My Life in Crisis Mode(Finally, an Actual Catastrophe!)

We are in the middle of a pandemic. There is a virus that we have no vaccine and no cure for, with an estimated mortality rate somewhere between 2-15%, depending on age and comorbidities. It is worldwide, and it isn't like "Contagion", where anyone that contracts the virus quickly shows dramatic symptoms and then dies, making it easy to trace. We can easily be carriers. It can feel no different than a cold, or we can show no symptoms at all, and still infect others. In some countries people are being forced to stay home, while in others, the government is strongly recommending it, but we are not actively locked down. Every day, you wake up, terrified to look at the news(but looking anyway), you're worried about the safety of your loved ones. Financial insecurity, housing insecurity, only leaving the house for essentials, trying to put as much physical distance between you and other humans as possible, but still trying to stay connected, trying to stay sane.

I feel fine. First off, I am in a privileged situation. I live in Canada, where the government is giving you $2000/month if you worked, basically at all, last year. I live with two people who did not lose their jobs, and are working from home, and are shouldering more than their share of the financials. I have a house where everyone has their own space. There are no children to take care of. There is a large yard in which to be outside, space to set up a vegetable garden. We can settle in for the long haul here. But also, I've lived this way for years. Outside has always been terrifying, every person within 6 ft of me has always been potentially dangerous. The people I love might die suddenly(they could be dead right now, omg I better check!). Folks all over the world are dying in horrific, preventable ways and there's nothing I can do about it. Live off $2000/month? I was on Income Assistance last year. I got $430/month. The crippling anxiety about whether or not every single action I take is the right one is gone. I know what the right thing to do is, and it is to stay home, wash your hands, and do your best to get through today. It's freeing, for me. As much as it pains me to see so many people having a terrible time, buried in grief and doubt, it is also helping me have more compassion for myself. It's showing me that it's normal to feel absolutely awful when things are bad. You can have days of productivity, and days where all you do is curl up on the couch and watch Netflix for 18 hours, both are fine.

So, from someone who has been living in their own personal apocalypse for years, check up on your homies, remember to eat, and do what you gotta do to get through.

Fuck This, And Fuck You: A Rant

Santa on a pogo stick, the fucking world is on fire. How the fuck is it still up for debate whether some humans are more or less human than others, and even if they are, actually, the same fucking species(spoiler alert: they fucking are), are they the right kind of human? Are they the kind that deserves the basic rights that we are CAPABLE of providing? It's not as if we don't have the food, space, money, clean water, love, compassion, protection, energy, clothing, resources. These things are abundant, and they are wasted. They are hoarded, and doled out to the "worthy". Whether worthy means that you were born into the privilege that keeps you safe, and lets you feel like this is a thing you get to debate or play devil's advocate about, and not an eternal life or death struggle, or if worthy means that you just learned to grovel well enough to those that were. Us "lower classes" are treated as pets at best, diseased vermin at worst. If you do exactly as I say, when I say it, if you are sure to know your place, then we can see about making sure you survive the winter, yeah? Aren't you so LUCKY to be able to trade your time, your energy, your individuality, your spark, your god-be- fucking-damned life for the opportunity to help someone buy their fucking sixteen year old a lexus, or finance renovations on their 3 million dollar home, not because anything is wrong, but because "well you know, darling, I just can't STAND this tile anymore, it is so 2005"? Dance, show pony, dance. Dance until you fucking bleed, but always make sure to smile.  Just to survive. And of course that's only if you're "palatable". POC/trans*/struggling with mental health or addiction/just not fucking pretty enough? GTFO.

The people that we perceive as running the world Do Not Want Us. Unless of course it's time to make them coffee, suck their dick or make sure the dog they didn't really research before getting has someone to take it for a fucking walk. They need us for these jobs and then shame us for having them. Oh, there are better ways to make a living? Well, who's gonna fuck your husband for you while you're in Barbados, Susan? Who's going to install that new marble island? PEOPLE WITH THE SKILLS YOU LACK. Your soapbox is made from the flesh and blood of people just trying to survive while you deny them the opportunity to thrive with your greed. We run their fucking world for them.

Steal from corporations. Be gay. SUPPORT MARGINALIZED FOLX. Stay as safe as you can. The only cleansing this species needs is a cleansing of racist, capitalistic, misogynistic, transphobic, whorephobic, xenophobic, awful fucking greedy garbage viewpoints.

Does He Like Me?: My Obsession With Being Attractive to Men.

My recent concussion and ensuing month(so far) off of work has given me a lot to think about. Most notably(and ironically), is how I think too much about everything, but also trying to come to terms with and reconcile my alcoholism, codependency issues, my sexuality and my feminism.

Hey y'all. I've been thinking. I've been thinking about some fucked up shit. I've been doing some motherfucking self discovery up in this bitch. I've been thinking about my place in the world, and the world as a place. I've been thinking about my relationship to myself, and my relationship to others. About my constant emotional labour. About my codependency. My obsession with being attractive. My social conditioning to be as perfect as I possibly can. My eating disorder. My tits, my body, my cunt, and what goes into it. I've been thinking, and, well, I ain't happy. There is some fucked up garbage I have been perpetuating, and letting myself fall prey to.

Do you know how much of my energy I put into taking care of everything that isn't me? Worrying that my partners are okay, is the cat fed, stove off, house clean, etc., etc. Do you know how few things I do for myself? Just because I like to, because it helps bolster my feelings of productivity, of self worth? Next to none. It's a chore to feed myself, to shower. I've always been a bit of a caregiver, I like showing care and affection, I love hosting, and feeding people, giving massages, I'm great at remembering things that people tell me are important to them. I like making people feel good, all of that's fine. The problem is that mixed up in all of that, is the fact that I'm living for someone else. I'm constantly looking for praise, for validation. For someone else to tell me that I'm doing enough. Ignoring my own limits, my own needs, to reach this unattainable, nonexistent ideal of enough. Constant emotional labour. I usually only put effort into taking care of myself if I can convince myself that it will benefit others, or at the very least that if I don't, it will affect their perception of me in a negative way, and we can't have that, now can we? That's fucked up.

You know what else is fucked up? I was talking to a friend recently about how it would be more upsetting to me that an ex lover would stop finding me attractive, than it would be to have them hate me. Can't stand me, sure, but you still want to fuck me, right? I have a desperate feeling in my gut at the thought of not being attractive. "You think I'm pretty right? I'm at least pretty enough for you to stick your dick in, right?" VALIDATE ME. Ugh. Motherfucking ugh, y'all. I have been thoroughly indoctrinated with the notion that my worth is inextricably entwined with my ability to sexually appeal to men. All men. Not even men I want to fuck. It is just my duty to be arousing to them. I'm not even straight. Not even a little, but I find myself dating and fucking men, and competing with women. It makes me fucking nauseous. I waste my energy like, sitting "properly" on the bus. Making sure my tits are up and my lips are pouty. Pandering to the male gaze. What the fuck. Fucking why. No more. I'm done. It is now my intention to be myself. My fierce, intense, frequently scares off men self. I will not calm down. If I'm "too much" for you, good to know, gtfo. If y'all can't handle me, you don't get to handle me. I am done being watered down. I am especially done watering myself down.

Henceforth, I will be intentionally making more of an effort to foster more intimate friendships and sexual relationships with women(hmu if you wanna start a queer femme sex coven), advocating for my needs, putting my pleasure and joy first, and continuing to dismantle my inner patriarchy. There's only one ruler up in this bitch. And that's this bitch. <3

Trying to Find Solace in a Meaningless Existence (Wide Awake at 3am, Again)

I'm a pretty nihilistic person, but I can usually get by on the mantra of "Nothing matters, and that's okay". I can still connect, and love, and live. Except when I can't. How do you make friends when you can't shake the feeling that you're worthless, that there's no point to anything? How can I connect with people that have something as unfathomable to me as hope, people that believe in something other than the depths of human cruelty? How do I love knowing it's for nothing? How do I live?

I used to find solace in my writing; I would drunkenly spill everything out, candid and content. But a blog isn't a diary, and shit got real. I can't just put my life on the internet when I have secrets that don't belong to me, and a story that isn't all my own. Which has resulted in my abandonment of something I used to do once a week.

 I also try to resist telling the ether about my depressive states, because I honestly cannot handle the outpouring of "love" and "support" that happens in the abstract, internet way that exists now. You can't tell me that it will be okay, that I'm awesome and lovely, etc. You don't fucking know me. I'm frequently not awesome. If you don't know how I can lash out and be downright cruel, just because it's raining today, or how I can be a broken mess for days because I had another bad dream, you can't love me. You don't know me. I don't want to know that my cheap facade, my public face, my fucking Facebook profile, is lovable.

 How do I reconcile my nihilism with my empathy? I know that nothing matters, but that doesn't stop me from feeling. I'm frequently afraid, and always suspicious, but I'm desperate to believe in something. 

Polyamory and Me! (Why I Slut the Way I Slut)

Sometimes people ask me why being polyamorous is important to me, why I want it, IF I really do want it. Sometimes it's me, asking myself, usually while I'm hyperventilating in the fetal position. It's not always easy, and it's not always fun. The truth though? I don't really feel like I have a choice. It's an integral part of my sexuality, an integral part of me.

When I started "seriously dating" (read: dating and fucking) at the tender age of 14, I always made an agreement with my boyfriends that as they were not girls, and I was very much attracted to girls, I would still be intimate with girls, literally whenever I had a chance. They were usually okay with this. Without fail, though, there would always come a time that there would be a boy that I would want, and as that was unheard of unless you were either the worst kind of slut, or one of the weird goth kids that all sexed each other on a regular basis (In hindsight I was probably in the wrong friend group), I didn't know how to ask for it. It was simply not done. So I would end my relationships, (or I would cheat, which usually meant ending my relationships anyway, as I feel guilt very strongly) which was sometimes what I wanted anyway, but more than once was just my lust for variety, and had nothing to do with my feelings toward my partner.

Around the time I was 18, I learned about ethical non monogamy, and I was like "Yes. That. So much that". Unfortunately, I soon learned that a goodly portion of people that agreed to an open relationship had a very poor concept of ethics, and just wanted to fuck everyone with a blatant disregard for the feelings of anyone, and used the term "open relationship" as a shield, as an excuse, or as a way to explain away their long term partner that they forget to mention ("Don't ask, don't tell" is now a huge red flag, and I am adamant to the point of obsession about meeting my partner's partners and having them meet mine).

The nice boys that I knew that wanted to date me wanted monogamy, and after all the douchebags with the lying and the cheating, I really just wanted a loving commitment with someone I could trust. Maybe this would be different, maybe this time I could be monogamous. Maybe they were different.  Maybe we could be enough for each other. Maybe I wouldn't get resentful when they couldn't meet all of my needs or when I couldn't, or no longer wanted to meet all of theirs.

Nope. Absolutely not a thing. What it comes down to is that I have lots of needs, and I've never found ANYONE that can meet all of them. Because that person doesn't exist, and monogamy doesn't guarantee you a loving, committed relationship with someone you can trust.

Being polyamorous is a part of me. I've had to unlearn so many stupid ideas of what constitutes real love, what it's okay for me to ask for, what is not okay to put up with. What I want, what I need. What I can handle. Sometimes it's really fucking hard. Sometimes you feel like you're going to die because you feel so awful. But isn't that always the risk you take when you open yourself up to love? More love might mean more pain, but it's still more love. And love is beautiful, and so fucking worth it.

All the Issues.

I have issues. Codependency, abandonment, control, insecurity, self worth, issues. I come by them honestly.  I was never taught how to really love, myself or anyone else. I was taught abuse, in so many forms. I was taught that if you loved something, you controlled it. If the thing you love cannot be controlled, you run. You either physically pick up and take the fuck off, or you metaphorically run away with substance abuse or emotional affairs. This has obviously not taught me to be a healthy, functional adult, especially in romantic relationships. I have a filter that tells me that no one will like me if I say what I think and act how I feel, that there will always be someone better and lovelier and more worthy of being wanted, because they're just, more than I am. I don't know how to(or have any desire to be) anyone other than myself though, so that ends up with a lot of me just, not saying anything, and watching the better, lovelier, mores of the world take over my desired spaces, which I secede, because I feel I'm undeserving anyway, and we may as well get it over with. I will not fight for things I want, because I am too afraid to lose. Rejection is basically an affirmation of everything I feel about myself.

How then, to learn to love myself? I know how to be independent in the basic ways, I can support myself financially, I enjoy my own company, etc. I know it's okay to ask people for help, to have a support system of friends, but it just always feels wrong. I'm either too candid and get myself in trouble, or I'm not honest and it doesn't help anyway. Where's the balance? How do I not overwhelm people with all of my bullshit? People have their own lives, and I'm not really worth the time. All I ever do is feel feelings, and I'm good to talk to, but my problems are so fucking stupid.

Five Years in Vancouver(What Now?)

A few days ago was my five year anniversary of being a bonafide Vancouver resident. I gotta tell you, it's been a great and crazy five years. I've met so many people that are just super, and some that really just sucked. I've loved, learned and lost. I've been semi homeless, gotten my father arrested, performed in a burlesque show, done MDMA, mushrooms and even tried cocaine once (yucky). I've been drugged at a bar, swam naked in the ocean, adopted a cat, racked up thousands of dollars in credit card debt and sold my panties to a stranger. I've had to deal with the grief of people dying, I've gotten tattoos. I've been to a crazy amount of concerts and shows, met celebrities and had just, so much sex. I've been a vegetarian, and gone gluten-free. The greatest people I've ever known I've met here. I've dated, become a feminist, had an eating disorder and found my self respect.

And I've decided that maybe the city isn't for me.
It's loud and expensive. People are shallow and selfish. It takes forever to do anything. I work all of the time, but I never have any money. I have to live with strangers, which means I never really feel comfortable in my own home. I'm sick of having to have headphones in to be able to think. I miss being able to go for a walk in the woods, being able to walk everywhere. I'm just unhappy. I guess my heart is just more small town than I thought.

The answer seems clear to me. Move. But it gets harder when I realize that if I go, I'm going alone. Again. I'd lose my partner. He's not interested in just picking up and moving away. And I mean, if I'm just sitting in my new, lovely apartment, in lovely, rural BC downing wine and crying, holding my cat until he squawks and runs away because I'm so fucking alone, that's not really an improvement. Although I'd able to afford more wine. I'll have so much free time I could probably just make the damn wine, since I'll be so fucking alone. It would get better though. I'd make friends, I'm friendly. I've got vibrators, I'd get off- I mean by. I'd get by. Whereas I feel that Vancouver has just, plateaued. I'm too drained and broke to do any of the fun things, I hate my apartment but can't afford to move into something better. I don't know what to do.