My 100th Post

What a rambler I am; simply talking about my life. Why would anyone even care? Did you ever hear someone say, “Oh she told me her entire life story?” Maybe it’s because I don’t talk much about what really bothers me. I don’t even tell my psychiatrist half the sh*t I tell the blogger world. Interesting, huh? Maybe it’s because I get more feedback from posting than I do with telling Lurch. (My psychiatrist) Now, if someone who is a reader of my blog can prescribe me my meds, I’ll leave Lurch and stick to this.

No one knows me. They think they know me. They don’t. I’m the loudmouth lipstick lesbian who gets into controversial political and religious conversations just to get a rise out of people. I’m the girl every bartender in town knows.

“Where’s Deb tonight? She always sits right in this seat.”

I have my own assigned seat in over five local bars. I have my own assigned seat in Provincetown, MA in another five. All the bartenders know me there too. Why? I’m the big flirt. I’m flirtatious with any gender, because it’s my nature. Madelene knows that my personality has a flirtatious flare to it, yet innocently done with respect. Do some people get the wrong idea? Sure they do. Straight people don’t know how to handle me, except to blush; however, I don’t do this with just anyone—I have to genuinely like them as a person. I don’t do things with an agenda. If I don’t like someone, I will become invisible to them.

Who cares if I like them? What does it matter anyway? Does it validate some sort of insecurity for anyone? For me? Maybe I’m the way I am, due to my own insecurities. My ways are unique; they’re unpredictable. Is it bi-polar related? Hopefully. Then I can have a reason for my madness. Madelene insists that I always keep her on her toes. I can’t see the fun of being on your toes all the time. It must hurt at some point. I don’t mean to keep people on their toes—I keep myself on my toes more than people realize.

Then who am I—other than who I claim to be? I’m the insecure girl who doesn’t go out sometimes, because she feels too ugly. I’m the shy girl that doesn’t speak up, because I’m not an intellectual, as I make myself out to be with mere rhetoric words and opinions that clash with others. It’s like a man who has to compensate all his shortcomings with a Ferrari. I’m that “man”. I’m the sensitive soul who gets way too offended over simple critiques and suggestions—when all along, everyone thought I was strong enough to handle them. I’m the artist that can’t take criticism; therefore, I’m not a ‘real artist’…I'm simply a walking contradiction. I’m the girl who can get over a break up easily. I can actually forget about her instantly. Thoughts of her remain in the past. I lie too... I can pretend to not even care; to simply rule out any emotion that may slip from my tongue. Eventually, those hidden feelings reveal itself in an inappropriate way. I mess up. I’m not perfect. I’m the type that needs closure. What is closure anyway? Is it shutting the door to your past, or is it simply having the past linger before your very eyes? I’m the girl who can’t let go. I hold on to things for too long. I torture myself with obsessive thought patterns that drive me into a hole of depression. Forgive and forget. I can always forgive—the forgetting part I’m having an issue with. The dead horse has been beaten up several times. I can’t stop.

I carry on conversations that may upset my partner. I should shut up, and just tell my psychiatrist, but I’m afraid he doesn’t care. I feel inadequate because my partner does so much for me. Madelene is too good to me—maybe too good for me. I don’t feel I deserve her. I’m the luckiest girl alive. I try to make her happy, like buying her a card full of love sentiments, getting her favorite bottle of vodka which sits way too high on the shelf, or just simply getting the clothes from the dry cleaners. The littlest things make Madelene happy. She makes me happy.

I’m the daughter that hides things from my mother—who already knows about ‘it’. I’m the sister that appears to be the comic relief in the family, when actually I’m the one who’s depressed. I’m the "funny lesbian sister" that drinks way too much, but doesn’t appear to be drunk. She doesn’t even appear to be a lesbian! She can hold her liquor. I’m the one who drinks a lot because I get too many anxiety attacks. It relieves me of my fears. That’s why I have two wooden legs. I’m the sister who’s unreliable, because I’ll break plans or babysitting duties, due to an unpredictable anxiety attack or bad period cramps. I have the best sisters in the world, because they already know ‘why’ I am the way I am. They love and accept me. They expect these things. I’m lucky that they’re so understanding.

My words can be fatal sometimes; killing you emotionally, with each verbal attack. I don’t mean it. I can blame it on PMS, I can blame it because something bad happened that day…The truth is, it’s my own insecurities that are hiding behind those vicious words. My words can be sweet, gentle, and loving. I can tell you something that will make your whole day. Those words are sincere. I can’t lie about positive words that I give generously, ~to those who deserve them~. I never miss an opportunity to compliment someone; they just may need to hear it that day. I try to be good, but sometimes, I can’t. I’m human. I love God, but I’m afraid that He’s angry at me. Doesn’t He know I come with imperfections? Didn’t He create me? Didn’t He create you?

Which brings me to one of my favorite scriptures:

Romans 7:14-25 “The law is good, then. The trouble is not with the law but with me, because I am sold into slavery, with sin as my master. I don’t understand myself at all, for I really want to do what is right, but I don’t do it. Instead, I do the very thing I hate. I know perfectly well that what I am doing is wrong, and my bad conscience shows that I agree that the law is good. But I can’t help myself, because it is sin inside me that makes me do these evil things. I know I am rotten through and through so far as my old sinful nature is concerned. No matter which way I turn, I can’t make myself do right. I want to, but I can’t. When I want to do good, I don’t. And when I try not to do wrong, I do it anyway. But if I am doing what I don’t want to do, I am not really the one doing it; the sin within me is doing it. It seems to be a fact of life that when I want to do what is right, I inevitably do what is wrong. I love God’s law with all my heart. But there is another law at work within me that is at war with my mind. This law wins the fight and makes me a slave to the sin that is still within me. Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin? Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord. So you see how it is; In my mind I really want to obey God’s law, but because of my sinful nature I am a slave to sin.”

My flaws are ‘as is’. It comes with the package. I’m not perfect, so I’m going to accept myself the way I am.