My Truth

My anxiety has been worse lately. I'm not exactly sure why. My husband thinks it could be just a release of emotion. He says that because I've been operating in "emergency mode" for a while now that my brain was basically just shutting shit off. And now that things are returning to a bit of normalcy that my brain feels like it's safe to stop ignoring some of its strongest impulses. 

That makes sense to me. Doesn't change that things are sucking right now, though.

I've had three panic attacks in four days and my "day off" wasn't a trip to Disneyland. Some attacks I can classify as minor but the one I had on Friday was a fucking volcanic eruption of panic, anxiety, anger and depression. Every single ounce of control that I normally grab onto out of sheer fear absolutely left me. Impulses raged like I haven't felt in years and echoes in my head of conversations past worked at chipping away my self-made esteem. 

Life right now could be much harder, I one hundred percent get that. I just had a close friend lose a parent, a past work colleague is in the process of losing one as well and my very best friend in the world is also going through a lot of family health issues. There are a butt-load of things that could've gone much worse but it's possible that I'm finding out my brain can only process a certain number of calls to the paramedics within a certain period of time.

Anyway, I'm not really looking to talk too much about that. More than anything, I don't want people 1) feeling sorry for me or 2) thinking I want people to feel sorry for me. Pity isn't something I'm comfortable with. I'm not honestly sure what I am wanting to talk about right now. I know that there are words inside of me looking to get out, I know that. And I know that I'm hoping something that I put on this page is something that someone else will read and find help in, even if it's simply being able to say, "I am not alone."

I know that I developed impulses as a kid that I hid from everyone I knew that helped me cope with my pain. And I also know that when I dabbled in suicidal thoughts at that same age, I decided that I was just being a trendy adolescent and that there was nothing I really needed to worry about despite these other impulses that were very real and that I was very much acting on. 

I know that these impulses got stronger as I got older and that the first time I ever had a witness, it became an indelible and scary memory -- for both of us, I imagine. I know that I've worked very hard to not give in to these impulses but I also know that there are people incredibly close to me that I've never shared them with and that when I made the very adult decision to see a psychiatrist that I never mentioned this to her whatsoever. 

Part of me is ashamed, I know that. Part of me doesn't want to worry loved ones, that's for sure. Part of me truly thinks that my problem isn't important enough to mention to a doctor. And the rest of me can't quite make my square peg fit into the round hole that is self-harm, even though I'm guessing the pegs are squishy and foamy and can be successfully molded into many shapes. 

My husband and I screwed up after our wedding and so I haven't had health insurance these past six months but that will be changing next month. So, I'm hoping that I can start healing again once June starts. So, you know, Wednesday. 

I realize how greatly my life has been affected by this, and not just my past life but my future. These problems of mine are one of the reasons why, despite loving the shit out of all the kids close to me, I've set the idea of children to the side. I know so much of what plagues me is something other people in my family have dealt with and I just can't seem to make myself okay with tempting fate and making a child of mine feel like this. The idea that my son or daughter would cry themselves to sleep at night without knowing the reason why, devastates me. The idea that they would think they were worthless even once, let alone on a regular basis is one of those things that I can't seem to get past. 

In a lot of respects, I feel like the best way for me to be a mother is to make sure that I don't pass this on. I feel like these potential children of mine don't deserve to live a life plagued with pain and fear. 

And all of that is just based on what's going on in their own heads. Add on top of that the stigma from the world about mental illness and it just seems like the best thing I can do for my kids is to not have them. I don't wish this on anyone else, let alone the very people that I would love most in life. 

And, yes, the stigma is getting better. Much better. But it's still there. There are still memories I have of a friend telling me that I was foolish for deciding to go to a psychiatrist because he followed the Tom Cruise method of health care. At my lowest points, my brain still loops through a conversation about suicide I had once where I was told in no uncertain terms how selfish I was for even thinking about the topic and that anyone who considers this doesn't deserve the life they have. This conversation actually played very heavily in my thought process this past Friday and despite the fact that I know I shouldn't, the words still echo in my head and try to convince me that they're true. That even though I was reaching out for help, I somehow don't deserve to live. 

I don't want to be the reason that anyone is ever told these words. I don't want to have the power to prevent this pain and then not use it because of some societal rule that married people should procreate or even because of some desire I have to see if my kids would be the kindest, funniest, most creative kids in the world as I think they would probably be (just based on how awesome my husband and I are). 

I feel like the responsible thing for me (and just for me, I don't know anyone else the way I know myself) is for me to stop my cycle here. I think I would be a good mom and I think this decision sort of solidifies that. And I think that somewhere inside of me, I've always known this was how it was going to be. And that's why I've spent my entire life channeling my voice as a writer, to give anything of myself that might be worth anything to the world. 

And I know this might sound pompous, like I'm saying the world would benefit from my wisdom and compassion but in some respects, I'm just proud of myself that I can say that statement with a straight face. At my darkest moments, I taunt myself by repeating that I don't deserve to be alive but if I can say that the world is a better place with me in it then maybe irreparable damage hasn't been done. Maybe it's still possible for me to not let this disease win and to be in more control of the voice inside my head. 

My husband and I have always said that if we get any surprises, we're just going to go with it. That if fate determines things that we weren't setting out to do or be, that we'd trust in fate and embrace our new roles happily. And that's still true. Neither of us is a baby, though, so I don't really know what those chances are especially without trying but I'm still bleeding annoyingly once a month so game is still technically on. 

In conclusion, I have no idea if anything I said here means anything to anyone. I have no clue if my words or thoughts can help anyone else in a similar situation or position. But I do know that if you're reading this and anything I said sounds familiar to you, that you're not alone. I know that it might feel that way but you have a friend out there in me. I know some of what you're feeling and above all, I know the struggle you go through every goddamn day. And I know something else. I know that you deserve to be happy. I know that no matter what goes through your head that you shouldn't be punished for being in pain. And I know that you want help, even if the idea of help scares you in every fiber of your being. 

So, please keep asking for help, if you can. From friends, from family, from clergy or a hotline. Or me. Just keep asking. Because you are not your worst fears. You are not the thoughts that creep into your head at night. You are not nothing. You are amazing and special and unique. And the world deserves a chance to get to know you and maybe, just maybe, be changed for the better just by you being a part of it. 

National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 

1-800-273-TALK (8255)

http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

God Doesn't Make Mistakes

I'd like to talk for just a minute to my religious and faithful brethren out there. No matter who you pray to or what God you worship -- I'm not trying to single any faith out here. 

There's a statement, an idea, that I've heard all of my life and I'm hearing it being thrown around a lot right now. Most of you can guess the topic which brings out this statement but I'm making a point to not even address the statement in a particular context. I'd just like to talk about the statement itself. 

First off, I'd like to just say that although I'm no longer religious, I don't have a problem with the concept of this statement, just for anyone thinking that I'm looking to pick apart a common religious sentiment just for the hell of it. 

This is not what's going on. This is just my half of a discussion that I'd really like to be a part of. And the discussion involves this statement right here:

GOD DOESN'T MAKE MISTAKES.

Now, most of the time when people use this -- or at least when they shout it boldly from behind their computer screens -- it's to talk about how something we humans are doing to mess with God's plan. And that's the use of the statement that I'd like to address here. 

I would like to quickly preface here that for the sake of this discussion, I'm asking that we all just jump on board with the concept of God. Afterwards, feel free to believe what you like God-wise. We all got that sweet, sweet free will (from God, if that's what you believe) to make our own choices about our lives and I'm not looking to change any of that.

So, anyway. People, let's talk about God not making mistakes. 

The thing is, you're right. God is God. If God is the all-powerful being we believe God is, God does not make mistakes. God has a plan. God doesn't just "wing it". And if God does, the winging goes well. God is God. 

So, here's my two cents:

How dare you question God's plan? How dare you, a mere mortal, decide what is part of God's plan and what isn't? Who are you to decide what God has intended for us? How are you, human, able to so decipher the complexities of God?

Is it instinct you're using? A hunch you have that something you're witnessing doesn't seem "kosher" to you? What exactly are you using as your basis for telling people that GOD DOESN'T MAKE MISTAKES? 

Because you're no more special than the rest of us. You have no finer link to God than everyone else. God made sure we all had the direct dial line. And it's pretty incredible that you feel that you have better knowledge and vision as to what God has set in motion for us.

And that -- that arrogance that you possess that makes you think that you have the ability and the right to pick apart and judge God and God's plan -- is a sin. And it's a big one. You haven't refused to go to bed when your parents tell you or decided to watch the game instead of paying a visit to God's house, you're questioning God. 

Because, you know what? And this is for real. I mean, really for really real. Please take this next sentiment very seriously. You have no evidence that anything that is happening -- at any time -- is not part of God's plan. In fact, God is pretty fucking powerful, so the idea that someone could actually come along and interfere with God's plan is a little fucking silly if you're a true Believer. 

So, I guess the question for you is: Are you a true Believer? Are you truly among God's faithful? Because each and every time you question God like this, you're essentially saying "you fucked up, God. This shouldn't be happening. Man is more powerful than you and can change your will whenever he or she likes." Is that what you're saying? Is that what you're trying to tell God?

You are all right, GOD DOESN'T MAKE MISTAKES. That's an impossibility for a Believer. So whatever you're questioning, whatever it is that seems so ungodly to you, understand that it's your lack of faith in God's plan leading you to these statements. Instead ask yourself:

What's God trying to teach me?

What's God trying to show me?

How is God making this an opportunity for me to show my strength and love in God's plan and for all of God's children?

Because the thing is, God doesn't make mistakes. God always knows. God is everywhere, in everyone and in everything. God offers us the chance to grow in every situation we're in: in love, in compassion and in understanding. 

As human beings and Believers, we need to stop questioning God. We need to stop pretending that we can ever possibly understand God. If we believe that God is real (and at least for the sake of this blog that's what we're doing) and that God is where we all come from, how could we possibly wrap our heads around everything that God is? It's just insulting to God to even imply that's possible. 

And no true Believer is ever looking to insult God. 

So, please, if you're a true Believer I ask that you stop using the statement GOD DOESN'T MAKE MISTAKES to tell other's that what they're doing is ungodly. Because, quite frankly, you have no idea. And maybe it's time we repurpose this phrase and use it at face value and the next time you witness someone passing this kind of judgement onto another person, you can quietly tell them "listen, man. God doesn't make mistakes. This is all part of The Plan."

Tough Love Week -- Native Americans

I'm feeling really sick today but I wanted to try something that I call Tough Love week, where each day I broach a topic that affects me personally that I may have been avoiding a little bit, as to not piss off people close to me (or in my vicinity). Or at least that's the idea. But, hell, it's Tuesday so technically I've already missed the first day of Tough Love Week so who knows where I'll end up with this thing!

This wasn't the topic I was going to start off Tough Love Week with but it seems the best choice for the situation I'm in, since I'm not really in the mood to sugar-coat anything, especially something I feel is a topic that shouldn't even remotely be a fucking thing anymore (or technically ever). 

So, let's hit it, shall we?

Why in the fucking hell do we still think it's okay to be completely and totally aggressively racist to Native Americans? And how is it that we refuse to even acknowledge the very real truth of this statement?

I mean, The Washington Redskins (fuck you, very much) are literally going to the Supreme Court to argue that their fucking team's identity is apparently more important than an entire people's identity. And, honestly, I can't even fucking wrap my head around the goddamn idea of this. Which is why I'm swearing even more than normal.

What in the actual fuck is wrong with people? How do you honestly think that your sports team means more than real human beings? Seriously, like I want an answer to come from the wind or something. I want someone somewhere to actually answer me right now and have that answer be carried through fucking magic or something and be spoken aloud to me as I sit here typing. Because that's how fucking messed up this whole situation is -- it makes one fucking insane. 

And here is where this topic hits close to home for me. I grew up in Cleveland, Ohio. Land where this used to be a thing:

Yeah, there he is all huge and shit. Just staring you in the face with his cherry-red skin, huge-ass grin and other lovely accouterments. Do you know how many people I've heard wax fucking poetic about this violently racist image? And the thing is, we know perfectly well that you don't need a goddamn emblem to identify with your home team. We identify with the Browns pretty fucking amazingly and they have no "logo", no cheerleaders, no identifying marks on their helmets and hardly any fucking wins. Yet, we're still so vehemently loyal to that team that when Art fucking Modell tried to move them to stinking Baltimore, we sued his piece of shit ass and told him that he could take his fucking players anywhere he wanted but that team and everything that goes with it wasn't his to move. 

But, for real, I have heard so many goddamn people talk about Chief Wahoo like he's a real goddamn person. Like his ethereal existence is more fucking important than every single one of the people that he has been tearing down with that toothy motherfucking grin of his. 

You know what? Here's some real talk for anyone who is still sore about Wahoo being removed from the Indians roster of identifying characters:

You are an asshole. Chief Wahoo doesn't exist. He's not real. I don't care how much he's meant to your existence and childhood. He's fucking racist and he should have never, ever existed in the first place. Saying that he means something to you is like saying that Ronald McDonald is a buddy and that if he ever goes away, you'll fucking cry yourself to sleep at night...IF clowns were a race of people and Ronald McDonald was a fucking offensive example of their people and culture. But it's not and he's not, so crying over the McDonald's mascot would actually be less embarrassing and stomach-turning. 

And that's just Chief Wahoo. That's nothing to say of the fact that the team is still called the Cleveland Indians. It's still named after a fucking race of people. AND it still keeps the term "Indian" in our vernacular when that, in and of itself, is fucking racist.

I mean, for real, could we all fucking stop pretending that Columbus was awesome? I'm not trying to say that he was a moron. I didn't know him so I have no idea. But he did mess up his little boat trip. And he did still claim to discover a land that already had fucking people there. And he fucking renamed those people that didn't actually need new names AND he renamed them the laziest fucking name he could, probably to make himself feel better over the fact that he didn't end up where he intended. 

And we celebrate him.

Just that alone should be enough info to let go of the moniker that he established and pay just the tiniest bit of respect to both Native Americans and actual Indian people. Let alone, I dunno, maybe getting rid of stupid-ass Columbus Day. And for anyone seriously bummed at losing a federal holiday, we can easily just make Veteran's Day a federal holiday. It's only a month away from Columbus Day and, I don't know, I kind of think our vets deserve a national holiday more than some lazy-ass racist who has marked our country in such an embarrassing and indelible way. 

And then there's our country's other BIG thing. And I know that a whole shit ton of people are going to get so fucking mad here. People I know. People I don't know. People who have never even heard of me will feel my words brush against their cheeks and automatically hate my very essence. 

Let's talk about Thanksgiving.

And please know that this one is hard for me, too. I fucking love turkey and mashed potatoes. And no one makes homemade mashed potatoes like I do. They're seriously incredible and I've had people write sonnets about them. I also, for a long time, really liked that because Thanksgiving was national and non-religious that you didn't have to hear people bitch and moan about it taking the "Christ" out of it or being pissed that someone else's religion that takes place during the same period of time as a Christian one was somehow infringing on territory that doesn't belong to anyone in particular. But whatever, that's a different blog to piss off different people. 

But, I digress. Delicious food aside, how can we not understand how fucked up it is to celebrate Thanksgiving? And I've heard more than once the fucking awesome reasoning that we celebrate all of the things that we're thankful for at Thanksgiving and therefore the holiday is awesome. But you know what? That's fucking bullshit. And here is why:

1. That's a total fucking excuse. You don't need a holiday to be thankful. But if you want one, that's valid. The thing is, we have to move it, we have to rebrand it AND we have to take the whole first fucking thanksgiving out of it because that's where the disgusting problems come about. 

2. We have done everything in our power to turn this holiday into a pre-Christmas retail nightmare instead of a legitimate holiday. It's become more and more about gearing up for Black Friday and fucking sales for Christmas than anything else. Like most everything in this country, it's become all about money and things and stuff and possessions. So, tell me again, what it is exactly that we're trying to preserve? 

3. And finally, celebrating gratitude by highlighting one of our most shameful periods in history is, well, inexcusable. It's contemptible and quite frankly, villainous. We slaughtered a people. We fucking slaughtered a people, people. And for anyone who says that you weren't there so it wasn't you...by owning and celebrating the holiday of Thanksgiving, you are taking on the actions of the pilgrims and identifying with them as Americans instead of the people already here. Therefore, you have taken these actions and spread them on yourself like the blood of the people they for very real killed. And they didn't just kill them. They took their hospitality. They pretended to broker a peace. They let themselves be saved and then they turned around and they slaughtered their saviors. And now, we celebrate this. We teach our children about the first Thanksgiving and how beautiful it was without immediately telling them how we destroyed that beauty. How we fucking pissed into the eye-sockets of the people that wouldn't let us die when they could have. 

There are so many things that we've done in this country that we've only half-assed an apology for: slavery, internment camps, keeping civil rights from anyone without a white fucking penis, the list goes on and on. But we've never even shit out an apology to Native Americans. Not really. We expect them to be happy on their reservations, like they have the very first American timeshares. We feel like our gracious act of allowing them to have casinos to somehow find a way to support themselves and not die the fuck out is like the most magnanimous fucking thing that's ever been done throughout all of history. We constantly talk about how they're alcoholics and smoke the peyote and basically talk about them like their subhuman. And we've continued to fucking steal their land for whatever we want. For fuck's sake, Mount Rushmore is on Native American land. Land they consider sacred. And we took it and then we defaced the nature of it. And we revere it like the faces fucking etched themselves onto that granite like the face of Jesus on a piece of toast or in the visage of an oil slick on the road. And yeah, that was a pretty cool thing to be able to craft but maybe, just maybe, we could've crafted it somewhere that belonged to us. I mean, fuck, why not just go into Canada and deface some of their shit. "But I defaced it with an American President's face! So, that makes it okay!" But we'd never do that. Cause we think of Canada as a white country and we don't do shit to white people. And if you need references, here are a few (some already listed): slavery, Thanksgiving, internment camps, Manifest Destiny, the fact that we sent back boats of Jews to Hitler before he started gassing people, civil rights, lynchings, Guantanamo...I'm just gonna stop there. And I'm sure there are a lot of people that don't feel this list means anything. They'll feel like this doesn't show any kind of trend to our behavior. And I get it -- cause it's hard to see reality clearly when your head is firmly planted in the sand. 

But, the thing is, this IS reality. This is the legacy of the white man in America. Scroll up and get a good look at Chief Wahoo again. Stare at him. Let him sink into your brain. Set a timer. Look at it for five straight minutes. Keep repeating in your head "REDSKINS, REDSKINS, REDSKINS". Then picture yourself face to face with a Native America, something many people have probably never done. Picture yourself face to face with a Native American and then picture yourself calling him or her a "redskin". Can you picture it? Can you really picture it? Think of how upset people get when they hear the term "hillbilly" or "white trash" and now call him a "redskin" again. And now put Chief Wahoo's face on top of his or hers. 

Are you really still okay with this? Is this really something you think is acceptable? Do you really think that turning a race of people into a caricature, minimizing their existence into simply being your pastime's mascot and then hanging this depiction from banners, putting it on t-shirts and ball caps and chanting it over and over again (Tomahawk Chop) is anything other than contemptuous and reprehensible? 

And if your answer is yes, I honestly only have one piece of advice for you. This is a piece of advice that I haven't given anyone in a really long time. It's not my nature and I, myself, haven't been able to wrap my head fully around the concept in a long while. But here it is, all the same. If your answer is yes to any or all of these questions, you need to sit your ass down and pray. You need to fucking close your eyes and turn your attention to someone or something else that might help you find your way. Because you can't manage it on your own. You've failed at being able to muster the most basic compassion without some God or Savior or Prophet telling you to. So, pray. Close your eyes and pray that someone or something will help you heal the soul inside of you. 

You are not everything. 

You are not most important.

You are not the way.

You're just another speed bump on our road to recovery, trying to fuck up the people actually wanting to make the world a better place. And those people exist, you know. People wanting to make the world better, we exist. You can't shut us up with your rhetoric and you can't keep our voices out with your wall. Nothing you do will stop us from continuing to try. And that's why, no matter what you do, we will always win. Our existence is our gold medal, the winners platform has room for us all and that National Anthem playing in the background isn't just yours. It's time we make America truly great, for the first time in history.

Faux Paso Doble (it's clever if you know ballroom dancing)

Hey, remember back in 2009 when a reporter from Wonderland magazine asked Megan Fox to talk about director Michael Bay and after dabbling in a few Napoleon insults, she instead compared the director to Hitler? Remember when the world collectively told her to shut the fuck up and have some goddamn decency and then she wasn't asked back to the Transformers franchise and we all began to slowly but surely not give a rat's ass about her? 

Yeah, well, apparently Dancing with the Stars' Cheryl Burke was off somewhere fucking around when all of that went down. Because some-fucking-how we've got another thoughtless, disrespectful and intolerable celebrity making the same kind of paralyzingly asinine remarks.

Sunday during an interview on the "Allegedly With Theo Von & Matthew Cole" podcast, Cheryl Burke was asked who her least favorite celebrity partner was on DWTS. Now, other more seasoned celebrities (and human beings) wouldn't have fallen for this cheap attempt at gossip journalism. Instead of answering, someone more experienced or simply smarter would've refrained and moved on to a different topic. Someone braver might've even called the interviewer out on the low-rate question that shouldn't be regarded as journalism. 

And here is when a thoughtless and ignorant decision to answer a subpar and adolescent question takes a turn into "are you fucking kidding me with this shit" territory.

Instead of deflecting, not only did Burke answer said question but she went on to say that working with Beverly Hills, 90210 star Ian Ziering made her want to slit her wrists. She said she considered jumping off a balcony to injure herself and did so with any partner she was given over the age of 65 (save for Wayne Newton).

You know, I realize that even though it's the year 2016, we've still got quite a way to go on our journey to understanding mental health. I get that there are still a lot of people who don't "believe" in psychiatry and think that issues of this nature are made up, bogus or even worse. And I realize that taking medication for these types of issues is still fairly high on the universal stigma meter. 

I am pretty sure, however, that we've most definitely reached a time when people tend not to joke about committing suicide all that often anymore. Most people, save from a certain breed of schoolyard bully, are in total agreement that making light of the topic of suicide is pretty much completely abhorrent and fucking inexcusable. 

Now, I'm not sure exactly what Cheryl Burke was doing the day that fucking memo went out. I'm assuming it was something like kicking puppies or stealing delicious candy from tiny, tiny babies. Maybe she was telling Make-A-Wish kids that once when she was their age, she swallowed a piece of gum and thought she was going to die so she knew what they were going through. All of these things seem like viable possibilities. 

Cheryl Burke has since apologized for her comments and admits that she was "out of line" in her remarks. And kudos to her for listening to her publicist when the poor fucker called her thirty seconds after the sound waves carrying her words reached a human being's ears. But I wonder if she's really thought about the greater damage that she's done. She's helping to reinforce to those people who are struggling directly with this issue the idea that no one cares about what they're going through. She's diluting the very meaning of the words themselves -- words that should strike a chord when someone hears them. And then there's the more personal level. Just based on numbers alone, there is an almost certain chance that Cheryl Burke knows someone that is or has struggled with suicide, whether she knows it or not. She's admitted to having friends and family that struggle with depression and yet she somehow thought that making light of this issue, with a goddamn microphone in her face, was a totally okay and not at all completely insensitive and disrespectful thing to do. Does she seriously think that some half-assed apology that rings with the truth of a politician's smile is going to repair the damage caused by her callous and incomprehensibly self-absorbed remarks? Does she really even care? Doubtful.  

Hopefully Cheryl Burke will somehow learn from this, although one has to wonder how prepared her brain is for the learning process. I think reading her words, straight from the horse's ass, really puts into perspective just how adolescent and fucking stereotypically "Heather" this 26 year old perpetual Mean Girl is:

"My least favorite [partner] would be Ian Ziering. The fact that his name is not EE-AN and it's EYE-AN makes me want to throw up."

"By the way, I also don't know anybody, so I would have to Google almost every single partner of mine, other than Ian Ziering because I used to watch 90210," she shared. “My mom, my crazy Asian mother, would let me watch an hour a week, and I would watch 90210, 8 p.m. on Wednesdays. I'm like, 'Why, couldn't you give me Luke Perry or Jason Priestley? Why you give me that guy?' I know he's on 90210, but give me Screech [Saved by the Bell actor Dustin Diamond]."

"I mean, I could try and hurt myself," she said. "I thought about that a couple of times. I've got a balcony and was like, 'Should I jump?'...I wouldn't die. I wouldn't die. No. I wouldn't die. I would just be like, 'Hey guys, I'm injured this season. I won't be able to come back 'til next season.'"

"Anyone over the age of 65 I wanted to jump," she added, although she was quick to note that her season five partner, 74-year-old Wayne Newton, was 'lovely'."

She's a real fucking class act, isn't she?

Now, I'm guessing she'll have more learning opportunities than normal right now. She'll probably have plenty of chances to practice not saying stupid-ass shit with the overwhelming number of pseudo-journalists that are sure to beat down her door in the next couple of weeks, hoping for a new nugget of insensitivity and brainlessness.

No matter what, though, I think Cheryl will be able to take this experience and use it to better her relationships with future dancing partners. After all, she probably sees much clearer now how easy it is to lose your footing, misstep and really stick your foot in it. 

HA! Just kidding! She hasn't learned shit. 

Personally, I think the real kicker -- what Alanis Morisette might call "ironic" -- is that if this happened in the 90s, good old Cheryl would be sitting in front of the TV, Wednesday at 8:00, to watch Steve Sanders and company doing a very special episode of 90210 to address fallout from this whole disgusting event.

Life

Life almost never goes your way. There are people that will tell you that's not true and those people are either naive, stupid or use the word "blessed" too often. Now there isn't anything wrong with people who focus on the positives in life, other than we all want to strangle them most of the time. But for those people who understand that life can be an uphill struggle from start to finish but still be totally worth it and rewarding know differently. 

I don't like to talk too personally about people other than myself on here so just for the sake of this blog, let's just say that some really shitty stuff has happened lately with my family. When something like this happens, something that is polarizing even for a short period of time and will possibly change your life going forward, what do we do to make sure that we don't lose ourselves through the course of events and fallout? How do we not get buried under all of the details and how do we learn to take care of ourselves when we're devoting most of our time and attention to other, necessary, things? 

I pretty much have no answers. Some moments, I feel like I'm lucky to have even thought of the questions. 

I've mentioned before that I struggle with anxiety and depression, so too often my instinct is to hide inside of myself whenever possible. I become a pro at handling information-based communication but breakdown almost entirely if things get too personal, losing the ability to speak frankly about my thoughts and feelings. I find that in order to properly handle all of the important things that need to get done, I have to sacrifice other areas that take too much of my energy. 

I don't know if this is the right thing to do, I just know it's what I need to do in order to get done what needs to get done. My husband says I'm handling things well. He calls me the strongest person he knows (because he's wonderful) but it definitely doesn't feel like it. I'm freaked out most of the time and am only starting to realize that every single day, I feel like a life amateur. 

There's been no stage that I've been prepared for, life-wise. I didn't know what I was doing at all when I was a kid. Being a kid is like running in brand new dress shoes, across freshly Zambonied ice on legs made of those peel-apart Twizzlers. You will literally never be stable or understand a goddamn thing that is happening to you and hopefully you'll laugh and scream and have fun through most of it.  And honestly, not too much has changed for me since. Each stage of my life has been a surprise and almost nothing like I expected. High School was both exactly like and fucking light years away from a John Hughes movie. I was a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a criminal and a princess but I'll tell you that I never once sat in detention gabbing and learning from my peers all day while we played music and danced and snuck around the school only to be indelibly bonded to them for life. That never ever happened. College, for me, was ridiculously more vast and life-changing than I ever thought it would be -- and I went in thinking it was gonna be huge. My twenties were seriously like almost the exact opposite of how I imagined them. Nothing I did felt at all sure-footed and literally no part ended up with any permanence in the long hall, save for getting my dogs and making some truly amazing friends. And my thirties, honest-to-God, ranged from "what the fuck, are you kidding me?" to "how in the fucking hell did I get here?" And that's on both the good and bad side of things. 

I'm starting to think that the moment you really grow up is when you stop trying to convince everyone that you know what you're doing. Not at work, we all have to fake it there, but in general. When we can actually say out loud that all we're doing in trying our best but are really only guessing at the right things to do -- that's when we earn the term "adult". It's not about understanding anything better or achieving some sort of experiential status. It's just about being honest with ourselves, first and foremost, and then with everyone else about the fact that -- for the most part -- we don't know fuck all about like 95% of everything. And most of that 5% that we do know are like Beatles lyrics, Friends quotes and where the best donut place is near our home.

Some days, I do wish I knew a little bit more about what I was doing. Okay, every day I wish I knew more. The lack of confidence during tough times can get scary, especially when people are counting on you. Right now, I'm finding that panic attacks are a part of my daily life but I'm also finding that I get through them every single day. I'm leaving the house knowing full well that I'll probably have to deal with one sooner rather than later and in my parked car instead of in the safety of my home, where no one can see me. But you know what? I'm still leaving the house. I'm still doing what I need to do. I'm still hanlding my shit like a semi-pro (life amateur status still intact) and I'm still muscling through and staring in the face all of the things that make me twitch. 

So, maybe my husband is right. Maybe I am stronger than I think. Maybe it's not about how scared I am or how many days in a row I have a panic attack or how there are some moments that I feel like the smallest, tiniest speck of light in the world and that everything around me is working to snuff me out. Maybe it's just that I keep going. Maybe it's just that I close my eyes and gather my strength and do what needs to be done. I have my go-to's and my rituals and my panic attack evacuation procedures and maybe it's just that I use them everyday and I don't allow myself to give up at life. Maybe it's that I've learned to accept help from people who care about me and, for me, that's almost harder to do than anything. 

So, maybe I will be okay. Maybe I'll even be good. And maybe my dreams will still come true even though it feels like there's no room for them right now. Maybe I won't give up all over again, every single day, and I'll choose the only life for myself that I've ever understood. 

Cause I may not know what I'm doing but I do know that the world needs me. I do know that no one has exactly what I have to offer. And I guess strength, a lot of the time, is just being able to say that and really mean it.

Shame on the Shamers.

Okay, enough's enough. For real. I think the Internet it great. I really do. It has done so much to open up our world and allow us to see and experience things that we'd never have the opportunity to otherwise. We can connect with people across the country or across the planet. You can fall in love with someone you'd never even have the chance to meet. You can see what it really and truly means to live in another place. You can see how different people are from region to region and, more importantly, how similar we are. You can keep in touch with family far away wth the click of a mouse or the touch of a screen. And you can now even help people in your neighborhood or in a place you've never even heard of -- how cool is that?! 

You know what else you can do, though?

You can make someone else feel like complete and utter shit just for the fucking fun of it. 

Seriously. 

Let's talk for real right now.

What the hell, people?

Why has shaming become the new Internet pastime? Now, I realize that the Internet is not a bar. Everyone is on it. And certainly, like every middle school and high school across the planet, where 12 - 17 year olds go, so does fucking little bitch attitudes and an atmosphere ripe with hormones and bullying. But that's not who I'm talking to here. Because, for the most part, we were all little shits when we were that age. We all thought that we knew everything, were smarter than everyone and any teeny tiny difference we saw in the people around use we considered suspect. I'm talking to the full fledged adults that are supposed to be showing these teenage hemorrhoids how to behave instead of joining in on their inexcusable and horrifying behavior.

Whether it's fat shaming or slut shaming or any other kind of shaming that doesn't yet have its own catchy moniker (like skinny shaming cause that's a for real problem, too)-- it's seriously unacceptable and anyone that partakes in this kind of adolescent and pathetic behavior needs to take a good, long, hard look in the mirror and figure out what in the fuck is wrong with them.

How is it that so many of us never really mature beyond the high school level? Why is it that a very good portion of the population realizes as they age that this type of behavior is both a neon sign that its owners feel gravely lacking in some way and truly is, at its core, just fundamentally wrong while the rest of the world has decided that they can basically treat anyone however the fuck they want to? How is it that this kind of dichotomy exists?

What is it about certain people that makes them think that they are allowed to act any way that they please? Why do they feel that it's their job to judge others and proclaim their assessment for all to hear? How is it that these people think that their words of derision and condescension are a fucking public service? 

Facebook has become a hotbed for horrible shaming of all kinds. Last week, I actually read one woman write in a comment about the recent Lane Bryant commercial that both NBC and ABC refused to air due to decency laws that the female in the spot that was pictured breastfeeding was a whore. Seriously, she called a breastfeeding woman a whore. 

What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with someone like that?

Let's just throw away the fact that, basically, at the beginning of "civilized" society men decided that a woman's body was only for their pleasure and arousal so that while they could trounce around without a shirt on whenever they pleased (as long as they weren't entering a food-selling establishment in which case you better have shoes on too) while we women had to cover up our breasts, particularly the old nipplage. Like I said, let's just throw that shit away. That part of the double standard isn't even going to enter into my argument here. If you're going to take exception to a woman who is showing more of her body than you're used to why pick on the woman using her breasts for the actual reason that they were created? She's fucking feeding a goddamn child. There is absolutely nothing sexual going on with what she's doing in the slightest and yet this Confucius-like pronouncer calls her the dirtiest word you can call a person. 

I'd like to turn this around on the woman who made the comment and say, if you see a woman breastfeeding her child and immediately find the best description to be one of a sexual and unseemly nature then, lady, you're the person that has something wrong with them. Honestly, that comment was deplorable. 

When Kim Kardashian posted her nude selfie, the Internet blew up with people calling her a slut. Fuck, I blogged about it. And when a Melbourne street artist showed support and painted a mural of said selfie, it was defaced with the word "slut" eight fucking hours later. 

Seriously, people. Do we not have more things that we can use to insult Kim Kardashian? She does nothing. She's the personification of mouth-breathing. Do we really need to call her a slut? We didn't call Ray J a slut and he was in that goddamn video wth her. Granted, we don't call Ray J much of anything anymore, but that's beside the point. 

And it's not just the women of the world who face shaming (not that that would make it okay). Just ask Wentworth Miller who recently spoke out against the fat shaming he faced after putting on weight in the wake of his depression. And kudos to him for coming forward and bravely talking about his struggles. I happen to know, because of working at a place he frequented in Los Angeles (which I won't give any more clues to for privacy reasons -- it's not juicy or exciting just a place most of us all go as humans) that he's a very quiet and private person. Some might say shy. And this man, who never treated me or any of my coworkers with anything other than respect and kindness, now feels the need to come forward and share a piece of himself that he probably isn't totally comfortable sharing just so that other people going through the same thing will hopefully feel a little bit better about themselves. And all just because The LAD Bible forgot what actual reporting was and got it confusing with bullying. Now, I will say that they (The LAD Bible) have since apologized with an open letter to Mr. Miller on their Facebook page and addressed the topic of mental health. Hopefully, we'll see in their future actions that they really mean the apology they published. I certainly hope so. But, let's face it, the damage is already done. Shaming never just affects one person. It affects all those who witness the shaming, as well. And as great as an apology is (and truly, apologizing takes guts) I urge anyone reading this to consider your actions first, not second. 

Now, I'm in no way saying that we shouldn't rally around wrongdoing or give our opinions about things in the public eye or things that affect us. It's the way we do it. It's the language we use and the vehemence behind our words. It's who we say it to. And it's WHY we say it. 

Are you asking your relative or friend to take more care with their health because you love them and want them to be with you as long as possible or are you yelling at a stranger on the street or posting a "funny" comic on the Internet, as one of my former co-workers recently did? Because those are two very different situations. The first is a show of concern for someone we have information about and have a real relationship with and the second is a fucking little prick thinking his piece of shit 20-year old ass is a wizen old man who has the right to judge others and make a joke out of something that millions of people struggle with. 

See the difference you Tokyo Drift-loving motherfucker? 

Enough is enough. It's time for shaming to be something that more than just mothers and teachers make sure the people around them aren't doing. It's time for those of us who know better to become united and vocal about the "adult" bullies who seem to have Peter Panned in the worst possible way. And it's time to stop treating people's feelings like weaknesses instead of the significant influence they actually are.

A Not-So-Modest Proposal

So, I've got a book. I know, shock of all shocks, a blogger wrote a book! Insert shocked emoji here. That's not actually a big surprise, though, as I have other unpublished books and unsold screenplays sitting in my closet. This one is special, though, because it's non-fiction. Anyway, I'm getting prepared to launch my book on Publishizer, which is basically Kickstarter for books. I am so super pumped about this whole process, no matter what happens in terms of raising money. Obviously, I want it to do well. Hell, nothing would make me happier than if I got a visit from the book publishing fairy with a sparkly wand in one hand and a contract in the other. But regardless, when the whole thing is over I'm going to have a much better idea of what my next step is and what people think of it in general. Having said all of that though, I'm also fucking freaked about it. The proposal you submit (provided you complete it at 100%, you technically don't have to) is super comprehensive. And I don't mind that at all. On the contrary, there's a chance to be put in touch with publishers through this process so certainly weed out the people not taking this shit seriously. But, it just makes it very real, ya know. I mean, this isn't something to half-ass. This isn't a term paper or some written final exam for your political science class that you can pretty much wait until the last minute to do and not ruin your life in the process. 

Some of the things have been pretty simple to accomplish. Book overview, check. Short author bio, check. Catchy slug line to draw people to my book, quippy check. Those were fun. I got to do some fun creative writing and let my sarcasm gene take a whack at things. Currently, I'm working on the book list of similar titles, which they should really just call what it is -- a minimum of five book reports. I've got my annotated Table of Contents underway, which is more a feat of endurance than anything else. And then I'm coming up with fun and creative rewards for people who are fucking rad enough to donate which is like getting to choose cool Christmas gifts for the kids in your family. The one that's turning out to be the real bitch of the ball, the real fucker of the farm, the real crapbag of the carousel, is the "About the Author" area, which is different from a bio in that it needs to be much longer and fucking sucks balls to write. 

I'll admit, like a lot of people, I don't hate talking about myself. Fuck, I have a blog, right? But telling the great fairy tale that is me is proving to be a bit of a pain in the everything. For instance, I know that my adolescence was very important in carving out the woman I am today but it's a very delicate and tricky ice dance weaving an interesting and multidimensional coming of age tale in white, Christian suburbia. How exactly do you describe the oppression of living in a town that's 4.5 square miles (of land and 2.5 of fresh Lake Erie water) and has, I shit you not, 6 churches? Does it sound weird? Cause it felt fucking weird. And they're all pretty run-of-the-mill Jesus fan clubs. I'm not judging the churches themselves, I just mean they're denominations we're all pretty familiar with: Catholic, Methodist, Lutheran, Baptist, Presbyterian, and something else I don't remember but can drive you to. And no, the handful of other families residing in our suburb that weren't Christian didn't have any places of worship within town limits to belong to. There wasn't a Mosque and a Synagogue and a Temple next to every church. Just a bake sale. 

Almost everyone in the town was white, too. A fun feature that, I imagine, felt very natural and comfortable to some people but to me just felt...gross and kinda icky. So, I spent the better part of what was really a pretty great childhood bitching at my parents for moving from where they grew up on the east side of Cleveland to the west and to a suburb known as "a great place to grow up": we had good schools (public and Catholic), good sports teams (we mainlined soccer and manufactured pro athletes) and we were safe (until the kidnapping and murder of one student and the fact that The Fugitive is based on real grizzly shit that happened in my town before I was born).

That was fun to read about, wasn't it? 

Exactly. 

So now I'm on something like my 15th draft -- this one surrounding a playlist that reminds me of my best friend, which essentially means it reminds me of why I'm me. I have a feeling this draft isn't going to last much longer, though either. As a matter of fact, I think I've just declared it dead.

Okay, enough stalling. Time to get back to it. This bastard ain't gonna write itself. And since I'm sure you guys are dying to know the title of my satirical masterpiece, it's:

"If You Were An Alien, Would You Want To Live Here? 101 Reasons Why Fearing An Alien Invasion is Absolutely Preposterous and 10 That Kinda Make Sense"

Boom.