This week has been an interesting week.
Where to begin?
My mom has been in a not so great place for quite some time now. She has a mental health disability, and it is really starting to affect her ability to “function normally” in life.
Last month she found out that the Center for Independent Living (CIL after this) she has been the director of for 2.5 years lost their grant, and had to close their doors by the end of June. She tried to find another way to fund the CIL, but then found out that the reason they really lost the grant was because another CIL had underbid them. The other CIL could provide the services for less money. My mom has been struggling at this job for months and months now, and it’s almost a relief that she’s done with it. It’s a relief that she is getting the fuck out of that town too. It just hasn’t been the best of situations all around.
However, up until Thursday she had no idea where she was actually going to live. It looked like she was going to be homeless. My mom has a huge family. My grandma and grandparents had 10 kids, so my mom has 9 brothers and sisters. Most of them are solidly in the middle to upper middle class, and have so much room in their houses, but nobody was offering to take her in. As if she didn’t already feel like they didn’t give a shit about her, it just reinforced this for her.
See, the thing is? My grandma taught everyone better than that. She always took in family that was struggling, and sometimes that was me and mom, and when my brother came along, me, my brother and my mom. A couple of my aunts lived with my grandma and grandpa, and when he passed, just my grandpa. She took in her brother’s kids for a while. She took in my great aunt Marilyn. Even if they didn’t necessarily have all the room—they made it work. Somehow my grandpa agreed to this all along. So somewhere along the way, her children, though they have helped my mom (I do have to give them credit for that. Most of them have stepped in to, sometimes to the detriment of their own situations, help her monetarily and get moved when we got evicted from a few places). However, being able to actually take her in when she was going to be HOMELESS? I dunno. That’s something I’m absolutely not okay with.
Why is my mom the black sheep? Because she is different. She has never conformed to my family’s standards. One of the biggest points of contention? She has children with black fathers. She married my dad, and was basically shunned from the family. My grandma being my grandma still tried to support her when she could. My aunt and one of my uncles did too. But what she did was absolutely unacceptable to my grandpa and some of the rest of the family. Do you know the names she was called by some of my uncles? Do you know the things they said to her? The things they did to her car(s)? She was a n*gger lover. She married a n*gger. She had a n*gger daughter (me).
She eventually left my dad because he was abusive. That breakup was UGLY. He threatened to never let her see me again. He took me at one point, and wouldn’t tell her where I was for several days. His family was totally complicit in all of that bullshit. I ended up being at a great aunt’s house. She got me back, and got custody of me. I remember when I was a kid spending time with my dad on Tuesdays and every other weekend. Apparently, he tried to get me to call my ex-stepmom mom. I knew who my mom was though.
From what I have heard my mom started going to the Assembly of God church in Meriden, KS when I was 8 or 9 months old. I’ve heard for as long as I can remember that I saved her life because she had to make a change, and that was one of the biggest: God.
At some point my mom was low-key allowed to start participating in family stuff again. I was the constant reminder to the family of her biggest transgression though. Sure, not everyone was overtly racist, and overtly against her. The ones who wielded the power though? You bet. There were instances, short clips in my memory reel here and there, where my aunts (the in-laws) and uncles not letting me play with their kids. One specific time, I was playing with one of my cousin’s and her mom pulled my cousin away from me, telling her she wasn’t allowed to play with me. My mom “caused a scene,” confronting that aunt right there in my other uncle’s yard. She was not supported, and was told she was overreacting. We left shortly after that.
I remember my grandpa, even though we lived with him and my grandma, not speaking to me until I was around 5 years old. I don’t remember the actual moment when it changed. Maybe after I was sexually assaulted by my daycare lady’s 16 year old son when I was 5? That daycare lady was hateful. Hateful. She forced me to do stuff I didn’t want to do though my mom told her that I had issues with certain things (for real, not a being spoiled thing, but a thing that my family had already tried and got, and, um, figured out I couldn’t handle them—certain foods and other shit), would get punished when the thing my mom told her would happen, and her husband was handsy. I could see my house from the daycare lady’s house as it was just up the hill from our house. I saw my grandpa out there almost every day with my cousin, T. He was basically mentoring T. I remember seeing them in the yard, and wanting so badly to run down there; run away from that hell that was that daycare. I wish I would have done that now. I wish my grandpa had loved me enough at that point, to take care of me then too. I wish he had understood and heeded my mom’s warning that she didn’t like this daycare lady, and wanted to keep in my previous daycare. But no. He didn’t, and insisted that I go to that daycare up the hill where something happened that changed my life forever. I have never forgotten what my the daycare lady’s son did to me. Sometimes my brain will block it out, and sometimes I’ll just randomly remember almost every detail. I was 5.
My mom has had mental health issues all of her life, but she would throw herself into stuff so much that it wouldn’t really be much of a problem. I mean there was still the bouncing around from place to place. Her trying to live on her own, not being able to make it as a single mom, and then going back to live with my grandparents; which resulted in me switching schools every two years or so. The constants in my life though? The AG church fam, and then some members from my actual fam: aunt Penny, uncle Curt, uncle Craig and aunt Nancy, Craig and Nancy’s kids, my grandma, my great aunt Marilyn, and eventually my grandpa.
When my mom started her downward spiral? My grandpa was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. She threw herself into work and church even more so than she already was. I remember as my grandpa was getting sicker waiting and waiting for her to come home until way past my bedtime. My grandma would constantly catch me, and tell me to go to sleep. My room faced the front of the house, and I would watch lots of night, waiting to see her headlights pull into our cul-de-sac. She couldn’t cope with my grandpa’s inevitable departure.
I will take a moment to say, that when my grandpa found out he had cancer? Everything between him, me, and my mom changed. I didn’t have long enough with him. He was my best friend. He apologized to my mom. His conversion story is really quite ironic, and I can’t explain it any other way than being the Universe: he was led to the Christian God by a black woman. My formerly super racist grandpa was saved by the very type of person he used to have such a hatred towards. I ccan’t explain that away, y’all. There are things I can’t explain, and that is one of them.
To get back to my mom’s spiral. As my grandpa’s pancreatic cancer was metastasizing more and more, taking over his body. As he was getting sicker, and closer to his death, my mom was staying out later and later. My brother was conceived on my dad’s birthday in January of 1998, and she found out she was pregnant the day my grandpa died only a few short months later in March. The family didn’t find out until the summer of 1998. That started the shunning once again. My brother’s father is black. He was born in October of 1998, and he wrecked my bus. I had been an only child for nearly 11 years, and I was NOT happy about his arrival. In the meantime, the AG church found out that she had conceived my brother out of wedlock, and was removed as the worship leader. A position she had held for 10 years. Ousted just like that. On top of losing my grandpa, there went her other family of 10 years. She struggled to stay in that church, and we left and went back, left and went back over several years after. She was basically told she would never be the worship leader again...even if she “repented.” I have never met anyone who was so, like, anointed to sing. Y’all my mom is an amazing singer. She doesn’t even sing much anymore, and it makes me incredibly sad. It’s like when that was taken away, so was her her voice.
She never really did deal with her grief of losing any of that, and that triggered some really dark times. She kept spiraling to the point that she lost her job of almost 12 or 13 years. She had a breakdown. That was her first stay at the mental health hospital. I didn’t understand. This triggered my own depression, anxiety, and made my ADHD much worse. Nobody knew how to handle my mom’s mental illness. Nobody recognized mine. Until later. Since then my mom has tried to hold down several jobs. We have bounced around from place to place, staying maybe two years. I stayed in my Christian school the longest, until I was asked not to come back because of my own depression caused me to be nearly truant. What did that look like to the other kids? I fell behind. Mental health was not something that existed. Nobody recognized it, and I didn’t get the help I needed until I was 18 because I tried to commit suicide. But I still thought I needed to pray more, and read my Bible more. That’s what was wrong with both me and my mom. We weren’t trying hard enough. If we just tried harder. However, when my mom didn’t function, neither did I. Whatever happened to her? Fucked me up too.
Her mental illness has once again “won.” She has been evicted 5 or 6 times in the last decade. One of those apartments was rented in my name, that was the first hit to my credit, and the first time I had really had a several thousand dollar debt against my name. A loan was taken out in my name to help us stay there, and it ultimately didn’t help.
She has lost a few jobs in that time as well. The latest casualty was the CIL, but that cannot all be blamed on her mental health disability. When she started as the director there, she was in an okay place. One of her employees let her move in with her to help my mom get on her feet after the previous eviction. It went south really quickly for no other reason than this lady is/was an absolute BITCH (I hate saying this word, but she was the epitome of it), was so incredibly controlling, and extremely passive aggressive. So she told my mom to get out. Thankfully, my mom found the house that she is being evicted from this very moment. She has to be out by tomorrow. With the stress of the job, her depression kicked into high gear. She has zero self-esteem, and feels like such a loser and failure for once again going through this process. It seems like almost everything reinforces the things she believes about herself. But I think she will be able to find some respite and help in the next few months.
Because.
Like I said above, she was looking at being homeless because nobody was going to take her in. Until family member’s stepped in at the last minute. The situation, and where she is going to live, is very poetic and ironic. I can’t say where because there’s an anonymity aspect to it. But just know it’s super ironic, and, maybe, the Universe really does look out for people sometimes?
This is Part 1 of my week.
Saturday, July 7, 2018
Tuesday, July 3, 2018
That One Time I Tried to Buy Condoms
I was supposed to have a “date” on Saturday with, let’s call him, Dane. Dane actually wanted to come over on Friday, but I had, like, laundry everywhere and the kitchen was a mess. I had also been trying to decide if I was going to the Oklahoma Aquarium in Tulsa to see my second most beloved kind of shark, the Bull Shark. Also, you get to touch white-spotted bamboo sharks and small stingrays there. Um, win. So. I said, “Uuuuummmmm, can we do Saturday instead?” He said yeah, but I had agreed to send him booty pictures in the meantime. Whatevs. They weren’t naked booty pictures. I also kind of hate calling my ass a booty—unless it’s ironically. I’ll sing it in a song (“Booty, booty, booty, booty rockin’ everywhere,”), but I do not actually refer to other people’s asses or butts, let alone my own, as a booty. IDK, it’s like calling underwear “panties.” CAN YOU NOT?! I don’t like those words. Like the word “moist.” The only time “moist” should be used is if you are talking about brownies or cake. Meat is tender or juicy, cake or brownies are moist, and there is moisture in the air. There we go. Also, unless you go commando, you wear underwear.
Antyway, as much as I wanted to go on this “date,” I also really, really wanted to go to the aquarium.
Oh, I should also mention that my mom found out that Dane was coming over to my house on the first “date.” She asked me, “What if it got sexual?!” I said, “Well...if it does it does!” That was NOT the right thing to say, apparently. Drama ensued, my brother got involved, he called me to scold me (“What in the FUCK did you do, Deandra!? You know how our mom is!” I hadn’t done anyone yet...see what I did there?) my mom called him to figure out what was going on, tried to call me 5 different times, and then my brother did damage control. Guess what that did? Made me double down. My mother raised some seriously stubborn, sarcastic, witty, talented, competitive, kind, and asshole children. We can be a paradox sometimes. But, seriously, I am a grown-ass woman, y’all. I’m 30 fucking years old. I can understand safety, but, girl’s got needs, and safety is at the top of my list! So, “I’m a safety girl.” I know I didn’t know this guy, but at that point he got me feeling some sort of way, and I was going to Get. It. On. That was my plan.
Dane flaked out on me. To be fair, I was actually going to make tacos so it wasn’t all about the “date” part. Still tossing around the idea of going to Tulsa, or at least go to KC to TJ’s, I did rent a car for the weekend. As soon as I noticed the first signs of flakiness, it was settled: I was going driving down to Tulsa.
Before going to Tulsa, I had done some research to see which restaurant I should try out. Because, apparently, I have started this thing in which I have to try Thai restaurants when I go to a different city. It started in Omaha, and I suppose, subconsciously, it has now become an official thing. So I researched Thai restaurants in Tulsa. Y’all. Y’ALL. I am so fucking spoiled up here in Topeka, KS because our Thai restaurant is amazing (Tuptim Thai in case y’all wanna try it if you live in/around Topeka, or pass through eventually). There were some listed as being the best overall restaurants in the Tulsa area on some travel sites. However, I was really, really disappointed when I looked at their menu.
See, I am a Thai curry snob. The only thing I actually have left to do in my curry quest is to actually make my own curry paste. Which I think I’m going to try before the year is over. While these recipes were “authentic”, and I KNOW that families have different recipes, but they weren’t my Thai restaurant recipes. Or my well-known curry recipes. There were peas in the basic curry dishes on the menus of these Thai restaurants. Peas! Not sugar snaps, not snows, but peas. Um, can we not? Some of them did not even include the proper herbs. Red curry has Thai or holy basil. Pad Kee Mao has Thai or holy basil. Red curry has bamboo shoots and bell peppers. Panang has some sort of peanut product in it and kaffir lime leaves. Red curry has a thinner consistency, and more savory. Panang is a thicker, sweeter curry. So when doing my restaurant menu research, I just couldn’t bring myself to eat at any of the restaurants. I would have been one of THOSE customers who asks about the ingredients, and would have tried to customize it, probably pissing off the kitchen.
In case anyone is wondering, I got these recipes from the owners of the Thai restaurant here in Topeka (Sorry, SB, if my curry wasn’t as awesome as I had talked it up. I do make awesome curry, that was not my best batch). So after losing my shit over the bull sharks, and getting my money’s worth out of the place, I broke my fast food fast that I had been on since January. I ate at Whataburger...I should have just gone to one of the Thai restaurants, yo.
The aquarium in general was amazing, and I dunno how many people get to experience the actual joy (I’m talking about knowing, really knowing, about that specific type of shark, and being able to see them up close) of seeing a bull shark pass only inches in front of your face/body. Or having one swim directly towards you? Like, gahtdamb, y’all. It was such a cool experience. I just really love sharks, okay?!
Antyway, at the first sign of flakiness from Dane, I went with my original plan of hightailing it to the aquarium. I do not regret it. I don’t think I would have regretted the “date” either, but I know the aquarium made me happier than I would have been. Because sharks for me are at a whole nother level. I got down there at around 2 PM, spent a few hours at the aquarium, ate dinner, started the drive back around 7 PM, drove through some storms, and was back home before 11PM.
The good thing that did come from all of this though (other than the obvious joy of seeing ma sharks)? If I didn’t have this “date”, my brother was going to take me to the zoo up in Omaha. “I swear to god, Deandra, if you don’t go through with this I WILL take you to the zoo.” As tempting as that was, originally, I was still planning on having Dane come over. Thanks to him flaking out though (if you ever read this, you totally did me a favor!), I get to go the zoo in Omaha sooner than I thought I would (I was planning another trip probably in the fall).
The other thing that happened because of the possibility of the Dane coming over? I realized that I needed to have my own stash of, um, condoms.
On Sunday I went to the store with all the confidence I could muster—which was a lot in that particular moment. I had it planned out: I would march my black ass into the store, go to the aisle that housed the condoms, pick a pack out, and proudly ring them up...at the self-checkout. The reality? I got to the condom aisle after getting a few other things on the grocery side, saw an older lady loitering in front of the cosmetics only a few feet from the section of condoms, lost all the courage and confidence I had walked in the store with, and quickly passed by the thing I actually came over to grab. I then had a rush of old purity culture thoughts fill my brain. Who said it was okay for you to “ho” around? Am I going through a ho phase? That’s wrong, and I’m totally going to be slut-shamed for buying my own condoms! Or get “the look” from that lady checking out the makeup just a few feet away. Holy shit, I can’t do that. They are all watching me buy my own condoms. A woman! This is so wrong, and you shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not okay to be having casual sex! It’s not okay to really be having sex at all because, hello, you’re not married! I walked around for a bit because I needed toilet cleaner. I got that toilet cleaner, and then headed back to try to spend some time, with a little bit of shame on top, looking at the condoms. Thankfully, nobody else was in the aisle. I proceeded to really take a good look at my options. I had never stood in front of the condom section for any length of time before that moment. It was always forbidden, embarrassing, and somewhat shameful. Sex was just off-limits, and to even think about them, to look at them? Would be a slippery slope thing. Like a license to sleep around type of thing. Antyway, so the next thing to add to my anxiety? Which pack of condoms did I even fucking pick?! Do you know how many condom options there are? Lots. But then all of the 3-condom packs were super picked over, but I didn’t want to get a bigger box because: What if they were the wrong ones, yo? Is it possible to make a wrong choice? What if the guy had a latex allergy? Then which one do I get? Do I want ribbed ones? Do I want the extra lubricated ones? Do I want the whatever pleasure ones? Which. Ones. Did. I. Need. To. Pick? I stood there awkwardly trying to work this all out in my head, and I’m sure I had a look of confusion and horror on my face. I had spent enough time there (because what if a person came down the aisle!), and quickly headed to the checkout. Sans condoms, but with a heavy dose of that gahtdamb purity culture shit wreaking havoc inside me: a low-key panic attack.
I tell you, just when I think I’m past it, and I thought I was after the boy sleeping in my bed episode, it pops back up. How much longer am I going to struggle with that? But I also need to be kind and compassionate with myself because this is 20+ years worth of stuff being dismantled in really only less than a year. Because I was committed to not liking dudes until I, 1. Worked through my thing for unavailable dudes. Reminder: that shit’s painful, yo. 2. Working through that purity culture bullshit. However, I threw myself into the dating world (online) back in the late fall, thinking that I had at least worked through number one. Number two was going to take some changing of thought, therapy, and find someone who was patient and understanding. Someone who wouldn’t push me as I reworked this boundary to allow for physical contact, and gave me the respect and space to do that.
On that note: I have not completely wrecked my friendship with SB. Dude, how are you still a thing? How? I mean I’m okay with that, but I just don’t understand. Or maybe I need to stop that whole not worthy of friendship bullshit?
I do plan on writing about my friendship issue thing in the near future.
On another note: I have two dates this week with a couple of guys who are actually taking the time to get to know me, and connect outside of the physical. Tomorrow I have the first date over some covfefe. Saturday or Sunday I have the second date. We’re going to the museum and then bowling. I am looking forward to this, but so nervous because, man. Two dudes, with a possible third that I have yet to meet in person, but am hoping to soon. How is this even happening? It’s raining men right now, and I’m not sure how to navigate it. I need to just get out of my way, and live in the moment though.
Mindfulness and all that shit.
This was supposed to be a shorter post, btw. Yet here we are, 2,100 words later.
Antyway, as much as I wanted to go on this “date,” I also really, really wanted to go to the aquarium.
Oh, I should also mention that my mom found out that Dane was coming over to my house on the first “date.” She asked me, “What if it got sexual?!” I said, “Well...if it does it does!” That was NOT the right thing to say, apparently. Drama ensued, my brother got involved, he called me to scold me (“What in the FUCK did you do, Deandra!? You know how our mom is!” I hadn’t done anyone yet...see what I did there?) my mom called him to figure out what was going on, tried to call me 5 different times, and then my brother did damage control. Guess what that did? Made me double down. My mother raised some seriously stubborn, sarcastic, witty, talented, competitive, kind, and asshole children. We can be a paradox sometimes. But, seriously, I am a grown-ass woman, y’all. I’m 30 fucking years old. I can understand safety, but, girl’s got needs, and safety is at the top of my list! So, “I’m a safety girl.” I know I didn’t know this guy, but at that point he got me feeling some sort of way, and I was going to Get. It. On. That was my plan.
Dane flaked out on me. To be fair, I was actually going to make tacos so it wasn’t all about the “date” part. Still tossing around the idea of going to Tulsa, or at least go to KC to TJ’s, I did rent a car for the weekend. As soon as I noticed the first signs of flakiness, it was settled: I was going driving down to Tulsa.
Before going to Tulsa, I had done some research to see which restaurant I should try out. Because, apparently, I have started this thing in which I have to try Thai restaurants when I go to a different city. It started in Omaha, and I suppose, subconsciously, it has now become an official thing. So I researched Thai restaurants in Tulsa. Y’all. Y’ALL. I am so fucking spoiled up here in Topeka, KS because our Thai restaurant is amazing (Tuptim Thai in case y’all wanna try it if you live in/around Topeka, or pass through eventually). There were some listed as being the best overall restaurants in the Tulsa area on some travel sites. However, I was really, really disappointed when I looked at their menu.
See, I am a Thai curry snob. The only thing I actually have left to do in my curry quest is to actually make my own curry paste. Which I think I’m going to try before the year is over. While these recipes were “authentic”, and I KNOW that families have different recipes, but they weren’t my Thai restaurant recipes. Or my well-known curry recipes. There were peas in the basic curry dishes on the menus of these Thai restaurants. Peas! Not sugar snaps, not snows, but peas. Um, can we not? Some of them did not even include the proper herbs. Red curry has Thai or holy basil. Pad Kee Mao has Thai or holy basil. Red curry has bamboo shoots and bell peppers. Panang has some sort of peanut product in it and kaffir lime leaves. Red curry has a thinner consistency, and more savory. Panang is a thicker, sweeter curry. So when doing my restaurant menu research, I just couldn’t bring myself to eat at any of the restaurants. I would have been one of THOSE customers who asks about the ingredients, and would have tried to customize it, probably pissing off the kitchen.
In case anyone is wondering, I got these recipes from the owners of the Thai restaurant here in Topeka (Sorry, SB, if my curry wasn’t as awesome as I had talked it up. I do make awesome curry, that was not my best batch). So after losing my shit over the bull sharks, and getting my money’s worth out of the place, I broke my fast food fast that I had been on since January. I ate at Whataburger...I should have just gone to one of the Thai restaurants, yo.
The aquarium in general was amazing, and I dunno how many people get to experience the actual joy (I’m talking about knowing, really knowing, about that specific type of shark, and being able to see them up close) of seeing a bull shark pass only inches in front of your face/body. Or having one swim directly towards you? Like, gahtdamb, y’all. It was such a cool experience. I just really love sharks, okay?!
Antyway, at the first sign of flakiness from Dane, I went with my original plan of hightailing it to the aquarium. I do not regret it. I don’t think I would have regretted the “date” either, but I know the aquarium made me happier than I would have been. Because sharks for me are at a whole nother level. I got down there at around 2 PM, spent a few hours at the aquarium, ate dinner, started the drive back around 7 PM, drove through some storms, and was back home before 11PM.
The good thing that did come from all of this though (other than the obvious joy of seeing ma sharks)? If I didn’t have this “date”, my brother was going to take me to the zoo up in Omaha. “I swear to god, Deandra, if you don’t go through with this I WILL take you to the zoo.” As tempting as that was, originally, I was still planning on having Dane come over. Thanks to him flaking out though (if you ever read this, you totally did me a favor!), I get to go the zoo in Omaha sooner than I thought I would (I was planning another trip probably in the fall).
The other thing that happened because of the possibility of the Dane coming over? I realized that I needed to have my own stash of, um, condoms.
On Sunday I went to the store with all the confidence I could muster—which was a lot in that particular moment. I had it planned out: I would march my black ass into the store, go to the aisle that housed the condoms, pick a pack out, and proudly ring them up...at the self-checkout. The reality? I got to the condom aisle after getting a few other things on the grocery side, saw an older lady loitering in front of the cosmetics only a few feet from the section of condoms, lost all the courage and confidence I had walked in the store with, and quickly passed by the thing I actually came over to grab. I then had a rush of old purity culture thoughts fill my brain. Who said it was okay for you to “ho” around? Am I going through a ho phase? That’s wrong, and I’m totally going to be slut-shamed for buying my own condoms! Or get “the look” from that lady checking out the makeup just a few feet away. Holy shit, I can’t do that. They are all watching me buy my own condoms. A woman! This is so wrong, and you shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not okay to be having casual sex! It’s not okay to really be having sex at all because, hello, you’re not married! I walked around for a bit because I needed toilet cleaner. I got that toilet cleaner, and then headed back to try to spend some time, with a little bit of shame on top, looking at the condoms. Thankfully, nobody else was in the aisle. I proceeded to really take a good look at my options. I had never stood in front of the condom section for any length of time before that moment. It was always forbidden, embarrassing, and somewhat shameful. Sex was just off-limits, and to even think about them, to look at them? Would be a slippery slope thing. Like a license to sleep around type of thing. Antyway, so the next thing to add to my anxiety? Which pack of condoms did I even fucking pick?! Do you know how many condom options there are? Lots. But then all of the 3-condom packs were super picked over, but I didn’t want to get a bigger box because: What if they were the wrong ones, yo? Is it possible to make a wrong choice? What if the guy had a latex allergy? Then which one do I get? Do I want ribbed ones? Do I want the extra lubricated ones? Do I want the whatever pleasure ones? Which. Ones. Did. I. Need. To. Pick? I stood there awkwardly trying to work this all out in my head, and I’m sure I had a look of confusion and horror on my face. I had spent enough time there (because what if a person came down the aisle!), and quickly headed to the checkout. Sans condoms, but with a heavy dose of that gahtdamb purity culture shit wreaking havoc inside me: a low-key panic attack.
I tell you, just when I think I’m past it, and I thought I was after the boy sleeping in my bed episode, it pops back up. How much longer am I going to struggle with that? But I also need to be kind and compassionate with myself because this is 20+ years worth of stuff being dismantled in really only less than a year. Because I was committed to not liking dudes until I, 1. Worked through my thing for unavailable dudes. Reminder: that shit’s painful, yo. 2. Working through that purity culture bullshit. However, I threw myself into the dating world (online) back in the late fall, thinking that I had at least worked through number one. Number two was going to take some changing of thought, therapy, and find someone who was patient and understanding. Someone who wouldn’t push me as I reworked this boundary to allow for physical contact, and gave me the respect and space to do that.
On that note: I have not completely wrecked my friendship with SB. Dude, how are you still a thing? How? I mean I’m okay with that, but I just don’t understand. Or maybe I need to stop that whole not worthy of friendship bullshit?
I do plan on writing about my friendship issue thing in the near future.
On another note: I have two dates this week with a couple of guys who are actually taking the time to get to know me, and connect outside of the physical. Tomorrow I have the first date over some covfefe. Saturday or Sunday I have the second date. We’re going to the museum and then bowling. I am looking forward to this, but so nervous because, man. Two dudes, with a possible third that I have yet to meet in person, but am hoping to soon. How is this even happening? It’s raining men right now, and I’m not sure how to navigate it. I need to just get out of my way, and live in the moment though.
Mindfulness and all that shit.
This was supposed to be a shorter post, btw. Yet here we are, 2,100 words later.
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