Month: October 2019

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It’s the last day of the month, so I suppose I address two topics: National Coming Out Day and Halloween(ish). I’ve been thinking about the latter, and the former will be scheduled over the weekend.


All’s (s)hallow


Perhaps it’s because I’m finally on my upswing, but I went above and beyond on my costuming– or at least getting dolled up, and at least, compared to how I usually roll. I rarely indulge in creativity in my outfits beyond a silly headband, mismatched earrings, and a smart-ass graphic tee.


I couldn’t help but get caught up in the festivities and excitement. So I managed a wig, new headband, tights (which I actually regret, but they’re still cute), an outfit from the thrift store, and even a bit of makeup.


Consider this premise: tonight is the time we actually take off our costume and present our innermost self… how we see ourselves.


Maybe I am glitter and rainbows. Perhaps I’m some weird thing that wiggles antennae while wobbling in heels and you’ll just have to guess what I am, exactly. Possibly, I’m a fun meme. I am cute– hot, even. My eyes are alluring. My gender still non-existent, but still valid beneath the long synthetic hair. I am bright. I am. I am.


I wish I had the energy to do that more often.


I clean up nicely.


All Hallows


The sugar rush eventually ends, and I peel off the brightest layers of myself and return them to their inner rooms. For now. But I become somber. Death is a little bit closer than usual, and I generally associate October with endings as well.


It’s when the candles are no longer just for ambiance; I light them on my altar and think about my ancestors and those who are no longer with us.


I leave his favorite candy bar on the white tablecloth.


It’s when I ruminate on relationships and partnerships that I’m no longer participating in, for whatever reason.


I miss them and I mourn and I remember.


And I wonder. What impression would I leave behind, if any? How would I be remembered? How would I want to be remembered?


Memento Mori.


Would you remember this?

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I haven’t been talking much. Or doing much of anything, really, beyond existing and feeling pretty bad ab–


Sorry. “Pretty bad” is a terrible understatement.


I’m depressed. Capital D Depressed.


Alanis Morissette, “Tapes”



All these tapes in my head swirl around
Keeping my vibe down
All these thoughts in my head aren’t my own
Wreaking havoc


Alanis pretty much nailed it, here.


For me, this is how my depression starts. I get thoughts stuck in my head and they work their grooves in- some grooves are already there thanks to my anxiety. They echo and become very, very loud.


I’m on Week 3? 4? of them groovin’ and yellin’. And I can’t stop them.


Tis the season.


Flying Lotus, “Debbie Is Depressed”



Sittin’ in the dark and the day’s so bright
You wanna sleep all day and sleep all night
’Cause all those days just feel the same


If I had my way, I wouldn’t have moved out of bed all week. But, you know, job. And errands. And things.


Battling the voices in my head on a constant basis is tiring. Hours blur together. If it weren’t for smartphones I wouldn’t know it was [INSERT CURRENT DAY HERE].


I know there’s hope and there’s darkness before the dawn, and all of those things. But I’d still be wondering what time it is when it’s over.


Phoenix, “If I Ever Feel Better”



If I ever feel better
Remind me to spend some good time with you
You can give me your number
When it’s all over I’ll let you know


And a major obstacle a lot of depressed people deal with is self-isolation. They withdraw and don’t talk to anyone; calls, texts, and Discord messages go unanswered. Plans are canceled.


“I’m not feeling so great, lately,” I manage to say. If I say anything at all. It’s the truth: mental illness is still an illness. “I’ll get back to you later.” Maybe make plans for future!me and hope for the best.


Elements of Soul, feat. Mia Taylor, “Head Above Water”



Is there anybody out there
That feels the way I do?


I know I’m not the only one going through this, and I can’t help but yell into the void and hope it yells back. And it does, if the void has Internet access.


And on said Internet, I deliberately seek out music to simultaneously feel validated… but still not great. But that’s the beauty of music: it can be so accurate to your situation that you find yourself bawling your eyes out on your commute to work.


You feel validated but you still feel pretty shitty. But at least you know you’re not alone. If you’re struggling, know you’re not alone. If you are just laying in bed staring at the ceiling, know that someone else is doing the same thing.


I did that on my day off. I’ll probably do that tomorrow, too. But after, I have a party (to try) to go to.


Then I hope I get bumped up on the waiting list for a therapist soon.


And maybe next week will be better, and days start feeling like days again.

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Throwback Thursday: Originally posted to the VerboseTerse instance at Mon, 29 Oct 2018 03:45:51. This may also look familiar if you follow me on a certain social media site with a black background.


“Singular they,” I say. “Those are my pronouns.”[1]


Very recently I’ve come against some resistance with my pronouns… but not quite in the way you’d think. There was no malice, and confusion took its place.


For context, I’m American. And on top of that, I’m mono-lingual and the only language I’m fluent in is English. It took the other party voluntarily disclosing that English was their second language for me to have a “light bulb moment.”


And when I was confronted, again, with “but they is plural!” at a local gaming event soon after, I was able to recognize that same confusion.


“Hang on. Is English your native language?”


It was not.


Instead of refuting the many tired arguments as to why someone wouldn’t want to use Singular They[2], I was forced to consider a different tactic.



One major take-away from these interactions was more of a reminder of how classrooms can be horribly rigid in what they teach. Especially when it comes to English. When I was in the school system it never seemed to allow for nuances of different dialects and cultures, linguistic drift, and (yeah imma go here right quick) creativity. It appears that that hasn’t changed.


So ESL students go in the classroom, and come out with these preconceived notions of how English should work, only for the language itself to generally throw curveballs at you anyway.


Trust me. If it wasn’t going to be my Singular They/Them pronouns, it would have been something else. The Habitual Be. The Appalachian drawl. The ongoing war of Soda Vs. Pop. And English just being a fucking weird language on its own.


And no language is static unless it is dead.


My advice? Practice. Keep an ear out for cues. Immerse yourself in different, real environments. Do some readin’, here for example. Ask respectful questions.


Don’t beat yourself up when (yes, when) you screw up. We all do, even us native speakers, because there’s also the deprogramming of binary gender constructs to consider.[3]


Practice. It gets easier in time, honest.


And uh, sorry you had to learn this the hard way.



[1] I also use a set of neo-pronouns (zie/hir), but they are not the focus of this piece.


[2] “It’s not grammatically correct!” is a fairly common one, as well as the claim that “no one ever uses it.” But, you know, sometimes someone just uses that as an excuse to be an unaccommodating buttmunch.


[3] And this’ll be a whole can of worms for another time.

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This spacesuit-layer-thin
Is all that separates me from
My idle thoughts in the dark–
But I dream, propelled,
A shooting star
Away from everything.
Landside, I melt into my thoughts
Unrecognizable
As unknown quasars,
Unstable as three-star systems.
Gravity should
Discover and pull me free.

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It’s actually more boring than it sounds. I didn’t get lewd and I didn’t piss off thin-skinned misogynists.


I’m back on dating apps; I figured it’d give me an edge in addition to doing things The Old Fashioned Way– and because some days, my introverted little heart just wants to stay in bed and browse the Internet. I’ve also decided to branch out beyond OKCupid, since I wasn’t getting much headway there.


Four other apps later, I finally got on Tinder. Why the heck not? All the cool kids are on it, right?


And for a while, I had a blast. I had five conversations going. I swiped left on too many couples. I thought I’d get creative and link to unicorns-r-us.com before they got their feelings hurt trying to match with me. I educated someone about the whole non-binary thing. I had a brilliantly-worded explanation on how exactly I practiced polyamory and what I was looking for.


Within hours I was Error 40303‘d: banned. At first, I couldn’t fathom as to why I was banned! I’m cute! I was polite! I was upfront with my polyamory! Did I annoy too many Unicorn Hunters by not being so easy? Were people so hooked on serial monogamy that I was mass reported for being a non-mono hussy? Did I not send enough peach emojis? Did my Safe For Work muffin joke really not go over well?


No, I just forgot that spam was not allowed and any “.com” addresses on your profile is considered as such!


OKCupid has utterly spoiled me. (I have not one, but three links explaining why a certain subset of non-monogamy grinds my gears. But that is a whole other post.)


I was fine for a few days, even though I put in a lot of work into my profile, and I left my five conversations forever orphaned. I’m too slow on moving the conversation to other platforms, so unless they recognize me elsewhere I’ll never know how they would’ve meshed with me.


Then FOMO hit me. FOMO is “Fear of Missing Out,” because of what I said earlier: all the cool kids are on Tinder! Who am I not hooking up with or having a coffee date with or bonding over Mario Kart with right now because I’m not on Tinder?! I swear, I was fine, until my friend came across Someone We Are Mutually Interested In who seems super fucking cool and they sent a Super Like and that’s it, I’ve had it, let me back in!


So, in short, I ban evaded. And I will tell you that I did my homework only after the fact– while I did manage to get back on, there were indicators that I was suffering a worse fate: The Shadowban. No one can see you or your likes. Messages mysteriously don’t send. You don’t get the shiny gold circle thing going on. And it’s likely you’re on borrowed time before you’re just banned again if you didn’t jump through all the hoops to make sure Tinder servers didn’t recognize you.


And that included obtaining a new phone.


That was when I looked up from my old budget phone after three hours of Googling ban workarounds and browsing a certain subreddit dedicated to having the best profiles and more ban workarounds and deep analysis of how it all works and “why am I getting ugly chicks?” and I thought


What the hell am I doing?


In my moment of clarity, I realized I was doing the meatspace equivalent to “trying too hard.” I was caring way too damn much about a dating app. Especially for an app I only used until very recently. I got caught up in the swiping game, spending hours on this issue when I could have been doing literally anything else.


Like going back to bed.


Or playing Minecraft.


I’m taking this experience as my cue to go chill out. I was fine without it before and gosh darn it, people like me! I’ll just run into them at my favorite bar. We are not going to mention the five other apps still on my phone.


I deleted my second account and uninstalled the app. There’s a whole moral here about unplugging and Swipe Culture but whatever, I was invited to the cookout anyway.


All the cool kids are also elsewhere.

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This is a rough month for me. I associate it with not enough Good Memories and too many Bad Memories.


This Friday, October 11th (or is it Saturday?), is #NationalComingOutDay.


I came out once, on Facebook, a few years ago. Under a filter to people I felt would accept me. I still miscalculated.


I lost a friend.


It could’ve been way worse, but it still hurts a little. She was dear to me.


Here’s everything I couldn’t say in response to her last message to me… because she needed the last word so badly I was blocked. (You can infer what she said).


A little cleaned up, of course. But not by much.



Funny thing, about silence. It’s like an empty spot on a Mad Libs sheet. You can fill it in with whatever you like. But let’s set the record straight: I did not unfriend you out of jealousy.


I left quietly, because I’ve not a lot to say. We cannot go back to what we once were; I cannot continue our superficial banter, and you’ve proven to me that I cannot open up to you. I’ve tried, for what’s another acquaintance on the kiddie pool? But I’m older, and I grow weary of too much of that. I left silently, because I’ve little nice to say about people who can’t see beyond what 4chan and Reddit hate. I was silent because out of all the options, shutting my mouth was the kindest. Better you think we just grew apart and were a casualty of my biyearly FB cleaning, as it happens sometimes. And I remained silent because if you actually gave a shit, you would’ve asked how I was without the unfriending to kick your voyeurism into overdrive.


Another thing about silence is…
sooner or later, someone will start babbling to break it. Then you’ll
know how they really are.


And you just had to be a _________.
(Put whatever you like, there. I love Mad Libs!)


My initial thought was “Was that fucking necessary?!” But… You know what? I’ll let you have that. It’s on me for forgetting the maxim “hurt people hurt people.” And while I was merely taking a break from FB, I also guessed that you not knowing what I was up to would’ve driven you nuts. So I’ll own that.


Clearly, I struck a nerve. And I’ll no longer commend you for your maneuver; looking back now it was just straight-up pathetic, though calculated:


  1. You really are that shallow, using superficial insults against the people that stood up for me. And you knew that any slights against the people I care about, no matter how grade-school level, is one of the quickest ways to get a rise out of me.
  2. In addition to said shallowness, you managed to land a critical hit. All I’ll say is I’m not on a trajectory that’ll not pass people’s rigged expectations of me, and I’ve yet to de-condition myself of comparing my life to others. You really know how to twist the knife in one’s insecurities!
  3. You’re the very troll you accuse my friends of being. Try not to choke on the irony; now that my anger is largely dissipated I actually want you to live.
  4. Despite all of your warnings, turns out that the person that has done the most damage to me was you. You broke my heart. Even [name redacted] could not have accomplished that on her most destructive day… and no one else ever could. So take solace in that.


I assume I’m not giving you too much credit– you’re fuckin’ smart. But I gotta dock points from your final score for unoriginality. Oh goodness, sizism/lookism and a line borrowed from /r/TumblrInAction? Haven’t heard that before!


I’m just… reeling over the fact that someone so talented, so beautiful, and so capable of good things can be so… needlessly ugly and hopelessly shallow.


I guess we’ve mutually disappointed one another. I’m fine with that.


I’m not jealous. I pity you. As you continue to stagnate, only growing in your circlejerk of a sheltered pond, you’ll hurt more people like me and sabotage any potential happiness you may have with others because they’ll fail your narrow and short-sighted criteria.


And I’ll keep doin’ me, whatever the fuck that is.


There’s no point in wishing ill will, or gunning for friends. Besides, that’s not my style; I tend to default to the classics.


I’ll do better than you and wish the opposite: be well. Have a nice life– and you will. People like you always do, anyway.


But you can also go fuck yourself.



(I gave her a 7/10, by the way. She got me to reply. And I still think about it sometimes.)


I’ll write a more recent coming-out post this week. A happier one. Later I’ll reflect more on the positives:


I learned who my true friends were and realized what tangible support I needed, going forward. And I know that if people can’t accept me, I must lose them no matter what we’ve gone through together; it’ll hurt for a while but that is fine. And sometimes closure doesn’t happen and I have to accept that.


But I can still rant on the Internet. (:

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“I deal with my pain by writing.”


That is how the original draft began. This is what I said to my girlfriend an hour ago.


It’s still true.


And it’s been a week. A typical, stressful week: I had 17 dollars to my name until payday, work sucked slightly more than usual, that monthly hormone nonsense, and bad news.


I thought things would be okay. I got a new lamp for my bedroom. I had a date. I had another date. Payday happened and I could pay my bills. I know a little more of what I want to do with this blog. Living with my nesting partners is still going smoothly.


We received news that he was conscious and in a walker and had grits and coffee and did a few more tiny Facebook posts.


A part of me knew that the prognosis still held. I know that all too well. They gave my dad 6 months but he managed to stay with us a year longer.


But still I thought he’d be home again, drinking rum and recalling times when he had to pull out a Sharp Pointy to prove a uh, point.


When he passed on, I was on a date. I wanted to be a present as possible– I was preoccupied and 10 minutes late– when the date mentioned spiced rum and orange juice I had a feeling– I was still reeling from having to call 911 for someone going through heroin withdrawals moments before said date arrived–


(A stealth edit: The life/death juxtaposition still holds. You died, and I’m trying to live a little more.)


I’m sorry I was late.


The news came to me after finally digging and scrolling through Facebook’s shitty algorithm. The last of our rum was in a tiny cup on the altar being lit by one candle because I had a feeling.


I haven’t deeply cried again, not yet. I’ve had a week to prepare. So it may be another week before I do. Or maybe I’m not used to other people seeing me cry like that, at home.


I received a text from said date; they weren’t feeling a connection and wished me the best. But life goes on, even if it’s a little dimmer without a friend in it.


Even if we weren’t close, but were fire-forged in such a way that’s unique to people who haven’t got around to meeting in person, but still shined through to each other.


Sometimes family is chosen and the distance doesn’t matter.


Sometimes you don’t realize who your chosen family is until they pass away and you realize “friend” is just out of habit but not quite strong enough.


Sometimes a draft is almost perfect and enough:


“Knowing” is relative. We’re Facebook friends. We were in the same group. We had a lot of mutuals in common. … Their posts and presence always brought a smile to my face.


I don’t know what to say.


Other, better people have said it better.


I feel like I’m too late. All of my gratitude, my thanks, my love– I should have expressed it more when they weren’t on their deathbed and now they’re gone.


I never write on Facebook walls; I did a few days ago.


I love you. I’ll miss you. We all will miss you.


My world genuinely grows darker without you in it.


And anyone that says Internet Friends aren’t real? They don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about. Facebook just shrunk the world, that’s all. …This is impacting me as if we were only a short drive away.


Remember, everyone, you touch people. No matter how slight it is.


And as with every death, the emotional cycle: anger at someone so good being taken away, sadness at not doing more, utter fear of losing my loved ones, the reminders that sound like shallow platitudes but actually need to be said again and again, so we don’t forget.


Because it’s really easy to forget when you’re thinking about bills and feeding the cat and that damn neighbor throwing trash in your fucking yard and that date you wished worked out a little better or the supervisor you’ll have to deal with Monday.


Here are some of your reminders:


  • Love hard.
  • Tell people you love them. Often.
  • Reach out.


And no matter how small an impact, you still made an impact to somebody. Your passing will always affect someone in this world.

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Throwback Thursday: this was originally written Wed, 31 May 2017 01:00:50 +0000, on the VerboseTerse instance of this blog.


I wonder about you a lot, especially when I’m writing. I followed all of your blogs and keep coming back to my favorite posts.


Wondering things, like:


Do you still use the black and white composition books for journals? I’m afraid I’ve fallen out of use for them – the lines too wide and the notebook too big and cumbersome. Moleskeine seems to have won me over, but I’ve yet to find a notebook that gives me the same feeling those did. (I can’t even describe the feeling. Go figure. Probably Nostalgia’s older sibling.)


What about Sharpie? Do you have a favorite pen? I love the Papermate Inkjoy gels, but the RSVP pens are my forever faves.


Remember Livejournal? I was still there long after you left. Well I’m on Dreamwidth now, their latest fuckup being the last straw. I miss that Kao Kitty mood theme I associate with you.


I’m sorry blogging feels like work now when you’re also blogging as your work. (Wow, that’s a clumsy sentence.) I wish I had some advice. But I know what you’re going through. It’s been a long time since I’ve done designing or HTML shenanigans for fun. (And now that I have ye typical drudgery almost-9-to-5, I don’t have that excuse anymore. But, habits.)


You find it difficult to write sometimes, right? Me too. As you can attest to this quiet blog.


What about bullet journaling? Do you incorporate a system like that, the washi tape and 1,000 colord (sic) pens and markers and highlighters and stickers completely optional? What about just doodlin’?


Ever do any more poetry? I still do. I’m glad for it, and glad I haven’t fallen out of the habit. (Remind me to elaborate on this later, self.)


Well, anyway. Sorry for all the questions.


I hope you’re well friend. And keep writing.