September 17, 2011
Still alive (sort of). Still sexy (sort of).
Still trying to make sense of the bad decisions I’ve made as a result of being untethered (no, really).
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August 1, 2011
This is what I woke up to this morning:
A few things to note:
I will ‘fuck and suck any dick’ (can’t take credit for that snappy rhyming, unfortunately) BUT CALL ME ANYWAY.
My ex (Olive Garden, in this case) is a ‘nasty fucker.’ OOPS. Warn me next time, okay Aubrey’s fake tumblr? Come on, help a dirty cunt out.
I’m ‘fucked up crazy’ which is flattering, frankly, because it means they’ve read at least one of my posts.
I have a ‘slick nastly clit’ which sounds kind of sexy so MAKE UP YOUR MIND, AM I TERRIBLE OR NOT? Please let me know (mail@vaginadrum.com) because I think once you get past the smell, we could really get along.
Now, for a few facts:
No one can ever shame me for having a vagina. It’s absolutely not possible. I’m sorry I wasn’t built to be ashamed of what I am, even if that does involve having a ‘nasty smelling cunt.’ I encourage additional attempts, however. Fail better, you know, all of that.
Whoever created this gem is someone I know. Someone who knows my full name, my ex’s full name, where my parents live (one of the omitted tags) and the fact that I spent time with ‘Pizza.’
All things considered though, a name change to Vagina Drun would be cool.
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July 29, 2011
I originally wrote this on September 3rd of 2010. It is largely an unfinished thought that I am thankfully unable to return to. It’s not about my ex, it’s not about me, it’s about you. If you’re alone, you don’t have to be, is the point.
He would say, “You cry all the time.” And I couldn’t really argue with him. I did cry a lot. I’d think back to times when I didn’t cry all the time and they all had one thing in common – he was absent. I never dared to bring up that point though, because I knew he’d have another response that ultimately concluded in me being wrong. Again.
The thing is – I knew I wasn’t wrong.
Usually, I’d say something he didn’t like and that would be his cue to leave the room. That’s when I’d take the opportunity to cry to myself as quietly as I possibly could. Sometimes, I would involuntarily let out huge gasps, which were ultimately errors on my part. They only acted as further evidence that he didn’t need to waste his time respecting me.
And I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to say this. How many times I’ve started and how many times I would delete it all the next day. Because he decided to be nice to me. Or halfheartedly apologize.
I’m not saying this to shame him or gain any sort of sympathy. I have no interest in either of those things. I’m doing it to call bullshit on myself and if I’m really lucky, let someone else know that they’re not alone.
Now it’s time to get out of here and be happy.
But seriously – if you’re alone or sad or happy or just ate a lot of candy and afraid you might get sick: mail@vaginadrum.com
I am here. I make mistakes (understatement) and I can’t promise to fix everything for you. But I’m here.
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July 28, 2011
I’ve been told a lot of things about Vagina Drum and myself, especially now that I haven’t been around as much. A few examples:
1. Change your name, people will judge you.
2. Never talk to that ex of yours again.
3. You need to write more.
I’m sorry to say that I can only fulfill number three. I’m doing that right now.
As far as ditching Vagina Drum – it’s not going to happen. I realize it’s not the safest choice but it’s mine and there have been a lot of wonderful things that have come from it. Like my job, for instance.
But the point of this is to talk about my ex and the relationship that, despite its best efforts, never had a chance . In doing so, I will be as honest as I possibly can. Because everyone reading this deserves that. I deserve that.
I haven’t been healthy enough to cut him out of my life. I haven’t been level-headed enough to actually write about all of it. But I can now say that he’s out of my life. My self esteem and self worth may be absolutely shot from three years of ‘You’re wearing that?” and “No, this is why you’re wrong.” but when he recently told me, with a smile on his face, that I was too ‘harebrained’ to successfully kill myself, something in me snapped. Not in a violent way. Not even in an angry way. I was, in that moment, given the perspective I needed to realize that this person doesn’t love me and this person doesn’t care about me. That’s okay.
I am admittedly having a hard time writing about my feelings and experiences regarding the relationship. Because every painful memory, every comment made to second guess myself is followed by his voice. A voice that ultimately invalidates me. A voice that let’s me know that I’m wrong to feel the way I feel. A voice that uses my own actions to impale myself on my own less than stellar actions as justification to be treated poorly.
Speaking of which, I’m not perfect. I’ve slung plenty of mud. I’ve cursed and yelled and belittled in order to save myself from falling over the crumbling skyscraper that was our relationship. I am absolutely not without fault. My only goal in writing this is to not do that anymore. There’s no need for it. There never really was, sadly.
I will freely admit that the relationship saw a lot of laughter, love, travel, growth, and shared interest in feeling better about our lives while watching Cheaters. I wouldn’t be writing Vagina Drum if it weren’t for him. I wouldn’t be in San Francisco if it weren’t for him. I wouldn’t have an impressive collection of vibrators if it weren’t for him.
But I also wouldn’t have serious doubts that anyone will ever love me consistently and without contingencies. I wouldn’t worry that I’m only attractive while wearing something form-fitting or low cut. I wouldn’t worry I’ll never be good enough for anyone.
He’ll likely never see this or truly realize the depth of the scars that have been inflicted. That’s not the point anyway. They’re mine to deal with now. I just need an opportunity to be listened to. To be truly listened to. To know that I’m not crazy. To know that I have a reason to be hurt. To understand that, despite my sometimes deplorable behavior, he has issues that are not mine to talk about but were made mine to feel bad about.
Still, that doesn’t eliminate the fact that part of me still holds on to this fantasy that he’ll show up to my office one day as I’m leaving, look at me sincerely and tell me that he’s sorry. Maybe he’ll even have one of those foil balloons shaped like a house cat, comically whipping around in the wind as he gives me the only thing I’ve ever really wanted from him. To finally be respected by him enough to have the recognition that my pain from the relationship is not entirely my burden to carry.
And then once he turns to walk away, maybe I’d let the balloon go and watch it haphazardly cut through the sky.
Because I’m no one’s house cat anymore.
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