drinking is pretty

I'm feeling really good right now. It doesn't make sense that I avoid things that make me feel good, when in the moment all I can think is that I always want to feel this way.

This week has been better. I feel more confident in myself. I am actually pretty goddamn awesome. And I shouldn't dismiss the people who believe that. They're not as crazy as I assume they are.

There will be others.

I've been thinking about moving. Not just moving houses (as we will be doing shortly) but moving away. I need to get out of Utah. Being in the minority culture group really fucking sucks. Somehow it means that everyone else gets a say in my life.

But I also have no idea where to go, or even where to start looking. There is nowhere specific that pulls me; at least that we'd have any hope of affording. How do you decide where you want to spend your life? When you are born somewhere, it's hard to even fathom going about your day-to-day existence somewhere entirely different. But then I think, well I'll get used to it and when the majority of my free time is Netflix does it even matter?

And the rest of life is working. Which is why it feels so important to eventually work with more like-minded people. I don't know what my dream job is but I know how it feels. Is that odd? I want to feel that I'm contributing to this world in a measurable way. I want to feel as though my heart is interesting/good enough to help someone else's. I have no idea how to go about it.

Right now none of that is possible. And so I'm drunk again. Does it make it better? I don't know. It softens everything, and even the bad emotions feel beautiful. That's something, I guess. The last time I opened up to my mom - when I begged her not to leave me - she claimed I had told her that drinking made me "more emotional." As if that was the only conceivable reason I'd have to be devestated. As if years of emotional distance hadn't dragged deep wounds into my heart. What really pissed me off is that she was lying. I had never, at any time, ever spoken to her about my drinking. Certainly not how I feel when I drink. Because she already had her judgements formed, and if there is one thing I know about my mother is that nothing can change the reality she lives in. Jesse and I were talking about that the other day.

Fun mom story. Apparently on Thanksgiving, my mom's adopted six or seven year old daughter was having a meltdown (because that's what highly damaged adopted children do) and as my mother was trying to get her in the car, some guys nearby thought it looked like my mom was kidnapping this girl. So they called the cops. They also apparently decided they couldn't wait for the cops to save this girl, so they started "hitting" and "attacking" my mom's car trying to get to the girl. Listening to this story, Jesse and I did feel a bit sympathetic for my mom -- after all, adopted children are difficult and its not always easy for outsiders to understand the situation. And it seems like theses guys overreacted (in getting violent), which must've been scary. However... I couldn't help but think... that every mom story has something left out. We must not be getting the full truth. She must've been doing something or saying something that caused more suspicion than the situation warranted. I don't even know what, I just know that in the last two years I have learned that my mother never tells the full truth. She will always, conveniently, "unintentionally" leave out the parts that make her look bad. When confronted with this, she generally keeps twisting reality. That way, she never has to confront her own sick behavior. 

Ironically, the way I learned this was from a previous "daughter" that my parents considered adopting before they gave up on her. She was 17, though. She was old enough that when I heard her tell stories about fights with my mom, she would tell me the facts. And they always included facts that my mother would leave out of the original story. And it occurred to me (for the first time) that my ultra-religious mother is the dirtiest fucking liar I have ever met. And that to trust her is to continue getting hurt. 

Drinking helps. I don't give a fuck if that is wrong. You know how a lot of artists are alcoholics? I kind of get it. There's something about it that makes me feel so... pure. Everything I see and feel is beautiful. I want to make beautiful things. I want to express the beauty around me. I tell Jesse, in a couple years - when you get a high-paying job and I stop having to worry about everything in the world -- put me in rehab. For now, I'll keep functioning and using this as my time to let go of all the burdens, to give myself a moment to goddamn breathe without worrying the world will explode. Its one of the few times I can feel like each moment is perfect.

I love my husband. For all the reasons I have to be in therapy, I'm glad he is there to make life worthwhile. I was super mad at him today. We're both incredibly stressed. That's uncommon for him (it reminds me of when we're both sick and then who the fuck is going to take care of me??). Then when I got a chance to just spend some time near him tonight... I realized the only reason I was mad at him is that I can only be truly at peace if he is with me. God, I love him. I know how ridiculously lucky I am to have a man like that be by my side through all the shit and sunshine of my life. 

love,

lisapink

P.S. I couldn't convince Jesse to spontaneously hit up the strip club tonight. His compromise was taking me to see Mockingjay a third time. I can live with that.  

whatever it is that i am

You love me. Real or not real?

I've mentioned how you can never know another person's truth. Sometimes you don't even know your own truth.

We are so much luckier than most. We don't have to be afraid. Our days are filled with relative safety, comfort. There are no terrorist attacks in Logan, Utah. I will never live with war. There is no enemy coming for me, for you. Yet... There is pain. There is suffering. We, who live in luxury, attack each other in personal and viscous ways. In mass shootings. In abuse. In gossip, in judgement, in exclusion. In telling our own stories instead of hearing another's. In being too insecure to allow ourselves to feel empathy. In forgetting to say I love you or show we care. I don't think any of us are innocent.

I've been told that I have a good heart. I've been told that having a good heart means always showing love, even when we don't feel love it return. I've been told -- ironically, by someone who doesn't believe in Jesus -- to turn the other cheek. I don't know if my heart is that good. I'm definitely not innocent. I have burned bridges, given up on relationships that could have been saved. Maybe I've hurt people. I don't know. The fact that I don't know says a lot, I think. I do know that I'm not always sure how to tell what's real or not. I can't trust what I see to be real. All I can trust is the fear. I have a shadow in me, creating doubt and despair. Sometimes I can blame it on certain factors in my life. The religion that scarred me. The family that rejected me. The friendships that faded. But I think the truth is that it has always been there. I've always had intense emotions: joy, indignation, spirituality, protectiveness, wonder, love. Its almost as if they all come from this same shadow. Moments in my life can be overwhelmed by it. I drown in the darkness, the sweet deep well of emotion. I can't breathe. I can't live without it. 

I have a lot of fictional or celebrity heros. I know they aren't real; I guess why its easier to connect with them. Katniss doesn't trust anyone. Until, she does. Until she lets them in, and then she loves them with a fearless fierceness that strikes me to the core. I want to believe that can be real. I want to let in the goodness of others into my heart. I want to pour the goodness I have into others. Yet I feel that opened myself up to cruelness instead. And maybe I deserve it, because I've been cruel in return. So now I've shut down. I've withdrawn into my shadows, and now I feel as though there is no escape.  Where would I even start? 

I think my heart is not as good as it seems. If it were, I could overcome this. I could continue to give goodness to all those around me. 

The worst part is... if having a good heart means being good to those who have been cruel... I don't know if I want to be good. 

love,

lisapink

Intolerant of Intolerance

"You tell me I am intolerant, but you are intolerant of intolerance!"

Believe it or not, that was, word for word, said to me as a criticism. Maybe it is. Maybe its a flaw. But its something I'm proud of. I'm judgmental as fuck. So this post is going to be awkwardly hypocritical.

Each human's range of experiences are mind-boggling narrow. The number of atoms in existence is infinite, and yet all we know are the many billion that make up our own skin. Every thought, feeling, every time we process any of our senses, we are doing so in a way that is uniquely tailored to all the bits and pieces we are made of. Absolutely, exclusively unique. And yet --- exactly the same. Because our skin is not made of anything different than every single human's has ever been. Our thoughts and feelings come from the same sources. We just don't have any way of knowing that in a personal, tangible way. To us, everything feels new and special and perfectly right. The way we think and feel is the only way to think and feel. Our skin is the only skin that truly makes sense to us, because it moves with us and protects us and is wholly familiar to us. Yes, it feels that way. But it doesn't make it true.

The truth? Hell if I know. I work my ass off trying to figure that one out. Here's what I've come up with so far. There are two types of truth. One is based on information. Science, facts, study, logic,  verifiable knowledge. The other is a personal truth. The truths that you feel to be true based on your limited range of experiences, they are the unidentifiable parts that do make us unique.

You know why the world is so fucked up? Because we forget that our personal truths are not true for any other person or being except us. Not a single one! It wouldn't make any sense for them to be, because those are the things that do make us unique. We get lost in our own uniqueness until we reach a point where it no longer makes any impact us, and we assume that our personal truths are universal truths. And when others don't act in accordance to our perceived universal truths, we get angry.

There are obvious examples of this. Racism. Sexism. Religious discrimination. Its 2015 yet painfully clear these still exist. There are also more subtle, seemingly innocuous and ordinary forms of this anger. When someone tells us they dislike our favorite band, we tend to get a bit defensive. Its part of our human weakness to react this way. Some people have decided that because they are not "racist" or "sexist," they do not discriminate and are not intolerant. Then you have a conversation with them about one or all of these topics: Gay marriage. Transgendered people. Low-income families on welfare or other government assistance programs. Polyamory. The use of swear words. Alternative choices of clothing/piercings/tattoos/hair styles. "Masculine" women or "feminine" men. Smoking/drinking. Who they believe gets to "their" heaven. Sexual preferences/kinks/activities. Minimum wage. And all of a sudden the only thing these "tolerant" people have to say are how stupid/wrong/gross/crazy/undeserving those other people are. If you have decided, in any way, that your truth is better than someone else's truth: you are intolerant.

Unfortunately too many people see intolerance not as weakness, but a reaction to be nurtured. It gets twisted from a flaw into the realest (possibly only?) evil humanity has ever encountered: deciding that others must live by the truth we have chosen for ourselves. This, at the root, is why world peace is a pipe dream.

I'll give you a the only good reason to be "intolerant" of people or behaviors. Are they -- factually, objectively, logically -- hurting any individual in any way? No? Then fuck off. There is no wrong or right beyond that. Don't hurt people. Don't be an asshole. Try to add some goodness to the awesome world we live in.

Don't be an asshole. 

That's it.

Tragically, one of the most common forms of intolerance stems from ignorance. It is easy to stay within those billions of atoms in close proximity to us and refuse to look outward. Searching to understand other people's truths is hard, painful work. It also the most incredibly rewarding experience we could ever dream of having. Embrace your unique human-ness by embracing all that makes any of us unique.

And if you are going to be intolerant or judgmental (as I can be): do me a favor and at least have some damn good (rational) explanations for being so.

love,
lisapink

let me out - let me be

I'm hiding in plain sight.

I pull everything I can from my heart. It will never be enough.

I'm still not capable of being truly vulnerable. I won't risk it, no matter how desperate I am to try. It isn't fair to those around me. I pride myself on authenticity, and yet - my lies may be the deepest of all. To my own self-sabotage, I tragically believe my own pretense.

Fuck. Even here I'm being pretentious, analyzing each word for things like "beauty" and "truth."

Fuck that.

I suck at being a friend. Then I get angry that people don't want to be my friend. I'm selfish, egocentric. Narcissistic. Vain. That's the point of this entire blog, right? To talk about how deeply awesome I am? I'm so intelligent and beautiful and funny - of course people would want to be in my life. But is it true? I can be loyal. I practically shit loyalty: I'll do anything to make someone happy, to support them, to fight for them. And then I resent them because I never give them a chance to do the same for me. What kind of fuck up does that make me. What a bitch.

I am a bitch. But goddamn it, at least I have SPICE. I want to get out there and experience REALITY. I refuse to walk any line. I don't want to be afraid anymore. I want to get drunk and sleep around and spill my guts to anyone who wants to listen and make dumbass mistakes that I regret immediately. I want the Party Life.

That's one side of me. The other craves stability and responsibility and safety.

Then there's fiery Lisa. The one who wants to take down the fucking patriarchal, bigoted society we live in. Are you sitting there in your comfy middle-class house with your first world problems judging the fuck out of anyone who isn't exactly like you? Then you deserve a bitch-slap from this girl right here.

But really, all there is is wittle wisa: scared and hurt and vulnerable and afraid and desperate - SO FUCKING DESPERATE - to be loved.

Sometimes I think the only thing I believe in is sex. But even that can be lies.

Its not so easy when you don't have a god to fall back on. There's no standardized answers you can pull out and decide to trust. And I was never taught another way. I'm trying to learn - I think I have learned - and then I'm back at the start.

Thus the self-obsessed blog and the therapy sessions. I hope I can get in to my therapist this week. This post makes me think I may need it asap.

My biggest fear is that no one thinks of me at all.



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Jesse and I just had this long conversation - over FB chat while we are both sitting on the couch because I'm neurotic like that --- about polyamory. I love him.


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love,
lisapink