Wednesday, February 11, 2015

The Nothing Clever To Say Post

I've moved out. I live with actual roommates now.

I have a real "adult" job. I'm going on vacation.

I'm miserable.

Lately, when my boyfriend gives me pity sex because he knows it's directly tied to my low self esteem, I feel like he might be imagining me as another person when he's closing his eyes, since he's admitted I don't do much for the boner department lately. He's worried. Can't see me in any other light than the love and concern he has for me.

I have never felt less desired, womanly, or special in my life.

I don't see myself as an equal; and therein lies the problem: I need to love myself. I have no reason not to. Just because I'm not the best at anything or a model doesn't make me any less worthy of love. I know this.  I still hate myself

I do it to myself.  I just needed to write it out in this post no one will ever see.

I'm disgusting.

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

I've got the power! (Dun, dun dun, dun)

Reaching a long term goal is strangely both anticlimactic and terrifying. It's as if you reached the top of the staircase to nowhere, stepped off and realized oh fuck, there's nothing but air.

But you don't fall, you just aimlessly float. 

I got a job. A real effing job. I'm ecstatic. I'm mostly relieved. And I'm scared. What is my next goal? I guess it's to not suck. What if I suck and all this reaching was for naught?

I've been thinking about how much power I give people. How often I show my cards without them showing me theirs. Even in my current awesome relationship, I often feel I've given too much of myself and that the power is uneven. I'm a naturally passive and submissive person, so I don't mind, but sometimes I wish I had kept a little but more of myself. Love isn't about giving all of yourself, but just the best parts of yourself. And I've gone and given the most fucked up and nettled pieces of me to someone who may use it to fuel doubts. Doubts about us, about me. Whether I'm a person worthy of having a long term relationship with. 

Obviously, my boyfriend does think that I am or else I wouldn't still be mentioning him. However, I would like to have some of my power back. I'd like to have the ability to say something mean when I'm angry just because I feel it's merited. I would like to say "I want _____" and nt feel bad about it. 

I want my power back from all the words. Fuck the words, I won't let them hurt me as dearly as they have done before. I won't let someone try to belittle me by speaking my fears and insecurities. Like, so what? The bad things will always be there but they will always be surrounded by good things. Two truths. 

I've been trying to erase trauma and fear instead of coming to terms with it and surrounding it with feelings of comfort and assurance. My whole life I've been told to suppress my feelings until now they spill over like a boiling pot, when really I should just have felt them and let them pass until I could feel good things. 

I have a lot of catching up to do. 

So if I look for compliments or assurance, let me. Don't judge me for it. I'm just immortalizing you into a good thing. 

-grace #adulting

Tuesday, September 2, 2014


There's something to be said about toxic people.

There's something else to be said about toxic people you're related to.

Did I ever think a broken A.C would lead to so much bullshit? No, but I should have known better. I should have known that when people look at you as if you're some sort of gnat that landed on their already bruised peach you're just another thing to look after, to blame. To kick when they're down.

No one in my family will ever read this. This would require them caring about my feelings. Now don't get me wrong, thanks to the way we are biologically made I am forced to love my family. I will even venture to say they are deep down, very good people.

They are not good for me.

I don't mean to whine...well no, actually, I do. Because fuck it,  I need to get this out.

Due to some construction on the house, I got my A.C broken.  Now, I had paid for this A.C myself, and it was a really nice one, with tax ran me about $300. I had been TOLD that my cousin was planning on buying me an new one. Told by my mother.  So I figure, well, it sucks right now but I could use the cash right now more than the A.C. Maybe I can negotiate on my rent? (yes, I pay rent to my family) I actually just later on asked for $150 to maybe buy myself a dehumidifier that would help my room overall as well as the house.

I am somehow now a terrible human being.

My cousin is apparently still holding a grudge for me not buying his mom a B-day card (in my defense, I had gotten home from filming at 3 A.M and the last time I gave her a card she used the envelope of it to leave me a rent due notice). I get it, I should have gotten her a card. But to bring this up in a separate issue 3 WEEKS later, is ridiculous and petty. I could have looked past that. I told him if he was so offended I didn't want his money at all. He then threw in my face, about how many times he had paid for me when the family goes out.

...OK. I make less than a sixth of what he makes. But that is beside the point.

I have always, and always will, offer to put in something. I even do this on first dates. Because I LIKE to do it. It makes me feel good.

However, the point of generosity is to do it without wanting praise or recognition. That is the essence of a good deed.

I don't appreciate someone of better economic standing, rubbing in my face the gifts they've given me. I don't appreciate a family who stood idly by while this same man called me a cunt, and told me I would never amount to anything and no one would ever love me accusing me of extortion. I don't appreciate living in a place where I don't feel emotionally safe or even valued.

Too many people have toxic families and society forces them to feel guilty about cutting them out. It doesn't have to be as dramatic as being beaten. Some people are just not good to constantly be around, regardless of them being bad or good people. I love my family. I would die for them, truly. I have cried many nights because of nightmares of losing any of them.

I don't appreciate being called selfish, or uncaring.
Because seriously guys, I think you can all tell I care way too fucking much.

-Grace #Adulting

Fall is Fallen-ing

It has to be a mark of getting older when you start preferring seasons based on the drinks associated with them. 

I'm an Oktoberfest kind of gal. 

Very few things fill me with as visceral a reaction as the tastes and smells of fall do. Pumpkin, nutmeg (which I don't even really like) cinnamon, spice, dead leaves and chocolate and butterscotch. It fills me with hope. Winter is nothing I fear anymore, just the price you pay for the glorious 2 months of hoodie and pea coat weather. 

Fall also means more coverage. Which, if you're a female, doesn't exactly solve the problem of being objectified or disrespected.  I don't just speak for myself, but for all women who get hit on disgustingly even while wearing a bubble jacket. But I'm here to talk about a different kind of shaming today, which I myself am guilty of doing. 

Positive shaming. 

I'm talking about looking at someone who is perfect to us, and shame them for complaining about a body feauture. I've done it in regards to several celebrities,
Sometimes with friends. And it has happened to me as well as countless others.

We shame people for seeming perfect and as if they have everything since the beginning of time. We shame rich people for being unhappy, we shame people in relationships for feeling lonely. We shame military vets for questioning their choices. We shame we shame we shame. 

Why? Who are we to judge what it feels like to wake up as them? Granted, some people take many things for granted but that is human nature. It is how it will always be. My mother has a saying "god gives bread to those who don't have teeth", because the hardest lesson to learn is the lesson of gratitude. It is usually accompanied by a lot of broken skin and hearts and pure pain. It takes loss to feel gratitude. 

Fall reminds me of the time I used to have to get up earlier to keep a watch out for my sister's school bus. It reminds me of my first therapy session. It reminds me of the time I watched the lion king next to my sister's hospital bed and crying because I knew what Simba felt like. It reminds me of bullies and dread and it reminds me of eventual death. 

But the hope outweighs it all.

-grace #adulting

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Entropy > Love

Today, I will not talk about me. Much.

Is your mind exploding yet?

*Disclaimer on slightly incorrect info, I haven't gone over biology in a while.

Anyhoo, I'm here to talk about the concept of endings. About what really constitutes an "end". How to know you've reached an ending, and sometimes, it isn't so terrible.

The universe has something called entropy, which in simple terms means the measure of disorder. In simpler terms, it actually describes the way the universe tends to fall into the disorder. In thermodynamics, the greater the entropy = the greater the energy from the change. When there is no entropy, that means there is no energy. No change. No life.

I once read on Human's Of New York's blog how a woman's theory to staying young was constantly staying in a state of change. Maybe this is why things deteriorate and die. Because they stop changing. But, as the law of entropy goes if one thing doesn't change the energy of something else we do will be applied and produce more entropy. So really, where it is we apply this change and how we use this energy is where we see what happens to end up dying or ending.

What if in trying to change one's self so much they didn't have any energy left over to apply it to someone else? What if one person refused to use any energy to change an aspect of their self that instead that energy spilled out in terms of blame and rage? What if love is not enough?

Love is not enough. The law of entropy always wins.

-Grace #Adulting

Thursday, August 21, 2014

L.Imp Biscuits

So let me tell you about that time I got dumped after being hit by a car. 

Let's backtrack a bit. I had used okcupid on and off for several years at this point to various degrees of success. I had thought this would be one of the more successful times. We'll call him OCD, because I swear to the baby Jesus statue I once threw out by accident, this guy had it. He folded his dirty laundry INTO his laundry basket. The same basket where you then take OUT the clothes and THROW them in the wash. 

After he had thrown them in the wash, he would wipe down the basket with a wet paper towel. And I would pretend it was totally normal. Because, that's what a good girlfriend does.

Anyway, around the time of our demise I had a slight cancer scare involving my cervix, which it would hope merits me some free passes for being an emotional wreck. I also got banned from that doctor's office because she told me my friends weren't allowed to come with me again and I told her to go fuck herself. And then I told her I hope she gets aids. 

I have a bit of a temper. 

Anyhoo, one night out of the blue he tells me he's gonna swing by after band practice later the week to grab "coffee". And seeing that he didn't finish practice at 10 at night, I knew what "coffee" stood for. I had used this line before myself. Fuck you, OCD, I was the master of the coffee beak up. 

I have to say though,I handled it well. The next day as my friend Kate and I were standing by the bagel toaster, I announced:

Me: "OCD is gonna break up with me on Friday"
Kate: (perplexed) "well that's specific"

And so my week went. I recorded a super emo YouTube cover, I planned my dumped outfit, and night of it was raining and I decided I was going to get something from the supermarket. I think it was mallomars. So I lived by new Hyde park road at the time, which was generally a death trap and long islanders are terrible drivers to begin with. I was wearing a black jacket with a hood and I had the right to cross the road, so I did. 

And then I got punched in the face by a minivan. 

I spun with the impact, had a moment of toddler silent scream/sob, and then composed myself because douchebags were honking at me. The lady who hit me was very nice, she had her kids in the car and I assured her I was fine and didn't need to go to the hospital. I didn't take down her info either, because I wasn't hurt. 

So I continue on my journey, because now I REALLY need those mallomars. As I walk, I notice one of my shoes is getting considerably tighter. And my foot is going a little numb. I keep looking for mallomars anyway. I then call OCD, and tell him:

Me:"so I just got hit by a car"
OCD:"oh. Are you okay?"
Me: "yeah, but maybe I hurt my ankle"
OCD: "ok cool. I'll see you later then?"
Me: "yeah. Sure dude."

So let's analyze this for a second. A guy wanted to break up with me SO badly he didn't even let the fact I got hit by a car deter him. So if you're ever upset about that text message breakup, just remember this. 

So I call Sarah, and I inform her of what happened. Well, first I tell her to guess. And she first guesses struck by lightning. Second guess is getting hit by a car. I congratulate her. For some reason, she's not as happy as she should be about being right.

So I end up back at my apt after I buy an ice pack and ace bandaged and my ankle has swelled up to the size of my calf muscle. It hurts like a bitch, but I need to pull myself together because I'm getting broken up with and I refuse to look like a victim. I end up wearing the only shoes that fit that are now my rainboots as I wait for OCD to pick me up. 

He actually follows through with the charade of coffee. We're at the 711 and I'm pouring my coffee and I'm just like "ok dude, cut the shit. I know why you're here".

So fast forward in his car getting driven home. 

OCD: "I feel bad about doing this after you got hit by a car. I feel like I should get struck by lightning. "
Me: "if only". 

Finally the moment of truth. He's dropping me off. I wore my good butt jeans. I'm ready to swagger off with the booty he'll never get to touch again, but my foot is now twice the size it was and I stumble into the SEXIEST limp ever. 

I limped away with all the dignity I could muster. 

Later that night, and after recounting the story to my friends while laying on an air mattress in their room, I start simultaneously laughing and crying at the same time. It was then I decided that I would not let this defeat me. I was going to do something passive aggressive but in such a way people would think it was awesome. 

And that, ladies and gents, is why I changed my Facebook name to Spanish Thunder. 

-grace #Adulting

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

So a psychiatrist, a dancer and the ultimate question walk into a bar...(EDITED)

The person I've always trusted least was myself.

Correction: I trust myself the least, but only after Nigerian spam emails. 

I've always been one to avoid confrontation. I know many people seem to think I'm a hard ass, or very combative, but I'm not. My boyfriend equates me to a jawbreaker: a hard shell with a very gooey center.  I don't even think I have that hard of a shell, but I guess I just don't like showing all my cards, because people use them to play against you. 

I filmed for Vermillion this weekend, and was talking to the girls about my recent and fully official, PTSD diagnosis and how I felt like I didn't deserve to have PTSD because nothing that bad has ever happened to me. I also spoke to them about my most recent sexual assault which I never reported despite me being too drunk to even legally say yes. I thought "he was sober but, he probably didn't realize he was doing something bad. We had been involved before, he probably assumed it was ok with me". He is the person I referenced in a former post with a picture of a text message. 

Niki the makeup artist called me out. I was making excuses for him and mostly for me. She said I had tried everything else possible to move on except for facing what happened and doing something about it. 

A month ago I spoke to a psychiatrist about this incident and a prior one. I have accepted the first incident being a "grey area" and so I never pursued charges. After speaking to him about both, he told me men can't fully comprehend a woman going home with them without wanting to have sex with them. He told me I needed to be more careful. He told me not to drink too much. 

I walked out of that office ashamed, and doubly afraid to tell anyone anything ever again. I was hurt. I was horrified. 

I was pissed. 

In light of all that has happened with Christy Mack, and War Machine, and the amount of slut shaming and victim blaming, I was disgusted with everything. And for those of you who post "Even if she is a porn star, she doesn't deserve it" are still perpetuating the idea that porn stars are beneath you. Porn stars have a job, and they do it for YOUR enjoyment.  No guy ever called me a slut while I was intimate with him, only afterwards. Why do you scorn people who bring you pleasure? Why do you scorn those who don't want to? Why must I be pure and yet sexy?


This morning I went through all my previous texts with the man whom I shall refer to as "Dickbag", and I found proof (at least proof for me personally) that in no circumstances would I have allowed what happened to me if I had been coherent. I knew this. I had always known this. I have spent the last 25 years with myself, why the FUCK would I doubt it?

Someone I love once said something while angry that I will never know if they meant, but they said nothing bad had truly ever happened to me and that I had nothing to complain about. And I know people say things when they're angry that they don't mean, but that is what I keep hearing everytime I go see a therapist, or a doctor, or mention my PTSD. It's what keeps me quiet now, as I struggle with the ever constant question if I would want to risk a failure to prosecute, or just swallow it and move on. 

I'm so full, I don't know what more I can keep down. 

-grace #adulting