Nightmare land

I stood in our room, tears fighting to release from their dungeon. I watched as you threw all of your things in a suitcase you swore you’d “bring back” to my father. Words bubbled in my throat, only to suicide on the floor as I opened my mouth. We had been so happy for the last three years…and suddenly you chose to go.

“You aren’t the same person as before,” you answered my unspoken thoughts. “you parade around like everything is okay, and when you come home we don’t talk. You just hide in our room under the covers.”

I want to tell you I’m sorry, that I’m trying to get better, but the words don’t come out. I finally free the tears as I watch all of our future plans fade into smoke. You turn to me and I can read all of your thoughts like a book, “I need someone stronger” “you stress too much for me” “I can never seem to make you happy”. I want to tell you you’re wrong, that after a day full of grey clouds you are my sunlight, but I can’t.

As you grab your well packed items, my heart shatters. This is really it, isn’t it. The day I have always dreaded, the day I become a memory. My tears flow at such an alarming rate, I’m sure any moment I will drown, but I can’t bring myself to say anything. I can’t beg you to stay, I can’t promise to get better. How can I get better when my sunrise is leaving, dooming me into a world full of grey skies and personal demons.

“You promised to stay…” I selfishly choke out. There I go again, playing the victim. In a calm voice you look at me and say “you promised to try,” before walking out the door.

I crash into the bed, now empty as I hear your car start, knowing now is the time to run after you. To say all the thoughts that were building a dam in my throat. My body refuses to move, but you don’t. I hear you pull out of the driveway for the final time. The tears have stopped flowing, almost to say that they are going with you. Why would they stay with a monster?

After a year I am feeling a slight bit better, and I return to my every day Life. Work in the morning, attending my son’s events at school, only to return home to my very lonely empty bed. It’s a never ending cycle. A monster can’t love, and it will never truly be happy.

My heart races at the thought of you, then breaks knowing I drove you away. I can’t help but feel like I’m in a never ending nightmare, until I hear your voice, I see your smile, and I feel your warm embrace. I don’t want to tell you about the events in the nightmare, I don’t want to hear promises that can’t honestly be kept. I turn to your side of the bed and hope to keep you there for just a little while longer.



This morning I was relaxing in bed, watching Todrick Hall’s “Straight Outta Oz”, when the following question crossed my mind: WHY. 

Now, before I get going on this, the question was not about the video. As a matter of fact, the video made me feel so many emotions at once, and it was truly a wonderful experience. If you decide you don’t want to listen to a whiny almost 26 year old complain and question things, I suggest you go watch that video. Yes, it’s over an hour, but it’s story will captivate you from beginning to end, and the tears will flow. Please, by all means, enjoy this journey. 

For those of you still with me, let me elaborate on the “why?”. As I was welcomed into Todrick’s masterpiece I noticed I was picking up on the lyrics more than usual. Let’s start with his song “Black and White”. It’s basically stating that we live in a world that wants us to dream, but the dreams better fit into today’s society. No dreaming of better, it needs to conform and be normal. Why?! Nobody in this world is normal, because there is no such thing. My definition of normal is someone who isn’t boring, they have random bouts of silliness. To my boss, normal is someone who is quiet, but not too quiet. To my coworker, normal is working out after work, remaining calm, and being slightly social. There, prime example of three different definitions of normal, proving normal does not exist. 

How about the song he sings about gun violence? Yeah, he talks about that. He’s saying that we need to protect each other from the pain and suffering that comes from careless, violent acts. Why, in 2017, is this still an issue that people cannot comprehend. If you want to have a gun, fine. But don’t be a fucking moron with it. Don’t wake up one morning and decide to kill someone. Is this that hard to figure out? And before you say that he’s talking about gun violence towards people of color, I urge you to educate yourself. Watch the video, hell I’ll even provide it for you, and notice the name Christina Grimmie painted over some graffiti. If you still don’t know who Christina Grimmie is, learn from Google. Or allow me to sum it up. Christina Grimmie was a young, aspiring artist. She started her career on YouTube, the same place Mr. Hall found his, and she found herself on the Voice, then found herself singing at her own concerts. If you noticed in my small summary of her the word was, congratulations. I said was because she was murdered. Why? Because someone with a fucking gun got a little trigger happy and couldn’t leave his weapon at home.

Let’s explore his song “Dumb”. This song has to be my favorite. He’s talking about artists flipping music left and right, with no heart in their work, and they make millions. He tried to be recognized for his talent, and because he is “made of burlap” people expect to hear rap from him. He also takes a glorious jab at women being less paid. In one song, he’s picking apart everything that is ignorant and outdated, and calling it what it really is, dumb. 

Why in the hell is all of this shit still a problem? Why do we sit by, quietly watching while hate is pumped into us. Why?! 

During one of the songs, “Expensive” I noticed something. Drag queens are walking down a runway, looking glamourus as all hell, and some are bigger than size zero. I started thinking that the standards society set for women may be just straight people being dicks. Now hear me out. Models are expected to be skinny, perfect, essentially a walking Barbie doll. But women come in all shapes and sizes, so why don’t models? I keep hearing “bigger women can model too” but the women aren’t that big! It’s still an issue of size! Now with drag queens? Oh honey, in the “Expensive” video, there are queens of all sizes, each looking phenomenal, and I realized that I was looking up to the wrong “women”. Why in the hell would I blindly worship a woman who counts calories, willing stays the size of stick knowing young girls are looking up to them? No baby, the drag queens are the true idols here. They know their beauty and they flaunt the hell out of it. Yes mama, that is who inspires me. So the question I have, why, in 2017 are will still allowing companies to market products on women the width of a number two pencil? Why should these companies be allowed to make strong, beautiful, intelligent women feel like they are worthless because they aren’t fitting into the cookie cutter beauty? Nah, fuck that. 

Why, why why? I don’t have the answers, and when I think I get close to a break through, everything explodes in my face. I don’t understand anything when it comes to why things are still an issue. I’m raising one boy to respect women are all sizes, to know women are the same as men, and to respect everyone, no matter how high or low they are in life. I’m also helping my boyfriend raise a daughter to know that she isn’t expected to stay at home and cook while her man brings home the bacon. She doesn’t need to be toothpick thin to be beautiful, and she uses her brain more than her looks in life. But what are we supposed to tell them when they ask us why? 

“Mommy, why are people saying women should stay in the kitchen?” “Courtie, why can’t my best friend feel safe coming out to us?” “Mom, why can’t a black man feel safe walking down the road?” “Courtie, why does a woman have to be so careful at a party, why can’t she have a good time and boys leave her alone?” 

What do I tell them? If you are a person who has problems with women, LGBTQ+, people of color, bigger women, or anything that doesn’t fucking involve you, tell me what I should tell my children. Tell me what to say when my step daughter is getting ready for her first drink at 21, and she is spending three days beforehand learning self defence with her father, only to come to me who teaches her to hold on to her drink. To make sure she is at a safe place, that she’s in a group, that of she feels like something is off to find an out. Tell me what to tell my son that is being taught by bigots and racists that it’s okay to hate people of different races or religion. Tell my son why he got beat up for standing up for his gay friend. Hell tell my son how much of a piece of shit his bisexual mother is, I’m sure that will go over real well. 

Tell me why this is still an issue. 

Tell me why we can’t fucking mind our own business and let others be happy. 

It’s 2017 for crying out loud. It’s time to put your nose back on your own face, and stop putting it in other people’s business. 

(Videos will be added later, once I get my laptop up to par once more.)

End rant. 

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.