Friday, January 25, 2019

Honor your process (aka GET OFF THE INTERNET ALREADY)


Quick note to remind myself and anyone else going through heavy shit that it's still okay to get annoyed.

It doesn't mean you've lost sight of what's truly important, it just means the ratio of trolls to logical people in the universe (ESPECIALLY ONLINE) is seriously messed up.

Logic is dead, you guys. RIP. Lord help us all.


For reals, though, you're just gonna start hearing squawks about "LEFT!" and "RIGHT!" and "TRUMP!" and "OBAMA!" and you have to honor the fact that you're fragile right now and will cut a bitch, which won't be beneficial for anyone, and especially not for your current mental state.

Say it with me now: "this is not worth my time."

Because, and this is where that big picture swings back on in and cracks you on the back of the noggin, life is too fucking short to argue with imbecilic boneheaded twatwaffles on the Internet.

That is all, my darlings.

Go be your beautiful selves and live your imbecilic boneheaded twatwaffle-free existence in peace. LOVE YA.


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Sunday, January 6, 2019

The trouble is

This has literally been my expression for the past three months. #pain

The trouble is you think you have time. ~ Jack Kornfield, Buddha's Little Instruction Book

If there's one thing 2018 taught me, it's to buy my alcohol in BULK.

Kidding and not kidding.

The past year taught me that there's never enough time, and there never will be. For one, time as we know and measure it doesn't actually *exist.* The concept of years and months and hours and seconds and days and lifetimes is just a way to keep our overactive brains from flying off into crazy land.

For two, no matter how great things are, the universe is always winding up for another gut punch.

For three, you're an imperfect and flawed human being, and as such, you're never going to be able to "do it all," no matter how much time you have.

I have to ask myself as we start the steep upward descent into another unknown roller coaster of a year ... what am I doing with all my "time"? Why the hell would I pour it into fake relationships, appeasing judgmental assholes, or caring what Random McRandomface thinks?

I mean, we're all LITERALLY, RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND, hurtling toward death at an unknown rate of speed.

So what do we do?

Judging by the number of Facebook fights with Great Uncle Belzathar going on 'round here, I'm fairly certain we all just try to forget about it.

Of course, we can't be focused on our respective impending dooms every second of every day. We'd go nuts. I'm all for pushing the whole concept to the deep dark recesses of my brain, but here's the trouble - when we forget about our own mortality we often forget to live, really live.

It's that whole cliche -- if you knew you were going to die tomorrow, what would you do right now?

Because the thing is, you don't know. (I REALLLLLLLY HATE IT WHEN CLICHES ARE ACCURATE.)

Of course, there's a ditch the other direction, too. If nothing matters, why care at all? Why shower and shave your legs and do your dishes and clean up after your kids and eat healthy food and exercise and put on eyeliner and take out your trash and try to be a decent fucking human being?

Honestly? I have no clue.

All I know is that those are the things that are keeping me sane right now, while my brain grapples with the idea that someone, even the most vibrant person you know, can be there one second and gone the next. I need the mundane and the routine and the normal. I need to remember that I'm here, in this mess, at this time, and that there's nothing I can do about what has happened before or what's going to happen after, but I can be here.

Right here, right now, listening to the printer spit out a "completion" letter to my brother as one of the final steps in a grief recovery class.

I don't know how the fuck I got here, but dammit, here I am. #swearybuddha

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Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Honesty is the best ...

... way to freak people the fuck out.

There are absolutely times when you don't *need* to be brutally honest about something, especially true in cases involving your OPINION.

But guess what? Grieving the death of a loved one is not one of those times.

It's funny that the people who are disgusted by the slimy grimy ooey gooey work of knitting a smashed-up heart back together are almost ALWAYS the people who think the definition of "honesty" means sharing their opinion like it's God's truth.

"You really shouldn't share that, you know. It's alarming."
"There are some things you should keep between yourself and the good Lord."
"Good heavens, don't say that! What will people think?"

(All excellent examples of OPINIONS)

What the fuck is up with this, anyway? I experienced it when living through and talking openly about my battles with postpartum depression a la "I can't believe you would share that online," sorts of comments. <<< Oh look, ANOTHER OPINION.

Since I've ridden this merry-go-round before, I'm just gonna say it: you get to say what you need to say, feel what you need to feel, and do what you need to do to get through whatever shit sandwich life is currently shoving down your throat.

Just know that if you're willing to get into the nitty gritty difficult difficult lemon difficult work of facing your issues instead of sweeping them under the rug like a good little robot, you will make a lot of folks uncomfortable. Most people are terrified of the truth. They want the polish, they want the spin, they want the bite-size manageable pieces ... and heaven forbid you forget your Instagram filter on that, dear.

"People" are not who I'm doing this for, though. I'm doing it for me, first and foremost, because I recognize and acknowledge you can't heal a broken bone if you pretend it doesn't exist. Secondly, if there's even a smidgen of hope my experience will help someone else in a similarly fucked up situation, it's worth it. Way back when I published my pieces on PPD, I said if it helped even one person, it would be worth it. And guess what? It was.

Everyone experiences loss in, and I'm sick and tired of society's ass backwards beliefs about the grieving process. I will not duct tape my shattered heart back together and prance around like everything is lahhhhvvvvelllyy, dahling just because society tells me I should. 

Nopey nope nope.

I'll leave you with one of my very favorite passages from The Velveteen Rabbit ...

“Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'

'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit. 

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.' 

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?' 

'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.” 

― Margery Williams Bianco, The Velveteen Rabbit

Let's get real.
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