good stuff about me

I'm beautiful. I'm brave and bold. I'm loving and caring. I am smart and curious and daring. I am a fighter. I am strong. I fight strong, beautifully, with love. I have a good heart. I have beautiful eyes, nice tits, great smile. I am funny as hell. I love laughing at my own jokes. I love laughing at my own expense. I love that I am totally open and totally sure no one can ever truly know all the amazingly quirky things about me. I'm fascinated by people. I think they are amazing and beautiful and I want to know their story and their pain and what makes them laugh. I love my dog and my husband and our Sunday morning cuddles which invariably end up with Lincoln smooshing my head and me getting irritated but I will never stop letting him smoosh my head on Sunday mornings. I'm so lucky to be free to laugh and love and be lazy and kiss and nap and eat pizza and all of the wonderful things. I am beautiful. I know I am. I know because when I look in the mirror I see myself. I see who I am. And I put my makeup and do my hair or maybe I don't because I ran out of time and I still smile and cry and keep going every day even when it seems hard as hell because I am a fighter and I can get through literally anything. Expect maybe the zombie apocalypse. Not sure about that one, but I'm halfway through the Walking Dead so I think maybe I got this.

love,
lisapink

now you gotta deal with this glitch on your shoulder

holy fucking shit.

we're about two months away from Jesse being done with school. I feel like it was just yesterday that we kept telling people that he has two more years, and they would say, you've been saying that for years! Yes. We have. And now its over. Almost. And you know what that means... let the panic begin!! These next six months are going to be full of the most wonderfully terrifying changes in our lives. I know without a doubt that this is what I want: get out of Utah. Start our life over again, somewhere new, without the chains of Mormonism, far outside our comfort zone. But that doesn't mean every moment will be hard as fuck for me. It will require a level of strength I haven't had to face since last year, when all that shit went down with my parents. My anxiety makes change very, very difficult for me. Even change I want. Even change I'm excited about it.

Side note. I've had anxiety ever since I was a child. I know this now. I would cry about not turning in an assignment on time. I would have panic attacks over my ponytail not being perfect centered, or one shoe being tied tighter than the other or having socks that didn't match. I've been chronically late my entire life; elementary/middle school/high school/every job ever. I never got any help for it. Instead, when I was 16 and I began to feel the "shame" of having sexual desire as a teenager, and began to withdraw from the "perfect" culture I was surrounded by, my mother decided I was "Clinically Depressed." I remember the exact moment when she "Diagnosed" me. She was a therapist. She still doesn't realize, I don't have clinical depression. I doubt ever did. Situational depression, sure, off and on through my life. But I have always had anxiety. Longer than I can even remember. Yet I lived with that label for so long, never getting the help I truly needed - stress and panic management. Tools to breathe, to calm myself, to focus on getting past the moment of distress and back to my usual, cheerful self. Ha. Because of that label, I still don't see myself as a "cheerful" person. But I truly am. I was people-watching at a bar last weekend with a friend of mine, and mentioned to her that I wish I could pull off the "alternative" look - died punk hair, piercings, dark/ripped clothing, this girl with dreads looked super cute. She mentioned that I seemed too "happy" for that. This girl knows me. I've always been myself around her. And she thinks I'm happy. She's not wrong, I just forget that its true, because once I was told I was "Depressed" I didn't feel like I could ever be anything else. Its who I was now. My grandmother was Depressed, my father and sister were Depressed, and now me. I was stuck.

I'm not saying that's everyone's experience with being diagnosed with clinical depression. But for me, it was a bad call, the wrong call, and had a negative impact on me. It clouded the true issues - the anxiety I was born with and the self-hatred I was ingrained with.

Alright. So back to this. At this point, two months from graduation, here's what we don't know: where we will be living six months from now. Not even what state. How long it'll take for Jesse to find a decent job. How long I'll be working at Conservice. How we'll find a place to live and move all our shit. Here's what we do know: I will cry. A lot. I hate Utah and yet it has been my home for every conscious year of my life. I will miss the familiar feeling I have driving the length of I-15, of knowing where every In-n-Out is, of having memories scattered around the state from moving dozens of times of the course of my life. This past year, I've worked really fucking hard to make friends. And I have made some amazing ones. And I will miss them. I'll be terrified to leave their faces, knowing I may never see them again. Knowing our relationship will be going digital, and that can fade over time. I will miss my nieces and nephews, I will miss my sister and brother-in-law who have supported me so much over the past couple years. I will miss being able to casually hang with family in my "comfy clothes" with dirty hair and no makeup on. I will miss bonding with every exmormon I come across (very few I've met I haven't instantly felt a bond with) (and I come across a lot). I will miss the mountains. I will miss the trees. I have this (mostly) irrational fear that I'll move to a place without trees and how will I survive without those brief instances when I stare at a tree, breathe in, and continue my day feeling a little more peaceful and grounded? I will miss the often-beautiful spring/summer/fall and I won't miss a single goddamn bit of the goddamn cold-ass 95% hideous winter.

I don't know what the future will hold for me. I'll have to start over on the friend-making game; luckily I feel have a good bit of practice at this point. I don't know if I'll keep working. I'd like to do some volunteer work (like becoming a court-appointed advocate for children) and maybe even get a job at a non-profit. I don't know if we'll start talking more seriously about having our own children. Hopefully we'll be able to focus more on fixing our current child. Hopefully we'll be able to do a little more traveling, though first we need to pay down some of our debt.

These next two months are going to go so fast. I've been waiting for it to be over for so long that the not waiting will be a shock to the system. I'm ready. We're ready. We will be brave. We will hold each other through the chaos of life-change. We will give our hearts away again and again to new people, places, and experiences.

And I'll probably do a lot of crying. Its just the way I am.

love,
lisapink

5/23

seven weeks until I'm. twenty.seven. I know it's "not that old." I don't think there's anything wrong my age or getting older. As a humanist/atheist/whateverist, I tend to believe that we should be grateful for every moment we do have on this beautiful earth. I belief each range of the human condition is beautiful - youth, aging, eventual death, probable nothingness. So carpe diem. Twenties are the time of your life, more than any other, to seize the day, to live fully and recklessly and irresponsibly. For the most part, I skipped that in my twenties. From 18, I lived as independently as I could but I had too much baggage, too much fear, too much pride, to live fully. I was trying so hard to prove myself that I forgot to be myself.

Now I'm in my late twenties. I am craving more than ever stability, furniture that wasn't bought off craigslist, a family of my own. a house I live in for more than a year or two. Never before has that stability been so close, so obtainable, and so terrifying. Now I realize all I have yet to experience in life. Now I realize why your twenties are portrayed in media as wild, free, irresponsible - its one of the few times in your life those things are actually possible. Now I realize all the friendships I didn't make, all the people I didn't sleep with, all the late late nights I didn't have, all the concerts I didn't rock out to, all the spontaneous road trips I didn't set out on, hell, all the drugs I didn't try! Now I have obligations, a pain in the ass dogchild, people who count on me, a job I can't easily replace.

I'm not getting any younger and I'm not getting any freer. I don't know how long I'm going to have to enjoy this life, but before I get any more settled and tired and responsible than I already am, I'm going to try, for the first time in my life, being irresponsible.

I'm going to stay out all night. I'm going to party in Vegas, drink too much, celebrate my sexiness, see the (western portion) of the country, scream-sing to live bands, take selfies and use hashtags, ...........  I'm going to spend too much money going on trips, concerts, amazing restaurants, clothes that make me feel great about myself, um, and alcohol.

three months later....

Damn. I wrote this post, feeling hopeful and desperate and inses. And then I went and did the things.

Vegas, concerts, showing up to work on three hours of sleep, maxing out credit cards and paying them back down, wandering San Francisco at one a.m. lost and not even worried, jumping at a new work opportunity even though i was terrified and having it pay off in so many ways, and getting drunk with people I love, people I just met, friends of friends, complete strangers. Dancing and laughing and shameless social media use and sleeping and long long talks and seeing the stars and being brave as fuck.

I fucking did it. And I'll never regret a moment of it.

I'm going to keep doing it. And I'll be scared every step of the way, but damn girl, I'm going die having lived.

two quotes

“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor” – Desmond Tutu

"You are personally responsible for becoming more ethical than the society you grew up in." - Eliezer Yudkowsky

love
lisapink

Death Dreams

An open mouth
Screams
And makes
No sound

I have nothing new to say tonight.

Love,
lisapink

ethical love

I - we're? - contemplating so different than anything I've ever known, so different I'm not sure it'll ever seem like reality. I've spent years reshaping my beliefs into logical, well-reasoned conclusions. So while this may be a foreign subject to just about anyone I've ever known, to me it seems like something worth thought.

We're going on seven years together. Our four year anniversary is in two months. It still surprises me, how long we've been together. I think it might always. And it will always seem like there was no life before this. In some ways, there wasn't. My life can clearly be divided into not with Jesse, and with Jesse. We've been hanging out and kissing all these years and it feels just the same as it did all those years ago. I was 20 years old and didn't enter adulthood until he came along and we became each other's constants. The one we could hold on to and count on to never give up, never turn away. When we fight its half with anger and half with sickness at being angry with each other. I hate sleeping away from him. Even a nap.

When you can count on someone like that, the desperate love we were taught as teenagers turns into safety and peace. I don't worry about four years, seven years, twenty years from now. This is the way it will be.

And as I learn that safety, and as I learn more about myself, about the world, I see that human connection has more possibilities than limited scope society gives us. I recognize in myself that I have so much love to give, more than enough for my wonderful husband, my crazy dog, my family of choice. I want to connect with others. I've struggled for years. How much of that has to do with not allowing myself to love the way that I am made to love? I care about people. I want to see others happy, to hear about their lives and struggles. I want to laugh with them and make them laugh. But its not enough. I want to love deeper. I want to hold them when they cry. I want to be a part of their lives, I want to be someone they can count on.

I want to stroke their hair, hold their hand, lay my head in their lap. I want to love emotionally, physically, spiritually, mentally. Because I don't think I was built to compartmentalize love.

Ironically, I think a lot of that has to do with growing up in a family that lacked physical affections. A family that also didn't love unconditionally, that spoke in secrets and emotional outbursts and alliances. So now, when I look for love, I look for the opposite of all those things. Maybe its a little crazy but its what feels the most honest to me.

So its possible that listening to society about monogamy has severely limited my ability to form genuine human connections.

I'm reading a book called "More Than Two: A Practical Guide to Ethical Polyamory". I'm talking to Jesse. I'm taking it one step at a time, not rushing into anything without knowing each of our thoughts and feelings. I don't know if anything will come of it soon or ever. We may decide its not right for us. But I'm not afraid that exploring it will damage us. We respect and care for each other too much to let that happen. And we respect and care for each other to deny experiences that may benefit our souls. We are lovers, partners, best friends, and we are also individuals. This is our one life on this earth. We both feel we have no reason to believe we will have another life. And so we will live, trying to be better, finding happiness where we can.

love,
lisapink

a still life is the last i will see of you

I read an article last week about the gray area of being suicidal. Suicidal ideation is treated as a black and white symptom -- yes, no --- off, on --- danger, safe. It isn't. Not always. Feeling suicidal can be as complicated as thoughts of death in between moments of life.

I'm in a dark spiral and I can't find a way out. I'm not alone, either. Around me I see distinct pools of darkness, consuming and sucking and suffocating. Yet we're all separate, blocked by barriers stronger than ourselves. There's no reaching out, there's no saving each other. Instead we watch each other drown with a detached misery.

I work hard to distract myself from these feelings. With varying degrees of success. Lately its been more difficult. Its not that I don't think I have anything to live for. I love my husband. I love my dog. I think we could have a good life ahead of us. But I don't know for sure. All I know is it isn't here yet. Instead we're struggling in almost every aspect. Financially. Socially. Emotionally. Feeling fulfilled. Feeling sexually satisfied. Dealing with one stroke of shit after another. If we can only get through this... then what? Our future is as terrifying as it is hopeful. Where will we live? Will we truly be able to start over? What if wherever we go, we end up alone? Will we ever have the happy family we dream of? Or is it all impossible? Are the answers we're relying on just lies we tell to help us feel better?

If I could, I would just stop. Just sit, and not move, and not think, and not try, and not feel. That's what feeling suicidal is like. I don't imagine pills and knives and ropes. I imagine nothing. I imagine the nothingness inside of me expanding, filling, pushing out, becoming my entire world. Its a desperate and dismaying desire. I hate wanting it, I feel myself needing it, I am spinning and closing my eyes and crying and breathing fast and falling and tearing apart and screaming and I am perfectly and horribly still.

But none of this really matters, does it? Because when things matter, you can see it. There are changes. There are actions and reactions. There is help and there is a way to succeed. You know when things matter. Its part of human intuition. And this doesn't matter. I know that all too well by now. None of this matters because tomorrow will be just like today. It will feel the same, only worse because its added to all the yesterday's I felt this same way. Its one step forward and two steps back. As misery adds up, it is negatively multiplied by the ability to reach happiness. Twofold. Threefold. Tenfold. Countlessfold.

At this point I doubt my ability to recognize true happiness. The amount of times in life I thought I've found it, only to look around and realize that tangible feeling hasn't been around for awhile, makes me distrust myself. I clearly don't know. The only thing I do know that those who try to tell me what true happiness is for myself are just as wrong. So I'll keep guessing and second guessing and being wrong and trying again and figuring out I wasn't even looking in the right place to begin with but being no closer to knowing where the right place is. Its exhausting. It is so tiring. I can sleep and sleep and sleep and I will never feel like I truly have the energy to begin this search one more time. But what choice do I have?

None at all.

love,
lisapink

beautiful.bright

I've felt like a different person these past few days. So free of the cloying anxiety that usually haunts my waking/sober hours. I had a chance to truly relax into being ME. I let go of the defense that has been building day by day. Being able to live a normal, daily life without constantly being pressured to conform is incredibly serene. For just a short time, the only person's expectations I had to live up to was my own. And it allowed me to set reasonable expectations for myself, to feel proud of my accomplishments (however small), to not be beset by guilt at every turn.

It was a shocking revelation that I could feel so differently. I've become numb to all that is demanded of me, the blood that is drawn from me over and over. Numb, but reacting imperceptibly. Tiny wounds to my soul, inflicted without notice and without cause. 

I realize now that in the past, I took for granted the joys and simple pleasures of being truly appreciated, of being looked at as someone worthy with a heart that loved and could be loved. Its such an integral expectation for day-to-day life, that it takes a long time to realize when a significant chunk of your existence is severely lacking in that area. 

Today the defenses have been slowly building back up, as hard as I tried to ignore it happening. Truthfully, I need them. I can't get by without them. But I am mourning the lightness, the hope, that is being replaced by a stiff backbone and a rock solid heart. I have to go back to the way it has to be. The thought makes me want to weep, want to die, want to give up. I won't. I won't be defeated. I will return stronger than ever for knowing how soft and sweet life can be. This isn't my forever. This isn't my true calling. One day, one day I will find it and I will be the only one who is not astounded at what I have accomplished.

One day I will live as free and wild and bold and passionately as I want. Never again to be diminished, to be forced to live as a muted version of the brightness that I am. And I will do all I can to help others to be their own beautiful brightness.

love,
lisapink

there can be no love until you love yourself

I can't hide myself. Please don't ask me to. I want to be loved for who I am not some hollow version of myself.

Here's the truth I am feeling tonight: I think if I lose weight people - women - would like me more. As a friend, as whatever. (Men too, but I really only care about Jesse.) Tomorrow I am going hardcore on dieting. Maybe its for a terrible reason, but I am craving female friendship too much at this point to give a fuck. 

All you female identifying individuals: why do we judge each other based on superficial and ultimately meaningless criteria? For millennia we have been captive by men, suppressed by men, controlled by men, used by men. We pride ourselves on being free of all that, of having rights and owning our own bodies. But do we? If we do not love ourselves - our bodies, our minds, our hearts, our sexuality, our spirit, our energy - are we free of the patriarchy that has held us down? When we do not love ourselves, we cannot truly and selflessly and purely love our fellow women. And when that happens, we are defeated as much as we were when we were sold as slaves or used as sex objects or had no voice of our own. Do you look in the mirror and see flaws, mistakes, ugliness, ignorance, powerlessness? Then you are seeing that in every woman you look at. Because you are hearing the message that women are less, that women rely on men to hold to whatever impossible standard you were subliminally taught as a sweet young child. And you are applying that to yourself and every other woman you will ever meet. Why? Why do you do it? Why hurt each other like that? I have been the recipient of the lies that women tell each other, I have told the lies myself. Can't we stop? Can't we love each other and celebrate each other for everything that makes each woman herself? You are beautiful and amazing and talented and intelligent and fascinating. Those things might not be me at all but GOD I love that they are you. You are in to sports or death metal or baking or working out or painting or musicals or religion or shopping or hiking or beer or country music or cats or interpretative dancing or WHATEVER! And I seriously do not get it. But I fucking love you for it. I LOVE IT. It is so awesome that you feel that way about that thing. Every time you tell me about it I need to shut the fuck up and listen and champion how much you enjoy it! We think that we can stop pushing for women's rights and its not true; every moment they are in danger. But you don't have to know about how much women make compared to men or the latest attack on the rights of our bodies. All you have to know that women will stand together, we will share our pain and our hopes and our burdens and our dreams and our love with each other. But it is impossible unless we first LOVE OURSELVES. Love everything about yourself. Love yourself for recognizing your flaws (because every human has them) and love yourself for wanting to change them! Love the shit you are good at and have fun with and love the people that love you. And then when you see another woman... you will not be able to help but love her... 

One other thing: Can we please be honest with each other? I know it is fucking awkward as hell. But just be upfront, okay? You owe nothing to no one - but you owe honesty to yourself, and that means being honest with others. Including, especially, your fellow women. We all feel pain. We all hurt. Be honest with those around you so they can understand and not fall into a vague area where its all too easy to blame your sensitive self, to doubt what you see in the mirror. You owe women the truth. You owe them clarity. Because if nothing else, since the dawn of time women have been through hell and back, and we are the only ones who get that. Sexism isn't over. So we have to stick together, to not doubt each other, and to love ourselves and each other. Be honest. To yourself, to your lover, to your friends, to your family. 

I have a vagina. If you do too, then you know things about me that no man could ever understand.




love,
lisapink

in = equal = ity

I fucking did it.

Last week I stopped by Sailor Jim's and made an impulsive appointment. Today, it happened. It hurt. Either the back is more painful than the forearm, or if I just felt less pain when I could actually watch it happen. I like watching the process; its pretty fucking cool. Its definitely not an unbearable pain; just uncomfortable.

So what is it? I'm starting to plan how I will answer that question. What does it mean? What I say will beyond a doubt depend on the questioner. To the casual, the conservative, the unknown variable: I will give a reply about "equality" and, if pressed, "pride flags." Its the truth. What I may not tell them is that this specifically it is a symbol of my own bisexuality. Yes, I like men. Well, mostly I like Jesse. But I also like women. Of course, you know that already.

Although. The equality part of this tattoo is actually incredibly important to me. I'm sure in my brainwashed-crazy religious days there must've been a time that I "judged" or "looked down" on gay people. But I don't remember it. I do remember one day writing my "testimony" in a Book of Mormon and talking to my then-best friend Cassie about giving it to a gay friend of ours. But I didn't judge him. I didn't hate him. Of course, I also had a tiny crush on him. Everyone did. Luckily, I grew up

As an adult, I've become increasingly aware of inequality in this world. And also more aware of how sheltered and naive I am. I've never faced true discrimination. But I do my best not to be blind to it. Homophobia. Sexism. Worst of all, racism. Its real and it exists and every single one of us has an obligation to do what we can to stop it, to derail it. But what can I do? Who am I to say anything, what do I truly understand? All I know is that there are things in this country going on that are not right. And every moment I live in silence is a moment I can't be proud of.

Fucking Macklemore - Macklemore! - summed it up pretty well for me.



"The best thing white people can do is talk to each other.
And having those very difficult, very painful conversations with your parents, with your family members.
I think one of the critical questions for white people in this society is what are you willing to risk,
What are you willing to sacrifice to create a more just society?
Your silence is a luxury, hip-hop is not a luxury"

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to stop the disgusting sentiments hidden so deeply within our culture. All I know is we can't allow the country's first black president to be followed by racism and hatred. We need a president who bases politics on love, on fighting for equality even when it is the "wrong" thing to do (as in, possibly illegal but totally the morally right call). I'm going to be doing some volunteering for Bernie Sanders this week. I'm going canvassing, maybe do some phone banking. I don't know if he'll win. Maybe not Utah, probably not the U.S. But the more we support Bernie, the more we let Hillary know that this is what we want. We don't give a fuck about Wall Street, we care about income inequality, about giving young middle-class American's the education they need to even have a shot at the American dream, about seeing people as human and not black/white/male/female. Maybe Hillary'll turn our back on us. But nothing - NOTHING - is worse than a out-and-out racist and fucking idiot like Trump. You know, back when I was a die-hard Obama supporter fighting tooth and nail against Romney - someone I saw as the epitome as evil since it combined my two lease favorite things (conservatism and Mormonism): I still wasn't ever the type to say, "if so-and-so wins, I'm moving to wherever!" But Trump? God I will die. I would rather die than live under a fascist like him. I will apply as a refugee to any goddamn country that will take me (Canada, you are freezing but thank you for being willing to take me in anyway).

I want this world to be better than the one I came into. I want my children (if I have any) to see less hate, more love, more acceptance, than I've grown up with.

On acceptance: there are at least three people in this world that I can tell anything to about my life and I know they won't judge me, they will see it as another detail that makes me the person they love. Possibly not something they agree with or are interested in, but no matter what I tell them, they love that is a part of me simply because it is part of who I am.

The people I know I can count on? Jesse. Anna. Chelsey.

There's probably more - people who fit this description but I'm too much of a fucking coward to truly test out.

But ultimately: every single person craves, more than anything else, this type of acceptance.

If you are reading this - and I hope you are - I will be that person for you. I will accept you. I will listen without judgement, criticism. Most of all, I will celebrate everything you tell me as proof that you are the most beautiful wonderful you that you can be.

bouncing bisexually

So I just learned about this thing called "gay bounce." I recently met up with an old high school friend and her and her wife dropped some knowledge on me. And as they were explaining it, I realized -- oh my god. Last summer/fall I experienced my own bisexual bounce.

Gay bounce - to my understanding - is when someone starts identifying/coming out as gay/queer/lesbian whatever - and they tend to "overcompensate" a bit by leaning towards or obsessing over more "stereotypical" "gay" behavior. I'm putting in lots of quotation marks because what the hell do I know. But anyway. 

Last June gay marriage was ruled legal in the US by the Supreme Court. I was at (my super conservative) work when I found out. I literally started jumping up and down and squealing. I, like many other people, had been hoping and expecting this day to come for years. I was so excited and felt such a strange sense of victory and community, that the moment I went on lunch break I decided to come out as bisexual. Publicly. On Facebook. Prior to that moment, only my husband knew I definitely identified as bisexual. There were a couple others that maybe knew I was attracted to girls, or at least appreciated their looks. But I had never really told another person. Before I posted on Facebook, I felt like I should discuss it with Jesse first - but when he didn't answer after multiple calls and texts, I just decided to do it and sent another text telling him I would take it down if he would like me to. Of course, he was totally fine with it. 

Honestly - my Facebook posting didn't get a ton of attention. I spoke to a few people who were supportive and maybe a little hurt I hadn't told them before. My mom was "hurt" as well but mostly decided to just dismiss it as "unimportant" (after all, I had married a man, right? that erases it, right?). I was "a few month's shy of my" 26 birthday. (You are welcome for that reference. Literally, it was one month before my birthday though.)

I've known I was sexually attracted to women since I was 17. I talked about with a(n asshole) boyfriend around that age (he'd alternate between calling it "sexy" and calling it a sin, what a peach). Jesse has known since before we even started dating. I didn't identify as bisexual until I was probably 23 or so. And yes, by that time I was (happily) married and didn't give it much thought outside of some fantasies. 

Coincidentally, amazingly, surprisingly: within a week or so of "coming out" I kissed a girl for the first time. I had never met this girl before, we weren't Facebook friends, she had no clue I had just come out. We were just talking, porn was brought up, I mentioned some of my interests... Okay, maybe it wasn't super coincidental. Before I came out I probably wouldn't have had the courage to be so bold. 

Within a few short months, I had "proven" (if you really need to do such a thing) that I was DEFINITELY into girls. And I. Was. Ob. Sessed. I chopped my hair off. I got a second piercing (its related, don't ask me how). I created a Kik and OkCupid account. I was posting on various forums. I went to a strip club (okay I'd done that already) and spent waaaaaaay too much (those lap dances tho). I'd planned out my next tattoo - a bisexual themed one (which I'm still getting, fuck it). I had picked up coloring books as a new hobby and somehow my color schemes always turned to pink-purple-blue or sometimes just rainbow. There are definitely SEVERAL blog posts about it (and yet, here is another one!). I dunno, it was all I could think of! And honestly? It was a super exciting time in my life. I had HELLA fun. I don't feel my personality changed all that much, other than being more open/forward. Definitely have had some sexually forward moments. But it was really, really amazing. And the most amazing part was realizing I wasn't alone. That a girl being into girls -- even when you're in a committed relationship with a man -- is pretty common. I felt such a beautiful sense of validation, belonging. 

Of course, it didn't last forever. My exploration slowed down. I dunno if it was by choice or circumstance or coincidence, but it did. I've settled back into my normal self - maybe with some more gay references, maybe still dreaming of beautiful boobs. And I think in some ways I have more confidence in myself. 

I miss the craziness of my bisexual bounce. But it wasn't all easy. It did come with its own set of insecurities and issues. Jesse has supported me every step of the way and we are committed to loving each other every day. But that doesn't mean it doesn't take work, hard work; our relationship is going to change out of necessity - I am a different person than I was last year, and so is he. We are closer than ever, but also we now have to be more careful about how we balance each other out. What I focus is on is that my happiness is important to him, and his happiness is important to me. It takes work and sacrifice and understanding. 

I need Jesse: emotionally, sexually, mentally, down to my soul. I also need to experience every aspect life has to offer me.

In some ways, I have it pretty fucking good. 

love,

lisapink(purpleblue)


p.s. anytime I have the opportunity bounce back I am so totally ready.

fourteen

Okay, if a therapist is part psychic, is that how you know he's really good? 

My emotional development stopped at 14. Scared, awkward, hurt. 

When I see teenage girls - my nieces, especially - I want to fight for them and hug them and tell them its all going to be okay. I want to tell them I know exactly how they're feeling (even though I probably don't) and that they are awesome just the way they are. 

When I see myself, all I can see if flaws, mistakes. I'm fat, I'm stupid, I'm selfish, why did I say that, no one likes me, I'm going to fail. 

But I would never let anyone else say those types of things to a person - especially a girl just trying to figure it all out. And that's who I am inside. And that's how I need to treat myself. I need to love myself, be my own champion, protect myself, be my own mother. I've been searching for a mother's love. My own mother will never be able to give me what I need. No one can fill that role - except myself. I am capable of giving myself what I need. I'm taking back the power of a mother. My own has abused that power, hurt me with it, betrayed me time after time. I will not allow that to happen any longer - not by her or myself. There is nothing worse than being your own abuser - you are the one person you can't get away from. The one person that no one else can see is hurting you. 

I am beautiful. Kind. Loving. Intelligent. Strong. I am my own best friend. I am my everything. 

I felt so good about all of that last week. I felt like it was the perfect solution to my depression. But there's one little loophole: 

You're not always the only one saying bad stuff about you. Sometimes other people say bad stuff about you. Sometimes it might even be true. You can only love the good parts about yourself - what if you legitimately have some bad parts? You don't mean to have bad parts. Sometimes I just don't know how to cope and it comes out that way. Sometimes I can't get out of bed. Sometimes other people can't take care of me. Sometimes I'm self-conscious and sad and angry and it comes out in ways that hurt other people. And yes, its only because I'm hurting so very desperately myself. But they can't know that. And even if they do, it doesn't make it okay. 

I'm a black-and-white thinker. I shouldn't be, but its hard to change. So when I hear bad stuff about myself, over and over and over again, I can't help but feel there isn't any good left to love. 

I'll work on it, I guess. I don't know. 

love,

lisapink

This. This. So much this.

An old friend, one whom I haven't had much contact with in recent years, sent me something tonight. I'm so grateful we've made plans to reconnect again. What she sent me was so beautiful, so perfectly encapsulates so much of what I feel in my heart so much of the time for so many people. I think there have been times in my life when I haven't felt this way -- self-absorbed, young love, lost and confused times -- but my soul never can stay detached for long.

You, whoever you are, reading this now: I love you. And I choose to love myself just as I love you: fully and deeply and unafraid. I'm here for you.

Love,
lisapink

"Can We Be Lovers & Not Have Sex?"
Via Brentan Schellenbach
http://www.elephantjournal.com/2013/10/can-we-be-lovers-not-have-sex/

"Can we be lovers and not have sex?

I want a life of a million lovers.

I want to love you.

I want to love you if you are male or female, young or old, single or married…

When I see you we will embrace and hold a hug long enough to glimpse some insight from each other’s heartbeat.

When we walk down the street we shall link arms, pause frequently, and turn our toes and noses towards the other to speak directly without modesty.

I would like us to share the couch together, rather than creating a “do not cross” line where we may as well be sitting on brick blocks seated four feet away. Give me your knee, your foot, your thigh—let your body dangle on top of my body so I can know you the way litters of kittens know each other.

I want to show up to you and look into your eyes instead at your eyes. I want to feel your hand and be consumed by it until the rest of the world ceases to exist. I want to be in your presence and be in want of nothing.

I would like you to leave our time together feeling loved and free and full of your most vibrant and luscious hue of you-ness.

Please do not get confused: I do not want to have sex with you—whether you are male or female.

I have no sexual agenda, as you know, because we laugh at the freedom we feel to speak to strangers for reasons other than because we have to or because we’re hitting on them.

For me, sharing sex with someone requires a certain alignment, and I do not take that lightly. My sex requires that I can possibly foresee living with a person and combining all my stuff with all of their stuff (and I mean physical, emotional, cognitive and spiritual stuff—the stuff that just feels heavy if it’s not the right fit, but feels buoyant beyond imagination when it is). It is delicate, it is careful, it is not presumptuous or impulsive.

And I do not think that our connection is somehow weakened because we do not share our bodies with each other.

For love is love is love is love, and that is what I want.

I only want us to fall in love.

Now I realize that at some point, either you or I may change our minds and crave sexual expression with each other.

For I am human—as are you—and we have wants that change and grow.

But if that desire should spring upon one of us, I hope that we will talk about it, the way we talk about the universe, cultural tropes, the nature of depression, what makes a good cup of coffee, and how your day was yesterday.

I hope that that topic of conversation is no more avoided than talking about the latest episode of Doctor Who or how to effectively clean one’s mouth from Oreo breath.

I would like you to share yourself with me—every stitch of you—so that I may be warmed and nourished by your tapestry. And I would not like you to worry that some of your threading is inappropriate or uncomfortable to share with me, because I am only here to accept you exactly as you are and to take interest in the way you step through life.

So lay on me your doubts, your troubles, your faux pas, your suffering, your sadness. Lay on me your hopes, your dreams, your excitements, your curiosities, your guilty pleasures.

I want to see you how you see yourself.

And while you tell me all of this and more, I would like to rest my eyes upon your eyes, and take my hand upon your back, and laugh up to the ceiling as you divulge, because it is in these moments of pure exposure that I bask in the ever-so-specific you, and I become the ever-so-specific me, and even though you’ve never stepped into the tides of the pacific and I’ve never ridden a skateboard, I am more sure than I’ve ever been that we are the same.

I don’t care if I see you everyday or if I see you only just the one time when I happened to be in that coffee shop and you happened to be making my drink (which was delicious, by the way, and thank you for not rolling your eyes when I asked if your only non-dairy milk was soy)—I want to be your lover.

And I will have the lover whom I share a bed with, and it will be none the less—on the contrary, that love will be all the more—because I take on another million lovers.

So if you’re ready, let me see you and let me love you.

My insides, my arm, my couch, my laugh, my eyes, my toes are all for you.

I hope that is enough."

Bffs

Summer and Marissa. Bo and Kenzi. Blair and Serena. Leslie and Ann. Lucy and Ethel. Jess and Cece. Elizabeth and Jane. Sarah/Cosima/Allison/Helena. Ella and Aeriana. Abbi and Illana. Poussey and Tastee. Tina and Amy. Shawn and Gus. Lisa and Chels. Girlfriends are like the most important relationship in the world. They define who we become. They anchor us to who we are and watch us change into someone new.

And they make us not feel so freaking alone. Like, yeah, I'm sitting here on a Friday night. Drinking alone. But it hasn't always been this way and it won't always be this way. Right?

Aw fuck. I know. I know exactly how this sounds. And you're right. I'm just in this stage. I have to wonder if anyone else has these stages? I wonder what anyone else thinks about at all.

How do I break this? I need to bitch slap this soul-sucking social slump. I need a friend. Someone, here, now, who will girlfriend with me. Bitch over drinks about all the drama in our lives that really isn't that bad and laugh at reality TV and tell each other we're still hot even though we need to lose an unspecified amount of weight and who the hell else will understand how much our wonderfully sweet significant other bugs us sometimes! And then we go home to our significant others and tell them everything we couldn't tell our girlfriend and are we really beautiful even we look nothing like when we first met???

I'm not trying to be shallow or ungrateful or self-centered. I know that I am so lucky in so many ways. I'm trying to be patient, to find a person or people who I can truly connect lives with. Just because it doesn't seem to be here yet doesn't mean I'm going to give up. But oh God, it fucking sucks in the process.

i dedicate this post

Hey girl - I wanted to take a minute to let you know that I’m gonna miss you. I know we didn’t get a chance to become super close - but it doesn’t matter - you still had a big impact on my life. For the first time in a long time (maybe ever) I met someone who made me feel like I’m unique but I’m not alone, that maybe there are other people out there who would appreciate the things that make me, me.

I admire so much about you!

You’re like fiercest feminist and it's beautiful. You actually care/are aware of politics, and you’ll fight for social equality anywhere, anytime. You’re boldly and wonderfully outspoken. But you’re also sensitive. You truly care about the people in your life, and you aren’t afraid to show it. You get that life isn’t always peaches and roses, and embrace that darker side of emotions. Yet you don’t let it pop your pep. You’ve been through depression, religion, all these things in your life and I can tell that you know you relied on your own strength to get you through. And you love books! Ugh, you are fantastic.

I never got “casual” people. Passive people. The ones who don’t care too much about anything, or would rather not cause “contention,” who wanna keep chat light and simple. The ones who glide through life with their eyes closed to anything but the stuff that feeds their blindness. That’s not you. And it's not me. We’ve got our eyes wide open and are seeing life for all its crazy, painful, goddamn beautiful bullshit.

Good luck, girl. You are going wonderful places.

love,
lisapink

Kathleen Kelly

Too many thoughts to even put in to words. It's actually quite rare for me. I've been feeling hopeless. Is there any reason to believe the future will be any different from the past?

"I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small - and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around?" - You've Got Mail

I can't always tell if it's been valuable. How could you measure that? My own measurements always fall short. I've tried to be brave. But I've never managed to be big. I've never lived life fearlessly. And it's the only life I have. Why do I wait to be validated, to have love proven to me, to know the outcome before I leap? I spend so much time worrying, questioning, staying safe within my fear. Isn't that what I fought to break free of?

I want to let go of everything keeping me in my smallness. Yet somehow it doesn't feel possible. Not all ties are our own making.

Ignore this last bit.

love,
lisapink

The numbers scroll by in a familiar, comforting wave. Ten days, complete the Registration. Two months, end friendship with Gresham. One year, forty-six days, meet Turi. One year, eighty-five days, fall in love with Turi. Four years from now, we will be mothers as I lead the Xontinuum into its next era of knowledge. The Past. The Numbers show there is no longer wishes and longings; all will be fulfilled and all will be best. I smile and close my eyes. Then a tug of the lips downward. I can't explain it. The area beneath my breastbone has that off feeling again, as if something in there has been reduced. I think of Turi and its almost as if one year won't be soon enough. As if it'll be.... Too late? It doesn't make sense and I grasp my Adhesion tighter to my chest. There's no such thing as too late when I have my entire future written out in my hands, down to the second. Life is always on time.

I didn't tell you so

My mom is moving back to Utah. With my dad and their adopted kid obvs. I just forget to mention them sometimes.

It's been barely six months. Apparently abandoning your entire family for some random ass city isn't the path to true happiness.

Mixed feelings. I just want a normal life with a normal mom but I guess it's too much to ask for.

My therapist said I can't say I told you so but I'm saying it here.

Still
Moving back doesn't erase the emotional trauma she caused.

God. There are so few people in this world I can count on. And lately I've been too fucked up in the head to even appreciate. All I can see is what I don't have.

love,
lisapink

self-medicate

Beige oval pill, before I go to work

Small white pill, morning and night

These will help me feel better.

Too many times I couldn't breathe

But not so many, since beige.

Only beige also brings me down

Down to the dark, to the empty

To the let this moment be my last.

Bring in white, to add a little color

Not as down, not as dark.

Three a day, don't run out

Don't forget

Or you suffocate

Or you drown

By the time the sun comes back around.

Punished for yesterday's mistakes.

But lets say I don't forget

Still not enough

Drag myself out of bed

Try to care as little as possible

About hair, makeup, clothes.

Leave the safety of home

Enter an alternate reality.

Hello! Caring, funny, sharing

Helpful, dedicated, innovative.

I'm happy, I have it together, I'm on,

I'm me? 

Yes -- but also no. Not me. 

Work me. 

Every joke a tool to smile

Every laugh I get a lifeline

Every task accomplished a victory.

I had a good day

But its still not enough 

Drive home, comfy pants

I smell dinner.

Crash. I'm tired. Emotionally Exhausted. 

So many hours, so much effort

Now I feel the ups, the downs, the everything.

Slide under a warm blanket

Don't face the feelings

Slip into quiet and forget.

Lets say I wake up refreshed

Its still not enough

Hours stretch ahead of me

An evening to fill, to waste

No money, no friends, no plans.

I'm ready to feel. 

The only way I know how

Two-thirds can Black Cherry Fresca

I won't admit how many ounces

Malibu Mango Rum.

MMMmmmmmm.... melt

I smile

I feel

wonderful! 

I watch TV, happily

I might blog, might color, might read

I pet Jesse's face, give him a kiss

I love everything.

That was Monday

How long until Friday?

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Beige pill, white pill,

happy Lisa, tired Lisa, drunk Lisa

and white pill. 

All accomplishing the same goal

Get through another moment

day, week, month.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Still not enough

Can I press pause? 

Can I fast forward? 

Still not enough

I'm sorry I can't be happy.

I treat the symptoms

Because I can't find the cause.

Its too invisible

For anyone to see but

I always know its there. 

Please don't judge

Please don't take this away. 

Please don't think you understand.

I don't understand.

love,

lisapink

do you ever wish you lived in a painting?