I’ve been tweeting this year, what with all the upheaval and the Covid and all that. It’s a good way to stay abreast of what’s going on, and I’ve been working on not getting into Twitter fights because they’re stupid and don’t change anyone’s mind. Instead, I watch animal rescue videos. Those mellow me out.
I find myself often recommending products that I really like on Twitter. No one cares. I have no sponsors, I’m followed by not-a-lot of people and no one knows who I am. But there are things I want to share with the world! Because I believe in them! And this is my blog! I do what I want! And this is my Christmas-themed post!
So here’s my list of the products and services I’ve enjoyed this year! Check them out if you like.
Glossier makeup has a lot of great stuff. I don’t really care for their skincare or scents, but for day-to-day low-maintenance wear, their makeup is the BOMB. Their prices are pretty reasonable for higher-end stuff, too.
- I love their Perfecting Skin Tint, which gives my skin a lovely glow without looking the least bit fake. It’s very light coverage, but it really does make you look radiant without being done-up. I have an uneven complexion and this smooths it out just enough. Lasts pretty well, even better with primer. $26.
- Their Generation G Sheer Matte Lipstick is also a real winner. I have it in Cake and Jam, and both of them give a lovely tint to my lips. It’s not super long-lasting, but it doesn’t dry my lips out and can be reapplied throughout the day. $18.
- But most of all I want to recommend their amazing mascara. Lash Slick is by far the best mascara I’ve ever used. It creates length and definition without clumping, making my eyes look more awake and bright, but without making it obvious that I’ve done anything to my lashes. $16 and worth every damn cent.
- Their Colorslide eyeliners are also totes amazeballs, they glide on your lids like buttah and last all day long. I have Stable Relationship, Brack, and Sparkle Shark, and they all get used on the reg. $15.
On the more expensive side, I just discovered Tom Ford Traceless Matte foundation and it is like airbrushing in liquid form. For when light coverage isn’t good enough, or for a full glam look, this stuff is awesome. It has a subtle lavender scent that fades quickly, it feels very lightweight on the face, it lasted all day without primer (I’ll use primer in the future, though) and it didn’t make me break out (always a concern with scented makeup and heavier foundations.) It’s spendy, but if you want a great medium-to-heavy coverage you can slap on and then not think about all day, it’s worth checking out. Comes in lots of colors, I just happened to get a sample that perfectly matched my skintone. Ordering a soon! $88.
My go-to scent this year has been Kilain Princess. It’s got a lovely, warm smell. It can be a bit overpowering, so use sparingly. They say it smells like marshmallows, green tea and ginger, none of which I detect. To me it smells like sexy comfort hugs. And doesn’t everyone want to smell like that? I’ve linked to the purse size because who the hell wants to spend $75+ on something without knowing how it smells on YOU? $30.
GoPuff is a fantastic service that I can’t recommend enough. It’s like grocery delivery for when you’re baked (or when you aren’t, in my personal case, but I can see the stoner appeal.) Our orders have always been SUPER QUICK and their reusable shopping bags are very well made for something they give out for free. Got the munchies? Want some Cheetos and a bath bomb? They will hook you up.
For the comfiest, non-wedgiest underwear I’ve ever worn, I highly recommend Thunderpants. They come in lots of cute prints, and they’re always adding new ones. They aren’t cheap, but they’re a treat to wear. They have camis, bralettes, and men’s & kid’s underthings as well.
And this is the year I discovered sports bras. This bra from Jockey is a great combination of supportive and comfortable. It’s available in more colors which are more expensive, but I love the dark grey anyway so I just ordered two more. It doesn’t flatten my boobs! But it also is wireless and super supportive! If you wanna forget you’re wearing a bra, this is a great option.
I bought some Reebok socks very similar to these earlier this year and they are super comfy athletic socks, excellent for taking a lot of walks. They’re a good weight for summer and fall, they wick well, and they’re very comfortable all day. Also, they’re well elasticized, and the ankle isn’t so tight that they leave deep marks scored into your flesh. Which is nice. They fit perfectly and seem to be holding up pretty well.
I could name more things, but this is probably enough. I love my Fitbit, except when it misbehaves, which it does sometimes because it likes to keep things interesting. I bought some boots but I’m not sure how they’ll wear yet (going great so far!) As always, Gap jeans fit my butt better than any other brand no matter how much I weigh.
SO I DID SOME READING
Ten years ago I was a fucking disaster of a human being. Holy Moly.
But I feel such sympathy for that fucking disaster of a human being. I didn’t know yet. I just didn’t know. I hadn’t been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and wouldn’t be for three and a half more years. That diagnosis was like a magic lens that make all the fucked up shit pop into focus.
I even wrote about how I’d get hooked on people and not be able to let go. I wondered why I was built that way. I obsessed for yeeeeeeeaaaaaarrrrrrrrsssss about poor, poor K who was, yes, kind of a dick sometimes, but did NOT DESERVE years of fucking birthday emails from me in addition to me joining a Meetup group because he and his wife were in it. Even before I knew what flavor of crazy I was being, I should have known that I was being a creepy fucking stalker.
I was so angry at anyone who didn’t love me back the way I thought I deserved to be loved. I thought I was special and everyone else was cold and shut off. Turns out I was, like, super mentally ill. My shrink says all of those things can be true, I’m a special feelings princess, other people are cold and detached, and oh yeah I’m also like super mentally ill.
I see my BPD as being in remission. Like cancer. Like you gotta keep an eye on it and keep seeing your medical professionals on the regular, but you are not actively growing tumors or bleeding into your brain or anything. Woo hoo.
But there are nights like tonight when I feel nostalgia like indigestion in my gut, when certain songs bring back certain people. The only girl I’ve ever loved is a prostitute in Tucson now. The boy who went on vacation and never came back but didn’t ever tell me we’d broken up. My high school sweetheart who got married again and isn’t speaking to me again probably because his wife doesn’t want him to. Fucking Bruce who hasn’t talked to me since I told him that I didn’t really want to hear about his wet dreams through the medium of text message. And so on, and so on. My ghosts.
To paraphrase the late, great Carrie Fisher: Nothing’s ever really over. Just over there.
I started this blog ten years ago this month. I didn’t realize that before I signed in to post, but it’s a neat little coincidence.
There’s a lot in here that I find embarrassing now. Several things I’m probably better off not looking into too deeply tonight. But I can’t bring myself to abandon it, even with all the ranting about a certain someone, even with all the bravado and outbursts and so much documentation of a time before I knew what was wrong with me and how to, mostly, stop.
I have a very sturdy government job and have been relatively stable and working in government jobs for years now. I’ve been with my partner since Summer 2014, and we eloped last month at our favorite bar. I did a jello shot. I seldom drink anymore. I quit smoking. I quit vaping. I got very fat. It is all very stable, for me, and I think the me of February 2010 would be horrified at how boring I’ve become. But I’m no longer tearing myself apart, and that’s worth something.
And here’s some Frank Turner to sum it all up:
I thought that suffering was something profound,
That weighed down on wise heads,
And not just something to be avoided,
Something normal people dread.
I’ll probably post more soon.
I just spent six days in the psych ward of Providence Portland hospital. It was boring, but I feel better.
Things had been shit for awhile. I’d had trouble leaving the house by myself for six months, only occasionally making it further than the grocery store without someone to keep me company. Most of the time that person was Travis.
Travis and I have been together since July, 2014. He is over eight years younger than me. He is quite tall, he plays the bass, and he is a good kisser.
Travis doesn’t want private details on the internet, so I’m going to try to be careful here.
When we met, I was a cab driver, and he worked at my local e-cigarette shop. He still works there, actually. I gave my number to the sweet boys at the vape shop, and he sent me a text one night asking for a ride. Two weeks later I went to his apartment and never really left. Sounds like the beginnings of a fantastic love story! And it was, kind of.
But I am troubled, you see. And he is not entirely without troubles himself.
When I went to the hospital, it was because we’d been fighting all day and I became hysterical. He was being a shit, but I went nuts all out of proportion to what was going on. It had been a long time coming, I think, in that it got me to finally go to the hospital and get some help.
We are two stubborn, bright, funny, loving, intense, troubled people. We would be hard on anyone. We are hard on each other.
My paternal grandparents, from what I hear, sometimes couldn’t stand each other. They’d divide the kids and go live in different houses. My Grandpa was loved by everyone, my Grandma was apparently an evil witch. They managed to raise nine kids together and make it to see their fiftieth anniversary. I don’t know how they did that. I don’t know how anyone does.
Back in the old days, marriage was for life. Richer or poorer, better or worse, love or hate. Divorce was frowned upon, people were encouraged to work it out. That isn’t true anymore. People go through half-a-dozen marriages sometimes, or more, before they die. My dear friend Bruce is on #3, and he’s only 37. I have never been married, but I’ve had a few longer relationships. Sometimes they end with me throwing things.
I don’t know what makes love last. I don’t know how much you’re supposed to fight to keep something going when it’s so easy in today’s society to just walk away.
What I do know is that I am immensely lucky that I had Travis to come home to when I left the loony bin.
That’s enough for now.
I saw K the other day. I had the advantage of knowing it was going to happen, which was nice because usually one doesn’t know about accidental encounters ahead of time. K and his wife were at the store where my boyfriend works. He knows her from previous store interactions, and I’d seen her review the shop on Yelp… nothing stalkery. We figured out that this customer he had was someone I knew of. I’d told him the background.
And I was on my way to the shop. My car got totaled a couple weeks ago, so I was taking the bus. Travis texted me that H (the wife) was in the shop and I asked “Is he there too?” And he was. So. I had about 15 minutes to decide what I was going to do. I seriously considered hiding out until the coast was clear, but I thought– no. I’ll go about my day. I’m not going to hide, nor am I seeking them out. If they had been there when I arrived, my plan was to sit quietly in a chair until they left. I didn’t want to bother anyone, but I wasn’t going to hide.
Turns out they left just before I got there. We passed on the sidewalk about a block away from the shop. I studied my shoes. I expect they did the same.
I know that the greatest (and, for the foreseeable future) only thing that I can offer K is silence. Peace. But it took me a long time to realize why.
Regardless of where the blame lays for how things ended and what happened before, I have behaved abominably since. I didn’t mean to. I thought I was right to be outraged that I’d been cut out of his life. I thought she was to blame for keeping us from being friends. I was venomous. I was pushy, vindictive, and petty. I didn’t do much in the last five years to bother him, but what I did was more than I should have. I continued to write to him, even after he asked me to stop. I started trying to move into their social group (during a time when I was in the grip of the worst crazy I’ve ever been through in my life.) I wanted to make them uncomfortable. I wanted to be noticed. I was angry, and it showed.
Last night, laying in the dark with Travis, I told him I had a secret I wanted to confide. And then I told him that I’ve been blaming Her for years, and it’s not her fault. I told him that I’d acted really crazy, even if I didn’t know it at the time (and I kind of knew it at the time,) and that the damage done was my responsibility, not hers. And he said that he knew that I knew that. And I realized today that the act of admitting my fault, and forgiving this woman who had nothing to do with what was wrong with me and K, had lifted a weight off my chest that’d been crushing me since Saturday afternoon.
If I could say something to them, I would tell them how sorry I am. But the damage is done, and they don’t want to hear from me. And damn it, they’re right.
About a year ago I had a dream that I was dying, and K came to visit me because he didn’t want me to die without saying goodbye. I woke up really sad and knowing that this was so unlikely as to almost be ridiculous. And about two weeks ago I dreamt that we met on the street and he forgave me.
But truth be told, I don’t really think about him much. When I lost my mind, a lot of things fell away because I didn’t have the energy or space for them anymore. I didn’t have room for grief or resentment of things long past. Letting go of K was harder than I ever thought it would be. It took almost six years to do it, but finally it just sort of didn’t matter as much. Loving him carved places in me that will always exist, loving him shaped me and changed me and made me very happy and very sad. But it’s been over for a very long time.
It still hurts, but it doesn’t matter anymore.
(title is lyrics from “Fireproof” by The National)
Hey there, internet. It’s been awhile.
About eight months ago, I started hanging out with Travis. Travis is awesome. In mid-July I went over to his place after a party and sort of never left. It is a good thing and we’re happy and I’m sure I’ll tell you all more about him soon.
I am not dead, in case you were wondering.
I had this idea in my head of writing some big thought-piece about feelings and blame and letting things go, but I am hung over and in pain (I threw out my back!) so I think I’ll just not do that right now.
Went out to my local karaoke bar on Friday night. Someone I used to date (long, long ago) was there, and I ran into two other people I’d trysted with previously.
It’s a small town, for such a big city.
My tendency to rush headlong into things means I have a lot of “exes” in the greater Portland area, throughout California, and all over the world. I get around, or did once. Both geographically and in the bedroom.
Only a few of these people were ever in a position to break my heart, but several of them hurt me. Most of them? I rush headlong, I get hurt. It’s sort of my thing.
Carrie Fisher once said “Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” Princess Leia is wise.
I don’t know how to feel truly alive if I’m not wrapped up in someone. Whether I’m chasing after someone or trying to keep them around, other people have always been my favorite way to get high. Maybe the reason I never got addicted to anything more intoxicating than cigarettes is that there’s no drug that can get me as high or as low as infatuation can.
I have discarded people, rather coldly, because they didn’t match up to my idealized picture of them. Some people I didn’t cut off soon enough, hoping they’d change. Others, I walked away from and tried not to look back. But I look back, harshly or longingly. Wallowing is also sort of my thing.
Lately I’m having all these revelations and realizations and re-realizations, and it’s exhausting. What do I do with all this hard-won knowledge? I can try to apologize to the people I’ve hurt, forgive the ones who’ve hurt me, and do better in the future. But my life is sort of a mess, and I’m lonely.
I picked up two women from the grocery store tonight and drove them to a party at their friends’ house. Only when we arrived did I realize that I kind of knew the people there, fellow cabbies, and I was invited to stay. I hung out for three hours in the middle of my shift, practicing being social. But I’m really nervous around people, knowing how I can be. I say strange things. Tonight I was mostly quiet because I know that I have a tendency to act crazy just so I won’t be invisible. I think too much. That is definitely my thing.
I feel a great imperative to be a better person than I was. I’m trying to figure out how. Addicts make amends and stop using their substance of choice. But how do you give up being mentally ill? I don’t know how to put down that particular bottle. And how do you ease your addiction to other humans without becoming a recluse?
One striking feature of borderline personality disorder– striking because it is so accurate for me– is described like this: “A pattern of intense and stormy relationships with family, friends, and loved ones, often veering from extreme closeness and love (idealization) to extreme dislike or anger (devaluation).”
I have cut people out of my life for slights that, looking back, may have been better responded to in a more measured way. When I got my diagnosis of BPD last year, it caused me to reexamine my harsh and unforgiving attitude about what I saw (at the time) as betrayal.
I managed to mitigate a lot of the disordered thinking that BPD lends itself to, even before my diagnosis, because I resolved some time ago not to be an asshole if I could avoid it. I knew that I could have monstrous mood swings and a lot of self-destructive behaviors. So I taught myself ways to be less of a jerk, and they worked, mostly.
But I know that I have that tendency to idealize people, to put my friends, family, and lovers on very high pedestals, and then feel betrayed and devastated when they fail to be everything I thought they were or could be to me. I have ruined friendships, pushed people away, and caused some very nice people to never want to be in a room with me again.
The struggle now is to separate rational, righteous indignation from… well, tantrums. To realize that my loved ones are, above all, human, and humans make mistakes. No one can be everything to anyone else, and my disorder makes me prone to try to suck the life and love out of people.
I am terrified of abandonment, terrified of being alone in the greater sense, but my disorder has made me act in ways that have caused people to get fed up and leave me. Over and over. It’s a vicious circle. Abandonment leads to greater fear. Fear leads to more abandonment.
I know that I am responsible for my own behavior. But last year I graduated, in my diagnoses, from “mild” to “serious.” Knowing that I have always been seriously mentally ill is both comforting and horrifying. Coupled with the bipolar II I was also diagnosed with (at least it’s the less severe form!) I know now that I have always been a fucking mess. And I think, considering everything, I’ve done a damned fine job of building myself into a decent, loving, caring person.
But reading through the list of the symptoms of my mental illness, I see my whole life, every relationship of every kind, all of it.
I wonder how I can change without losing myself. I wonder what the best version of myself actually is. I wonder when I’ll stop doubting my own feelings, because now I know that seeing life through the veil of my unstable emotions has warped almost every intense experience I’ve ever had.
And that’s a lot to process.
I am a writer. My experiences, almost when I’m experiencing them, become narratives. My life is a series of stories.
But I’m realizing that a lot of the stories I tell are needlessly tragic or dramatic, that every lost love either was the purest love or the greatest heartbreak or most damaging betrayal. I’ve been spinning and repeating these narratives about how I’ve never been seen, loved truly, or deeply desired and wanted for who I really am.
Part of healing will involve being more honest and less inclined to cast myself as the tragic heroine in all these stores of love gone wrong.