So apparently, I had this crazy belief that death wasn't permanent. Not really, of course...but I have spent a good chunk of time lately pissed - absolutely PISSED - that I still have to deal with this grief shit every goddamn year...as though it was eventually just going to *poof* go away. Ten years ago yesterday (which was five days before Thanksgiving) my grandma hung herself. I didn't really grieve - I took care of everyone else. I accepted it (ha) and "understood" my grandma's choice. While it sucked a lot and I missed her, I couldn't handle the thought of judging her. She had obviously been through too much, and knowing that the lifespans in her family are crazy long, she'd probably have to live in this shithole another 40 years if she didn't take matters into her own hands.

I honestly couldn't understand why anyone would be mad at her. Until now. This year, the anger is finally kicking in and I am PISSED! And I'm actually pissed AT my grandma!

I had to get some shit out tonight, so I wrote this: (and p.s. Thank you blogger for working...been trying randomly to blog for over a year and this is the first time it has worked.)

I'm so TIRED of missing people
So tired of being the outcast
So tired of being pissed
because my people don't want me
or aren't there
So tired of being reminded
every goddamn year
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
Try just one more time, for me
I know its a cruel world
I LIVE it
Every motherfucking day
Including the day every year
when I'm reminded how dead you are
And the day every year
when I remember that my people
-your people-
don't want me
won't put up with me even for
one fucking day a year
-the one day we SWORE we'd always
come hell or high water
spend together
so that YOUR death wouldn't ruin it
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
Let's try another way
one that doesn't involve forever grief
Because seriously, how the fuck
did you expect any of us to deal with this?
Did you really think we weren't going to care?
or notice?
or spend the rest of our lives fucked up and lost in confusion?
Did you really think we were all going to wake up
Thanksgiving morning
-Fucking Thanksgiving???-
thinking oh thank God we don't have
to deal with that bitch today
we'd had about enough of her
"sweet'eart"s and
eggs and red dirt and
smooshy bathrobes and
unconditional love
I've had enough of that shit
to last the rest of my life
Well. Dammit. Your plan backfired.
We all woke up Thanksgiving morning
devastated
Our world had changed
What the fuck do you do with
your grandma
hanging herself
with a belt
in the spare bedroom
FIVE FUCKING DAYS BEFORE THANKSGIVING??
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
Damn that's a selfish thing to ask
I know you were hurting
I know you tried everything
I know you gave it your all,
and then some
I know you put up with this world
plenty long enough
I know you deserved better
and didn't have the tools to get it
But god dammit, this didn't fix
ANYTHING!
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
And learn to love this world
even though it's fucked up
Stay with us
even though we're selfish and stupid
and can't figure out that you need us
Eat your cookie dough for lunch
And buy us 5 lb blocks of cheese
And give squishy hugs
And just fucking be ok
with not enough
Get what you can out of life
on your own terms
Just put the fucking noose away!

Family...and Fear

I'm feeling a bit...ok A LOT!!!!!!!...spastic tonight. For some reason, I decided to find a bunch of family members on facebook and add them as friends. What possessed me to do this, I do not know.

What is this obsession with family? I am absolutely TERRIFIED that they will all reject me. Of course, I'm terrified that they'll reject me on principle (just because I'm me, and I have always been "defective"), but now they must also contend with the fact that I'm a (GASP!) lesbian! (Cue scary music)

Just waiting for rejection...whimper! Why do I do this to myself? Why do I keep trying to find this connection with people who share my DNA? Do I really think they'll ever accept me? Some of them have...but have they really accepted me, or are they merely tolerating me because I don't push them to define their feelings toward me? And why - WHYYYYYYY????????? - do I care?

Unconditional Love

I don't know how to write this post. There are so many pieces of this that there are no words for. My humanity is incredibly humbling in the face of this new information I'm hoping to impart to you...somehow.

I am loved. Unconditionally. I have never understood the concept of this before. I have never been loved unconditionally before. I have never believed it possible before. But it is...both possible, and happening.

About a week and a half ago, I had a terrible insight into my life...one which comes up from time to time. I have no people. "My" people - the ones I'm biologically related to - don't want me. I'm "the bad one" (i.e. the one who didn't keep her mouth shut). There have been others who have loved me...for a time. But I have no connection to them, and they all eventually leave, for one reason or another. Often, it's just time for them to move on...or time for me to move on. Nothing personal, just life. Of course, it always adds to the proof that I'm not good enough to be loved forever, even when I recognize that this is not really the reason they're leaving (or I'm leaving). It's just programmed in - I'm not good enough.

Now, there is ONE exception to this. My best friend. She has been around for 23 years now. I'm pretty sure she's not going anywhere. But still, her love is not unconditional. We have ended our friendship before, and we both know that we can end it again. It would suck. A LOT. It would be terribly painful to go down that road again, and is therefore unlikely that we will ever do so. But we COULD. Because it's conditional. As long as we both behave ourselves, and treat each other with respect and dignity, and avoid subjects like religion...we'll be friends for life. Not forever. Just this lifetime. And that's ok. Good enough. I'll take it.

So again, we're back at square one. I have no people. My people don't want me, and the only person who has ever stuck around long enough to know who I truly am, will stick around as long as we avoid our differences. I've lost other people (more than a few) who insisted that they loved me "unconditionally". It was never true. Again...I just never believed it to be possible. What does unconditional mean, anyway? It's ALWAYS conditional...right?

I fell into a deep, black hole for a few days. I tried discussing this with my Love. She couldn't comprehend, and was so deep in her own grief (brought on by her first holiday season without two loved ones...too much to lose in one year, if you ask me) that she was not able to comprehend mine. So, we went our separate ways, emotionally, for awhile. I tried to mask it, ignore it, find a way to be happy in spite of it...nothing worked. I was devastated (as I always am when I acknowledge this reality...I can pretend for so long, and then it always comes back to me...it is simply a fact of my life that I have no people, that I do not belong anywhere).

I need to skip over some of the events of this week-long ordeal, or this post will be long enough to fill a book. So, one night, we began to dip our toes into the possibility of discussing what was going on with each of us. It was TERRIFYING after a week of being absolutely CERTAIN that I do not belong in this family - or any other. I was poised for rejection, after having felt so rejected (which had little to do with my Love...everything she did felt like rejection, but she had no way of knowing this, and no way of preventing it, either). It was a difficult conversation, filled with fits and starts, aches, incomplete thoughts, misunderstanding, and immense awfulness.

Finally, we both went to bed. Even as terrified as I was, I braved the potential rejection that I knew could come from physical contact. I touched her hip. It was not enough. I needed to touch her skin. NEEDED to touch her skin. I moved her shirt aside, and cupped the curve of her hip in my palm. I felt her. My love. And I understood. I missed her. And I told her so. We both sobbed our relief at having found that bond again, having connected again.

And it grew. The understanding of what our bond actually MEANS, and exactly how deep and complete it is, took some time to understand. I began to talk, in messy, weird, probably incomprehensible fits of wild epiphanies. Of COURSE I belong. She is my soulmate. I am positive of this, as is she. We have known each other before, and we will know each other again. We have loved before, and we will love again. We belong together as neither of us has ever Belonged ANYWHERE before, or ever will again (except with each other). Even if we completely fuck up this relationship and never speak to each other again during this lifetime...we will find each other again. In the next world. In our next lives. In the Summerland. Somehow, some way, somewhere, some time, we will find each other again.

Because we are WE. Forever. No really. Forever actually MEANS something this time. Even if we fuck this up, we still belong together. And always will. Wow. I belong. And I know EXACTLY where I belong. This is unconditional precisely because IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT WE DO during this life...we will find each other again.

Now all we have to do is trust that. And we'll probably survive this life together just fine.

You know you're getting used to this lesbian thing when...

...the major part of your foreplay consists of sitting on the bed, winking at each other, and filing your nails.

Accepting Attraction

When I was little, my dad would come home with awful stories about "gay people"...like the time when the guy in the next stall in the public restroom was playing with his keys. According to my dad, the guy was obviously trying to make a pass at him. Which was, of course, frightening. Strange that my dad, my huge-muscled, intimidating, bear of a man dad, would be scared of a guy playing with his keys. Now, I don't claim to know anything about men's room ettiquite (although I do understand it is complex), so I can't say whether my dad was right. But honestly, why was it frightening? What's one little gay man going to do to my big, burly dad? Wink at him? Lick his lips? Make a sexual remark? Is any of that REALLY frightening?



Maybe I should backtrack a little and explain where my rant is coming from. On a forum I'm a member of, I read another poster discussing the fact that she's not attracted to EVERY female, nor is every gay man attracted to EVERY male. Just like straight people aren't attracted to EVERY person of the opposite sex. But that seems to be the assumption in some circles. If you're queer, your entire focus is sex, 100% of the time.



It got me thinking about my dad's huge fear of gay men. Now, I know my dad is an attractive man. But he's not drop dead gorgeous, not by far. He has a gut, he's fond of jeans and flannel, he has somewhat long, wavy hair. I can pretty much guarantee that not EVERY gay man is gong to be attracted to my dad, simply based on the fact that he's not everyone's type. Not to mention, why on Earth would any gay man WANT to sleep with, or even make a pass at, a man who hates gay people? It seems like that would be a pretty huge automatic turn off.

All this came much later, however. My first thought, as I read this woman's post, was that what my dad (and many homophobes) fear is absolutely not true...in fact, the opposite is true.

You see, when I thought I was straight, every man - EVERY man - was a potential mate. I wasn't truly attracted to them. The determining factor for whether I could handle a relationship with a man was...whether or not he was a man (and therefore acceptable to my parents/society as a partner). After an abusive marriage, I added "non-abusive" to the list. But that was it. I could honestly sum up my "type" by listing two things: penis, won't abuse me.

I dated ugly men. I dated toothless men. I dated drug addicts, immature "boys" who would never grow up, self-proclaimed nazi's, I even dated a guy who totally creeped me the fuck out, and who I was pretty sure would molest children if given the chance (ick! I can't believe I admitted that...but, I may as well be completely honest...I've come this far). I never dated a man I could fall in love with, because I couldn't fall in love with any of them. But I could fuck all of them. Or rather, they could fuck me, thereby making me acceptable, human, worthy...or some dumbed-down version of it, since I would/will never, ever be fully acceptable to my mother.

On the other hand, now that I have accepted my sexuality, I don't view many people as potential mates. I'm extremely selective. Aside from the fact that I'm in a relationship and have no interest in adding a third partner to the mix, I simpy am not attracted to every woman who crosses my path. In fact, for the first time in my life, I have a type! I actually GET what attraction is! It's not about finding someone who will sleep next to me, find me acceptable enough to go out in public with me, and (more importantly) be seen with me in front of my parents. It's not about a piece of paper that says we belong to each other, legally. When I look at a woman, any woman, I can tell you immediately if she is attractive to me. I could never do that with a man. The question of "is he attractive?" stumped me every time. Questions like, "did you see that hot paramedic???" were greeted with, "no, I didn't notice". I thought I was attracted to any man who "liked" me as more than a friend. But I'm not REMOTELY attracted to women in that way. If a woman winked at me, and she wasn't my type, I would have no problem "letting her down easy". I still - STILL - have a hard time with not feeling obligated to return every single pass made at me by a man.

So...this idea that gay people think about nothing other than sex is just ridiculous to me. It's exactly the opposite for me. I was attracted to every man...when I thought I was supposed to be. But now that I'm free to be whatever I AM, the field has narrowed considerably. I'd never consider sleeping with a woman I wasn't attracted to. Why should I? My parents are going to hate me anyway, so fuck 'em. Might as well hold out for a Goddess on Earth. (It didn't take long to find one, but still...I wouldn't have settled for less.)

Feminist Wife / Slave to Patriarchy...yeah, whatever, same thing.

Originally posted July 22, 2010

I've had so little time in front of a computer for the last 7 months that I haven't bothered with either of my blogs. I've had so much on my mind lately that I decided I'm going to somehow find the time to come here and write something. It's been so long that I forgot which email account I was using, and had to reset my password...snicker...but here I am!

I do a lot of processing in my car...I drive a LOT. My drive each way to work is about 40 minutes, and driving to and from my love's house each week takes 45 minutes to an hour. That gives me approximately 7 hours per week to think. Having no stereo in my vehicle is a huge incentive to do such thinking, too.

So, I was driving and thinking recently. I ordered this book from paperbackswap called "From Wedded Wife To Lesbian Life", and I'm finding myself in the pages. What had me thinking during my 40 minute drive to work was a story of a woman who was a feminist, very independent in her marriage, and once she left and came out of the closet, she realized that despite all her insistence to the contrary, she had spent her entire life trying to live up to a patriarchal ideal.

Yep, that would be me.

Oh goddess no, not me...never! My husband was a feminist, too! I mean, he never actually said that...and he never really spoke up about sexist comments his friends would make...and he never really defended women when men were harassing them...and he never exactly DID anything that would sorta "prove" that he's a feminist...but he supported me. That makes him a feminist...right? Sorta?

Yeah, no. Notsomuch.

After I left my first [abusive] husband, I did everything I could to distance myself from anything that might suggest a patriarchal system...family, marriage...I learned about abuse, I spent 4 1/2 years immersing myself in self-help books, support groups, literature, you name it...all to avoid the same pattern.

Then, I met my second husband. He wasn't abusive. He was hilarious. He and I have similar personalities, we get along great, and the only problem I could see was his INTENSE, ALL-CONSUMING need to procrastinate. He was...I can now say, honestly...the best I thought I'd ever find. I settled. That makes me so sad for him. But it's true. I loved him, and still do, as a person, as a friend, as a nice guy that I'm proud to have in my life...but I was never in love with him.

I didn't believe in marriage and didn't want kids when I met him. Eventually, I developed an almost desperate...no, not almost...a desperate need - NEED! - to have our union on paper. Marriage was my idea. Me, the feminist, anti-patriarchy, anti-marriage, anti-societal "norms", free woman...I NEEDED marriage. I was terrified that my "good enough" catch was going to leave me, that I wasn't good enough.

Oh gods, this is painful. To admit, to write, to recognize! To finally understand that this was where I was coming from! I didn't understand at the time why I felt so compelled to convince him to love me, to marry me, to start a family with me...he was reluctant. He would deny it til he was blue in the face, but it took him a year and three months to tell me he LOVED me...just those words, no commitment, no long-term NOTHING...just "I love you" took THATLONG. My ass he wasn't reluctant. I refused to see it. I'd just tell him, "if you don't hurry up, I'm going to leave you"...so then, he'd hurry up, to prove that he wasn't reluctant after all. Pfft. Just TRY and tell me this marriage was meant to be. Ha!

I was desperate to fit into society...under the auspices of having a "feminist" husband. I was a free woman...with a wedding ring. I was liberated...the legal document that tied me to another person was just for the legal rights...right? I'm ashamed to admit this now, having learned a little about the world of adoption...but I was terrified to get pregnant (and he made it impossible anyway...long story that I probably won't delve into in this blog)...so, wanting that whitepicketfence American Dream family, we decided to adopt (and by "we decided", I mean that I talked him into it...just like everything else).

Thankfully, we were never chosen. It horrifies me to look back on that time in my life - my entire relationship with husband #2 - and recognize how caught up I was in a patriarchal society, the expectation of my parents and community that I would be "normal", straight, that I would have a nice little house in a nice little neighborhood with a nice little husband and some nice little children that I would be a perfect cake-baking, soccer team Mommy to...like forever. The fact that I had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA (at least, not that I was willing to admit to myself or anyone else) that I'm a lesbian, or that I was disavowing my own convictions by my actions, that I just kind of put on my blinders and focused on the end goal of achieving this family unit that I have never in my life had any interest in having (save for the purpose of appearances)...it's insane. I was working toward the opposite of my life goals, having convinced myself that this path was right in line with what I wanted.

How did I convince myself that THAT was who I am? And WHY?

Peaceful Reunion...NOT

Originally posted January 5, 2010

Sorry I've been so quiet lately. It was a very busy winter break...I was here, there, and everywhere.

A few nights ago, I had a dream that I thought was going to change my life. I was wrong. In this dream, I lived with my parents...peacefully. I don't remember details of the dream, but the only thing that matters is that we lived peacefully. I thought that meant that I would find a way to have a good relationship with my parents. After all, the house represents the self...so, in my dream, I found a way to live peacefully, sharing my self with my family.

Later on that day, in a weird coincidence, I ran into my little brother at the store. I just happened to be visiting my home town to see some friends, and boom, there he was. It was a short visit, but a good one. My brother is always respectful of my boundaries. He doesn't like it, but he believes me, trusts that I'm doing what I need to do, and backs off when I ask him to. So, I got to see my brand new nephew, my new sister in law, and then I got to remind my brother that I still needed time. He was cool with that, and we separated on a good note.

I went home feeling like it was time to reconnect. Time to find a way to have a relationship with my parents...and I felt tiny inklings of confidence that I might be able to find a way to live peacefully with them in my life. Ugh. Sometimes I hate hope. Right now is one of those times. I got myself all worked up, believing in the possibilities...and then BAM! Fuck. Whatever, man. Just, whatever.

So through this whole time that I haven't been speaking to my family (about a year and a half), my mom has tried to find little ways to get in touch with me, even though I have asked that they not contact me. Every time I get a phone call on my ex's phone, or an email sent to my work, or an invitation to be friends on a social networking site, it just reminds me that my mother has absolutely no clue how to respect another human being's boundaries, and I'm much better off just not being around her. (I have an issue with all of my family members for different reasons, but I'll be honest: my mother is really the only reason I don't have ANY contact...if it weren't for her, I would just deal with the family dynamics, and I probably would have learned to speak my mind many years ago.)

So, while I was still in my happy place, thinking I might be able to reconnect with my family, mulling over what I would say in a letter...my mother found yet another sneaky way to violate my boundaries. I wouldn't add her as a friend on facebook...so she figured out that if she posted a message on my aunt's page, I would get it.

Well...there went all my hope...all my thoughts of a peaceful reunion...again, whatever, man. Just fucking WHATEVER! Maybe a little boundary violation doesn't seem like a big thing, but like I've said before, taken in context with my mother's inability to respect other human beings, her tendency toward abuse, etc...this tiny little boundary violation was a huge wake up call. I simply can NOT have a safe relationship with my mother. And as long as she and my dad are married, I can't have a safe relationship with him, either. And my brother still lives at home, so he's out, too. And my sister...well, she hasn't spoken to me in years anyway.

Fucking whatever, man.