The easiest part of life? Like hell it was. High school is rough as fuck for so many people. I for one wouldn’t be strong enough to deal with it twice. I mean sure, there are no bills. There’s no debt, no real responsibility. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. What about the pressure to become someone relevant when you’ve been taught otherwise for the last 10 years because you’re not an honours student? When you don’t know yourself well enough to decide which path to take and so are deemed a failure? And the bullying, good gods, the bullying. Being spit at in the hallways? Hearing from your friend that she’s being sexually abused at home and not being taken seriously about it when you tell an adult? You’ve never received a phone call from your school counselor where she tells your family you’re in some sort of lesbian death cult and it shows. They don’t really believe in mental health for students in small towns. High school is where we learn that no one really gives a shit unless you’re a specific brand of student, so I guess if anything it helps make the REST of life easier, because we’re all fucking dead inside when — if — we finally escape.

No. High school is definitely not the easiest part of life. Not for all of us.

In July of 2017, I was asked if I was willing to take in two kittens. They had been put in a box and thrown out the window of a truck. Someone (the real hero of this story, actually. I’ll not mention names here but I never did thank you for being so amazing and going back to look in that box) had been driving behind the truck and had seen the box being tossed. That someone and his family, who took these young kittens in and loved them back to health, is who I adopted the kittens from. The best foster family ever.

I look at these babies, and I cannot wrap my head around how someone could just throw them away like something so insignificant. I understand that there are people who don’t believe that animals have rights. That they are nothing but toys to destroy and discard, or objects to dissect and study, or a way to get money, whether by breeding or fighting or what have you. I understand that many people just don’t care, because they are “just animals.”
I also understand that desperate times so often call for unfortunate choices to be made. Maybe someone is unable to afford to care for the animal, or someone has found out a family member has pet allergies, or they have a strong-willed pet whose personality isn’t compatible in that home.

There are so, so many of us who care, and who would love to help. We have allowed animals into our hearts. We know that they are sentient beings who deserve to be respected and cared for. Who believe that pets are family, not disposable.
So please, before you decide to abandon on a back road, or put down, or otherwise discard of whatever creature you’ve decided isn’t worth it to you, or that you can’t care for, for whatever reason, please understand that there are always options. Veterinary clinics, shelters, maybe even a friend or family member. There is always someone. It just takes a bit of searching.

These kittens: shy, beautiful Oracle, with her silky black fur and adorable meow, and fearless, itty-bitty Imi, with her demands for cuddles and her humongous personality, would not have made it on their own. Ora, at 6 weeks, was a bit older and bigger, but Imi, at 4 weeks, wasn’t even eating dry food yet and still stumbled when she walked.
The silver lining is that Imi, who cries when she’s cold, and Ora, who purrs loud as thunder, are now a very special part of my family. And because they were both so young, they imprinted on me and even now will come when I sing.

And to the person who could put these two tiny babies in a box, throw them out the window on some back road where they may or may not have been found, drive away, and live with yourself after: I’m sorry you felt that was your only option. Please don’t own pets in the future if you can so easily abandon them. Buy a cactus.

Photo:
Top: July 2017
Bottom: February 2018

I saw him.

I saw him, and my stomach twisted into a giant knot. I felt nauseated, as if I’d just stepped in something rotten instead of having merely glimpsed it. My heart went suicidal, leaping from my chest, kamikaze-style, abandon ship, to land on the asphalt at my feet. The wet plop of it alighting was drowned out by the internal screaming that had begun in my head, and I went into immediate flight mode, blurting a quick, “Nope.” before pivoting and scampering back to the car, dignity be damned.

 The panic attack was instant, and I practiced the breathing exercises I’d learned in therapy, trying to combat the hyperventilating that my lungs were so insistent on. My mate turned into a guard dog, all puffed up and predatory. It would have been hot if the circumstance wasn’t such a mind fuck. But his strength helped to ground me, and his anger at my enemy helped me to calm down, and I was able to carry on with dry eyes. But my hands still shook.

 What sort of person had I seen to send me spiralling into what was almost a mental breakdown, you ask?

 I had shown up to attend a wedding. This was my reaction to seeing my ex-boyfriend (who was a relative of the bride) in the parking lot.

I can honestly say I wasn’t expecting to have that kind of reaction. I’d assumed that five years was enough time to get over it, to heal.

 I didn’t plan on running away, but I did. I didn’t intend to panic, but that definitely happened too.  I thought for sure I’d be able to handle seeing him.

 But I was wrong.

 And that’s okay.    

Because there are exes — those who hurt us, who abandon us, who lie and cheat and break our hearts — and then there are ex-monsters. These are the noxious people we let into our lives who don’t stop at breaking hearts, they insist on breaking our minds and spirits, too.

 These are the abusers, physical or mental or both, the ones who do so much emotional damage that we’re lucky if we can ever be truly whole again.

Seeing him brought it all back, a kaleidoscope of ugliness and memories I would never be able to forget. 

This was the man who put his cigarette out on my leg.

Who told me I was lucky he stuck around, since no one else ever had.

Who told me, “I love you, even though you’re so fucked up.”

Who took my mental glitches and held them over my head while being so blind to his own.

Who mocked me for taking my mental health seriously.

The man who drowned his demons in alcohol.

Who emotionally cheated on me with numerous other women throughout the entire relationship.

Who repeatedly told me, “I don’t care” and then proved it.

Who threatened to punch my dog in the face if I didn’t “shut the fuck up.”

Who told me to kill myself and then, minutes later, told me he loved me.

To name a few of his…transgressions.

But hey, at least he was consistent.

These are the people who we have to realize we can’t just “get over” what they did to us. I’d gone to therapy to help me deal with what he did to me, on the inside. I owe my small circle of friends everything, because whether they know it or not, but they helped me more than I could ever explain.

Before you tell a victim of emotional abuse that you understand, that you saw your ex the other day and were bothered by it too, please think before you speak. If I’m coming to you to tell you that my night terrors came to life and attacked me, kindly don’t try to assure me by telling me, I’m scared of the dark, too. Because the two have absolutely fuck all in common.

 I hadn’t seen him in years, yet the idea of having to walk past him just about shut me down. This human evoked something akin to terror in me to the point that I had a fucking panic attack from merely seeing him in the parking lot.

 

I didn’t stick around after the ceremony. I couldn’t. Not with him there.   

 And that’s okay.

Because I will never, ever fault myself for wanting to get away from someone who was so goddamn poisonous. My mental health comes first, always, and I refuse to feel any sort of guilt for that. 

My brain is still an opinionated asshole, I just haven’t had the urge to share lately. 

Not like anyone reads this shit anyway, right. 
🖕😂😭

We’re all so fucking jaded. 

 Most of us are so afraid of getting hurt that we transform ourselves into fortresses, reverse Fort Knox with titanium walls, ivory towers, and megalodon-infested moats, as if to say: “See me? You can’t get in. Not until I say so.” And people don’t even want to try, because it’s so impossible-seeming. And with each new person, it takes a longer and longer time for us to want to drop the drawbridge, raise the portcullis, allow entrance, because why would we want to let someone in just so they can eventually set fires inside and then leave without a proper sendoff? 

I read people well. 

 Disturbingly well, actually. 

 It’s a whole other language. I can read your tone of voice, your body language, your choice of words.

 I read into what you say, I read into what you don’t say, and I read between the lines. 

 I read your facial expressions, your hand gestures, your nervous twitches. 

 I read the angle of your head, the way you hold yourself, your hesitations. 

 Everything about you, from your material choices to where your eyes travel to the way your body relaxes when your brain switches to default, helps me read you just that much better. 

 Everything about you is communication, and I am a reader of humans. 

​Can Guys & Girls Ever Be “Just Friends”? 
As with everything, there is the exception, and then there is the rule. 

 The exception to this being: eventually, maybe. 

 The rule, however, is almost always a big ol’ hell nah. 

 Why? Because chances are, one of the two has feelings for the other, at least in the beginning. The non-feeler will know, or strongly suspect, that and keep the feeler as a “secondary emotional significant other” (think: a back-burner SO who you don’t want anything physical with, but who is crazy about you or just wants to fuck you and so will willingly listen to you complain about your day/actual significant other/ear infection, etc.); and depending on the person, the feeler will either end up saying “fuck this” after realizing the non-feeler has been stringing them along the whole time, or they’ll stay, always have feelings, and the non-feeler will always be the wedge in whatever relationship the feeler has in the future. 
 This kind of one-sided sadness is usually referred to by both parties as being “best friends”. 
 Of course, there are always exceptions and special circumstances. I was personally in one, actually. A special circumstance, I mean. But that was over a ten-year span, we were exes, he’d gotten into drugs and slept around constantly when he was younger, and I’d gained a bunch of weight, so we still got along famously, mentally. We just didn’t have any desire to fuck each other anymore, so really, maybe it wasn’t so special. 

I am amazing. 

 I’m funny, and I’m respectful; I’m polite and honest and kind. I have this huge imagination and I’m fair. I love hard, I’m loyal as fuck, and I don’t give up. I’m stubborn and I’m proud and when I love someone, I have a hard time letting them go, even if it’s for the best. 

 I have this big, beautiful body that I love so much that I’m making it healthy. 

 I have this big, beautiful heart and this big, beautiful mind that I love so much that I’m making them healthy, too. 

 I have this loud, deep darkness that I accept, embrace, and cherish, because it is part of me. 

 I am me, sometimes apologetically, but inevitably, all the same. 

 And I accept and embrace and cherish myself for all that I am, and for all that I’m becoming.

​Once upon a time, in a small town, a teenage girl painted a picture of two lovers on a wall in the high school for Art class. 

 In the painting, the lovers stood in a close embrace, their eyes closed, kissing. 

 Okay, wait. I understand that no matter how PG something is, someone will always have a problem with any sort of PDA (public displays of affection). Take that woman in the States who yelled at those two kids because the boy kissed his girlfriend’s cheek in a restaurant, for example. How dare you show love in my presence??? Off with their heads.  

 Here’s a bit of information about the painting that, for whatever reason (*ahem*), made over half of the small town lose its fucking mind: 

 The lovers in the painting…….were both boys. 

 (*gasp!* O! the horror!) 
 I remember reading some of the comments made by the townsfolk about the painting. It was disheartening and really, really sad. 
 “If you support this, you have no morals.” 

 “This should not be allowed on the school’s wall.”

 “It’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.”

 “I don’t want my 13-year-old seeing this.”

 “I don’t mind it, but I don’t like it being rammed down my throat.” 

 “Of course being gay is a choice. Saying otherwise is just a cop-out.”

 And, my personal favourite: “This is disgusting. Thank God they can’t reproduce. They are a dying bread.” A dying bread. 

 Fuck, I just hate it when my loaf of multigrain kicks the bucket. 
 I had made a comment that went something like: 

 Are you all blind? Or just basking in ignorant bliss on purpose? 

 Here’s a fun fact: there are over 100 species of animals on earth that partake in homosexuality. Homophobia is the minority. Ooh, how does that feel? Just because you believe what it says in your Holy Book of Sins doesn’t mean everyone else does. 

 Having differing opinions on the matter doesn’t automatically make you wrong or right, but if your knee-jerk reaction when seeing two people of the same sex together as a couple is to hiss and spit and preach the word of your Lord, then that says a lot more about you than it says about anyone else. 
 I’ve gotten pretty tired of hearing the religious attack the non-religious by using morals as a weapon. As if you can only have morals if you’re religious. How does that make any sense whatsoever? Being a good person is pretty universal. Either you are or you aren’t, and it doesn’t take a rule book to become that way. 

 This is a painting of two boys kissing. Know where else you can see two people in love? Fucking everywhere. 

 As a heathen who lacks morals, my first thought is: how about attacking something that is an actual problem, like teen depression? Like suicide? Like bullying? Like that feeling that so many kids go through of not being accepted by the people you love most just because you’re different? Why waste time fighting something that isn’t actually a threat? 
 As for the “I don’t think this belongs in a school/I don’t want my child seeing this” — that is completely asinine. Do you have any idea what age some kids are having sex these days? Of course you do. And yet you, as adults, are happily plugging your ears and speaking loudly to drown out the facts. 

 You don’t want your kids seeing the painting, and yet you let them watch violence and heterosexual sex on TV. And, in a sickeningly ironic twist, many of you will push the bible onto your kids. And we all know what the bible says about rape, incest, bestiality, the earth being flat, witches, stoning new brides who aren’t virgins, killing toddlers, and women being the property of men. All of that is perfectly acceptable, and yet being attracted to someone of the same sex is a no-no? 

 You’ll have to forgive me for being completely mindblown. 

 Instead of preaching fire and brimstone and being completely unique in your angrily shouted, “It’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!”, why not instead open your eyes and your mind and your heart? I know it can be difficult to do, but if a moral-less heathen like me can do it, I’m sure there’s hope for all. 
 And since when does burying your head in the sand solve anything? Just because you’re willing to live in denial doesn’t mean the world stops turning. Instead of teaching intolerance and judgment, we should be teaching. Period. Knowledge, facts, trump all. Turning away, banishing the idea from your mind, won’t stop it from happening. And being so vocal in your protests against a piece of art depicting a homosexual couple makes your biased, often bigoted opinion loud and clear: “You are not welcome here. Go away.” 

 What if your kid was gay? What if your kid was gay, and because of your reaction to a simple painting, (s)he knew they could never, ever come out to you? Would you seriously choose that for them, for them to be unhappy and mentally torn apart, just so that you could live in ignorant bliss?

 One of the commenters even went after the artist herself, claiming that she self-mutilated because she made the choice to stretch her ears (holy fuck, come out of the dark ages, Grandpa!), and that clearly there was something wrong in her life to make her want to/feel it was okay to paint what she did. What the fuck? 
 And the “I don’t want it rammed down my throat” — so you don’t like being treated how homosexuals have been treated for forever, then. Because I will bet money that if that painting was of a heterosexual couple kissing, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. 

 Empathy is a great trait to possess, and it’s made obvious in instances such as this that it is a painfully rare trait. Put yourself in the shoes of the people you’re so adamantly against. How do you think they feel, with heterosexuality being so free and open? A painting of a guy and a girl would most likely have been met with comments like, “Ah, how sweet. Puppy love.” Of course, there would have been complaints (a favourite pastime of humans, that), but I’m going to guess that the words “That’s disgusting/immoral/wrong” would not have come into play. Because it’s “normal”, and the only stigma surrounding it is a concern of STDs and teen pregnancy (both very big deals, but one of which is not a concern for homosexual couples). 
 And what if it wasn’t in a school, and it was a painting of two girls kissing? Two attractive, scantily-clad women, sharing a close embrace, an affectionate kiss? Different story entirely, right? I know a lot of straight guys would think, “That’s hot” and then start worrying about whether or not they had cleared the internet history on their computer at home. 
 This is Canada, and it’s the 21st century. We’re a pretty great place for the LGBT community (despite this rant/small towns in Hickville). Same-sex sexual activity has been legal since 1969. Same-sex marriage has been legal throughout all of Canada since 2005. But so many people are still so afraid, hiding from change, and using a book that not everyone believes in as a weapon. 

 Why is it that for every goddamn stupid hick thing you read in the bible now, your closest Christian is quick to jump in with, “Oh, no, you’re reading it out of context“? Oh, okay, so it’s not to be taken literally? If that’s the case, then what are you all doing, toting around what is essentially a book of riddles that no one has the answer key to? 

 Oh, no, wait. It’s only partially literal. Never mind that this is now Bible Version 2.0, rewritten because the original was a bit too outdated, AKA vicious, horrifying, and insane. And never mind that you aren’t even bothering to hide how you’re picking and choosing what to follow and what to condemn now. “I love shellfish, but fuck fags, they’re an abomination, because God.” 

 Makes perfect sense. Just kidding. It really doesn’t. 

 People don’t burn witches anymore. People now know the earth is round. People wear mixed fabrics. People don’t always abide by the many “rules” the bible lays out, so why are so many of you stuck on this one? Why is there still such a war on homosexuality? Why ignore all the good things the book tells you to do in favour of bringing down a group of people that have nothing to do with you? It’s so outdated. Your roots are showing. This shit is none of your business. And whether you’re on board or not, the world — and its people — are constantly evolving. 

 I’m a heterosexual female from outside of a small, Christian-oriented town (seriously — it has eleven churches). I highly believe in equality for all, and I find it amusing that, a lot of the time, other heathens like me have more to show for morals and empathy and love than many of the folk who preach the “word of God”. 

I like kids. 

 People are always surprised by that, but it’s true. I really like kids (or “teacup humans”, as I like to call them (phrase coined from True Blood*)). In fact, I’d even worked in a daycare or two in my younger years. As long as said kids are polite, and they listen, and they don’t scream or cry a lot… Babies are okay, too. They scare me a bit, to be honest, being so damn fragile, and I would rather look than touch (I’m clumsy, plus I’m always worried about squeezing them too tight). I have a few close friends who have had kids, and they make such fantastic parents — I have no doubt that their kids will grow up to be amazing human beings. To a few I’m known as “auntie Skye”, and that suits me perfectly. 

 It suits me perfectly because I can spoil them, and give them sugar, and play with them and take pictures of them and be noisy and goofy with them…and then I can give them back to their parents, and go home to my blessed quiet, which is something that has always been and will always be one of the most important things to me, and to my mental health. 

 So yes, I do like children quite a bit — as long as they’re not mine and I can give them back.

 

 That being said, something that 1. I’ve never really understood (in a “thanks for your unasked-for opinion, I didn’t actually want it to begin with” way), and 2. has always made me rage a little bit (in a “who the fuck do you think you are?” way) was the insistence on having my own children from those who weren’t, you know, me. 

 Asking me is one thing. “Are you planning on having kids?” or “When are you and your partner going to start having babies?” I don’t mind that at all! But when my answer is something along the lines of: “Oh, no, I don’t want kids. Neither of us do,” and the person fucking argues… 

 “Oh, it’s just a phase. You’ll be popping out babies in no time.” 

 “But doesn’t your mom want grandkids?” 

 “You’ll regret it if you don’t.” 

 “That’s a shame. You and your partner would make such beautiful kids.” 

 “Who talked who into that one?” 

 “But you would make such a great mom.” 

 “We’ll see.” *knowing smile* 
 Yeah, no. Not okay. And no, we will not see, Barbara, you opinionated old cow. 

 I’m almost 30 years old. Pretty sure I would know better than anyone if this is “just a phase”. 

 Being child-free has been a consistent decision of mine for years; I lucked out incredibly in finding a partner who also has the same opinion on the matter. 

 And what the fuck does my mom have to do with the miniature human I don’t want growing in my body, exactly?

 In fact, my partner and I agreed on remaining child-free so much that he got a vasectomy, and I was 100% beside him in his decision. Not to mention proud as hell — making the choice to follow his head and heart and “unload the gun”, despite all the stigma around it, was the most mature and masculine thing he could have done, in my opinion. 

 Have kids? Great! Want to have more? Great! Don’t want kids? Great! But that’s no one else’s business. 

 My body, my rules.

 I’m not sure if everyone got the memo, but it’s actually no longer paramount for people to live just to produce offspring now. We are women and men, not baby making machines or sperm donors, and in a world that’s already nearly full to bursting, I would say that people practicing their rights over their own minds and bodies is the least of our concerns.