn’t been the case. 

YouTube plays in the background while I am slowly spacing in and out, as if I’m slipping from my skin, in search of answers to questions I haven’t even asked yet. I question my purpose, and wonder if I’m slowly losing my mind. 

At 4 am I refuse to find my reflection in the mirror to the left of my bed. 4 am is not the hour to admire your appearance. 4 am shows all the worry lines and dark circles, the redness in your cheeks from giving your all on your shift, it shows the worry in your eyes because you said the wrong thing when you meant something different. No, 4 am seems to be the hour of over thinking and wondering. 

I come back to earth, glancing at the man sleeping next to me. Tears threaten to break through and flow down my cheeks as I wonder how he does it. How does he handle someone like me? My constant snarky commentary, my constant need to be accepted, and my inability to ignore the hurtful things people throw my way. He watches my panic state while I figure up bills, even though we both know that our income is enough to pull through with extra each month. That’s just another thing I do, worry too much. 

His alarm will go off in an hour, yanking him from his slumber to send him off to work once more. He does it with no complaint. He turns slightly but doesn’t wake. Thank goodness, I’d hate for him to see me without the mask I put on daily. I pretend to be in control, when really there’s a storm brewing in my mind that never seems to calm. Between the constant worries and stress, I’m surprised I haven’t lost all my hair. 

I tell myself that one day things will be different, one day I won’t be as stressed and I’ll be able to ignore the hurtful things people throw my way. One day I’ll come home and be able to fall asleep without my mind roaming the world for knowledge that isn’t meant for me to know. Until that day I still come home and sit in bed until the alarm sounds, waking my boyfriend and ending my day. Until then, I’ll avoid mirrors and lose myself in thoughts at 4 am. 

Reality – Augmented part 1

Last year, around June, Niantic launched the much awaited, highly anticipated augmented reality hit – Pokemon go. For any 90’s child that grew up eagerly watching to see how Ash’s journey would unfold, this was a slice of virtual heaven. Finally we could catch them all. Finally we could be the very best. In my small town, there was at least fifteen to twenty people roaming about, finding the virtual characters, collecting much needed items, and of course, pitting their prized creatures against rival teams. It was perfect in every way, minus the many bugs that popped up. 

Sadly, with any craze, the hype train for Pokemon go started dwindling. For the active players such as myself this was a good sign. The servers crashed less, pokemon still spawned in abundance, waiting to be caught and trained, and less people to swoop in and steal your gym. 

With the warm weather we have been having lately, and the latest dump of generation two creatures, I grabbed a good friend of mine and went a couple towns over. The stops were plentiful and there were many different spawn areas for these creatures. We were in heaven! As we walked and collected items from stops, we deposited our eggs and anxiously waited for them to hatch. We found more generation two creatures than generation one, but we were far from upset. 

The best thing about this virtual world is that you can turn on a mode called Augmented Reality, which makes the game feel even more lifelike. It allows you to “see” the creatures in your phone, wherever your camera is pointed.

A wild ledyba appeared!

For instance, my friend and I returned to our small town and went to the stops we knew of. I turned on my AR mode, and suddenly busted out laughing. I begged my friend not to move as I calmed down. Unknown to him, he had a Ledyba sitting on his shoulders. 

Even though this game has seemed to have dropped off, I still play it, and find much enjoyment from it. Plus it makes me be active. If I want my eggs to hatch, I have to walk. While I hatch eggs I can collect items and catch all the pokemon! I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon, though the cold weather does slow me down. I am currently planning to get a group together during the summer to see how many silly pictures we can get! Until then, I’ll be collecting as many as I can! 

The Master Planner

With each and every day, the members of my home get a little more restless. The cats pace in front of the glass doors, impatient for their feathered friends arrival. My two children are filled to the brim with cabin fever, just itching for the sun to tickle the waters of their favorite swimming spot. My boyfriend and father express how they can’t wait to start their latest project. They plan on redoing our porch and opening up a wall in the living room, giving new life to the unloved side door. My sister, full of hopes and dreams, plans on moving this summer, down to the city where she can become whatever she wants. 

I find it a little odd that I’m not joining in on the celebration of the arrival of summer. The weather will be nice, perfect enough to walk around my small town. But I’m not one to be excited over things like birds or swimming, warm days, or even moving. No, I’m the mother, meaning I know my position. 

With every exciting feature there is hard work before hand. My boyfriend wants to take the kids to the zoo, meaning I have to find a couple days I can take off in a row, plan for us to sleep somewhere, plan the food and gas spendings, and of course whatever else is needed for the unpredictable mother nature. And of course for the car ride down I have to make sure the kids have tablets that are fully charged, their snacks are healthy and something they like, and let’s not forget the potty breaks. 

I’ve never been one to be excited over things, as I am the planner. I plan everything out, making sure that everything we need is something we have. By the time I’m done planning, it’s as if I’ve already been on this trip. Once you’ve gone once, it’s the same thing over and over. 

People often tell me to chill out, just take things as they come. I smile and tell them you’re right, then add it to my list of things to do. You see, I can’t just take things as they come. Perhaps that’s why I see the positive and the negative in every situation, I plan ahead. I’m often looked at as the “party pooper” since I second guess everything. 

I even second guess my drive to work. I know I have about 32 to maybe 35 minutes worth of driving, yet I still leave an hour before. I stop at gas stations to get a pack of smokes and a blueberry redbull – a combination that could easily stop my heart but never does – and the entire time I’m calculating. I’m spending about $10 and this stop has taken about 10 minutes off my driving time. The traffic is light for now, meaning if I maintain the speed limit of 55mph, I should be at work by…

“Ma’am? Was that credit or debit?” A voice snaps me away from my unnecessary internal debate. Shit. There goes another minute. I pay for my items and am right back to the debate. 

This is a never ending cycle. Plan, think, replan, rethink, plan again and again, undermine all planning by overthinking. It’s a wonder anything gets done with me. 

Some days I wonder how my boyfriend stands it, or how he has dealt with it for two years. The constant thinking, the constant replanning because the original plan is just not right. However he deals with it, I wish he would tell me. Instead, he just watched as I slowly descend into the pit of despair that only I have dug. He is a free thinker with an ability to start and finish something “when the time is right”. For him, the time is always right. I stare at my laptop on the floor, filled with half-assed poems and would-never-be-finished stories that played out like beautiful scenes in my head, but lost its glamour once it hit the keyboard. For me, the time was never right. 

My family tells me that my writing used to be so good, and I’d write all the time. It kills me to tell them that my inspiration and my motivation packed up and moved out when I became the boring planner and mother that I am today.

For some reason, I’m just afraid that writing will take away time from my growing family. The family of cats that eagerly await birds, or the two children that can’t wait to dance and splash in the warm water, or the men in my life that can’t wait to transform our home, filling it with all the potential they see in it. 

Meanwhile I will continue planning, I’ll continue being proud of every single one of them. After all, that’s what I do. Plan, worry, and be proud. 

The Safe Haven

First of all, I’m sorry for being absent for so long. Work has been picking up lately, and when I get home my mind is all but fried. To be honest I’ve been on auto pilot about ninety percent of this past week. The only time the auto pilot really kicked off was last night. 

My boyfriend and I decided to go bowling, something neither of us had done in a very long time. I’ll have you know he was better, but we had fun! On our way home, a good friend of mine called and invited me to a show at the gay bar a couple of towns over. I decided why not, after all the show was a spin off of my all time favorite, “Moulin Rouge”. 

On the way there, he gave me a brief rundown of the rules. Basically: no touching, stay off the dancefloor, and have fun. Simple enough, right? Yeah, no. I hate admitting to being wrong, but I was BEYOND wrong. 

We were about one scene away from the ending when the shit hit the fan. A straight guy decided that he wanted to dance, screw this skit that these people worked so hard on, and broke rule number two: stay off the dance floor. The emcee tried as hard as they could to get this moron to stop, even pulled his “attitude check” where the rest of the crowd aimed their loudest “Fuck You” to the guy, trying to get him to see that we weren’t standing for it. Finally he gave in, backing off the dancefloor, allowing the skit to come to an end. The emcee announced that the actors would be coming out for their final bow, and we watched them all file out one by one. My friend and I started cracking up when one of the actors stuck her middle finger up as she passed the moron who tried to trample on their hard work. We followed her lead, turning up our on finger salute to him. 

We figured things had calmed down once the deejay took over. Boy were we wrong. The group I found myself in decided to go dance and made our way to the white and red checkered floor. Suddenly we were all stepping on each other, due to lack of room caused by the one douche trying to ruin the skit. We shook our heads and before we could do anything, my friend was dancing on him, pushing him off the floor. 

It seemed like hours that we were out having fun. We finally decided our tired legs had enough, and took a seat. Unknown to us, we were sitting behind the idiot himself. As we were talking, we all gasped. The man had the nerve to throw his drink on my friend who danced him off the floor. Anger flooded me and I felt the alcohol induced rage present itself. The bouncers threw him out before I could find my footing, at which point I decided to have a cigarette. 

The man and his girlfriend d were outside the bar, shouting “bulldyke” “fag” and other unneeded comments. I lost my mind. I stormed in the building and nearly broke into tears. 

This place is a safe haven. This bar is for members of the LGBT community to come and feel safe around other people who are sharing the same struggle. We don’t come to your bar and scream “redneck” or “hick” or “white trash”. Leave us alone. 

I’ve learned something over the last few years. Not everyone agrees with your opinion. You can argue and scream, but they have the right to their opinion, as do you. Don’t come into a place and be against everything they do. The people in that area will come together as a team and make sure you never come back. Remember the DBAD rule. 

Don’t. Be. A. Dick. 

Lesson: you are entitled to an opinion, but don’t get upset when nobody else agrees.