This Noise Inside My Head

With the end to the hectic rush of the holidays, it’s on to the final leg of a year that was astounding in all of the changes that occurred. I’ve reflected on this a number of times and I don’t feel that I necessarily have to do another one this time around but when I look forward, I do feel cautiously optimistic about the future that I’m looking at going forward. The job is in place now. I’ve carefully and with the greatest indelicacy pruned my friendships to reflect the person I am now. I am doing my best to care for myself by making better choices. As I jokingly note in some of my comm logs, “good life choices for the win!”

I still find myself grappling with one final adversary that I don’t think will ever leave and that is my mental…whatever-it-is. I don’t deign to call this an illness because I don’t believe myself to be “ill” in the conventional sense of the word. I am, however, different. I endure the mercurial moods of the bipolar with my downs that will turn into the rages that people see on Facebook when I become offended by the wrong color background on a feminist meme when the Sun in trine with Jupiter and Neptune when I couldn’t find my Sephora eyeliner pencil and had to settle for the Kat Von D pencil that day. Thirty minutes later I’m laughing at videos of cats talking to their owners and reposting songs by Julien K and sharing passive aggressive notes and then manically showing everyone around me videos of screaming goats and getting lost in the YouTube worm hole of Jenna Marbles videos. All that is perfectly fine… Really. I’ve lived with this for years. It’s mostly bothersome to people who don’t understand me, those that do just live with it and chalk it up to being part of knowing Dae. It’s a bipolar thing, you wouldn’t understand… The meds don’t help. Don’t even think about telling me to up the dose.

What I’ve never really been able to work around is the paranoia and the fear which are two different things when looked at individually. Paranoia is being afraid that something is going to happen when there’s no logical basis for that belief. It’s probably not going to happen. Fear is being afraid of something that will happen because there is a logical basis for that belief. It really could happen or it IS happening. Paranoia: I’m going to be abducted by aliens. Paranoia: She’s not talking to me so she must hate me. Fear: I’ve have a past history of multiple neck tumors and now I’ve felt another lump. Fear: I’m hearing voices and there’s no one in the room. One just yelled at me.

I’ve been able to put on a brave face with much of the paranoia. Some of it I’ve been able to conquer for the most part. Are aliens really, I mean REALLY, coming to get me? Not likely but if they did. Not much I could do about it. If some girl doesn’t want to talk to me anymore for some half-assed reason then that’s not my problem, that’s hers. I think I’m alright… a little weird… but not bad. The fear is another thing entirely. Having faced a lot of health shit… it sucks. When my head feels like it’s about to cave in it’s really difficult to talk myself out of the, “I’m dying, I’m having a stroke” panic that occurs but I find ways. Usually it’s reminding myself that there’s time and if it really were a hemorrhagic stroke I’d be dead too quickly to know what hit me. If it’s a stroke caused by a clot, I’ve seen enough of those to know that I could survive it. I’m clear for brain tumors according to the CT scan I had a few months ago. So… yeah. That’s how that goes. The voices though… this has been a tough one and working where I do… it makes things very interesting. I feel like a bit of a fraud a lot of the time being this person playing the role of the girl who has it all together when there are some days when I’m possibly in the same boat as some of them. Is writing this probably a bad idea? Maybe but it’s important to me to finally be honest with myself as well as those closest to me. The truth is that it’s hard sometimes to sit there with someone who thinks I’m totally “normal” and have them talk at me, expecting me to pay complete attention when I’m really trying to focus on getting music that playing in my head to be quiet.  Sometimes there will be a crowd talking all at once and the real person cuts through and I shift my focus to listen to them and it’s like changing channels. Crowd, person, person, crowd. Sometimes it’s just the one or two. The child or the man. Does this freak you out? Do you wonder what they say? They say… things. Sometimes it’s funny. Sometimes it’s… not. Sometimes it just makes me sad. They remind me that I’m not like others.

This is why when I see memes that share stupid things like, “I’m not alone, the voices in my head keep my company” I become offended. Or when I see people make flippant comments about meds and crazy pills and things like that. If anyone really understood what it was really like to live in that world, would it really be something to joke about? I’ve tried to convey that at length but it’s hard for people to understand without being explicit. I suppose a similar thing would be if one were to make fun of trans or gay people. Or to make flippant remarks about race. It’s never okay to do that so why is it okay to make remarks about individuals that have to live with a thought disorder? It doesn’t ever get easier, one just adapts and learns how to hide so that the rest of the world doesn’t keep pointing us out.

One day a client said to me, “You couldn’t handle it if you were like me.” They have absolutely no idea what I live with day to day because I would never self-disclose the way I just have. It’s absolutely unethical in my opinion and serves no purpose to try and one-up the individuals I try to help. Just knowing that I can empathize in my own way is enough for me. But when they said that to me, my first thought was, “I am like you and for a long time I couldn’t. But it’s made me stronger than most people I know.” I used to just tell myself that to get through the day but now I really believe it. Yes, it’s difficult and, yes, if I could make a lot of it stop I would. Who wouldn’t? But if I could reply to that individual honestly… I would tell them that I can handle it, I do handle it, and because of that I’m here to help… and because of what I’ve learned from you… you’ve helped me too.

This little light of mine…

These are strange days inside my head. Strange days indeed. A year ago I was another person entirely. Injured. Scared. Unsure of where my place was in the world. Very alone even thought I married my best friend only a few months prior.

Now I find that my mind has been replaced with someone else’s. She’s nothing like the girl that lived inside my head before. This new girl is caring, sensitive, emotional, goal oriented, and she is genuinely happy. I love this girl. I love me. I did a lot of soul searching, trying to understand how this came to be and I think it’s ultimately the result of working for what I wanted and not accepting anything less. I wanted to be respected by those in my life whether it be my co-workers, my family, or my friends. Anything less than that resulted in me discarding, walking away, or outright demanding that I have what I wanted. At times I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I have been overbearing to the point of being a bully but, for me, I feel that the ends justified the means. In order to have peace sometimes there has to be a war… sometimes that war is violent. Sometimes it’s devastating beyond any realm of comprehension. Sometimes there’s nothing left and all that can be done is to rebuild on the ashes and the wasteland that is left over. I think, for me, that’s what happened.

I literally carpet bombed my life into a decimation that was beyond all hope but then I began to build. I had done this before but I put it together with chewing gum, popsicle sticks, and hay and it all came apart again. This time I used the strongest materials I could get and I made sure it would stick. My supports, friends, were only the best that I could find and if they weren’t positive or good people that would be there when I needed them and would allow me to do the same in return… they were placed outside the wall. My job, career, took time to locate but when I found it, I made sure it was the right place for me and now I have gone from a temp staff member to a full time member of the team in as little as a few months. I wake up each work day excited for any challenge and opportunity that I’ll experience. My family has been repaired once my expectations were set that I would not be treated poorly any longer and those wishes were respected. 

The results of all of this are nothing short of remarkable from the perspective of my own eyes looking back on a life that is so marred by anger and depression. Sure, I have moments where I get annoyed and I lash out but to see a happy video or a post about something that genuinely affects me to the core and to be able to exhibit an emotion such as joy or sorrow is something so foreign to me that I embrace it. To be able to see an individual I’ve been working with begin a path to recovery after a struggle for many months and feel so overwhelmed with happiness at their progress that I burst into tears on the way back from the visit shows that what I do means something to me. My life simply isn’t a day to day existence any longer. It truly is a life being lived and it’s all lived away from the reach of technology.

This is where my segue occurs… I watched a video today of a gentleman who, for lack of a better way of putting it, pulled a stunt in a Hannaford grocery store. He was singing “This Little Light of Mine” loudly and after a time people joined in and soon the whole store was in on it. For a moment the whole group was connected in this rare display of human interaction that so rarely occurs these days. Watching it had me feeling truly overcome with emotion because I felt a) happy that these people were having fun but b) sad in some ways because our society has lost a bit of itself because we no longer connect on even the simplest levels. Friends don’t call one another to chat. They text. Even when hanging out at dinners or at each other’s houses it’s never a surprise to see people pulling their phones out to check for messages, Facebook, texting someone else, or just looking around online. They’re not engaged with the individual they’re supposed to be with in the room. In society, people don’t talk at bus stops or in subways, they play Candy Crush or whatever game is popular or they pretend in order to avoid the “risk” of having to talk to each other. They listen to music. They insulate themselves from the world and hide.

Is this really living if we only take part in a small piece of life? If we’re chained to a piece of technology and we don’t allow ourselves to reach out and connect with one another without the use of a text-based system? If we don’t use our voices to pick up on the subtle nuances of the conversation? If we can’t grant each other the eye contact that is so important to show we are interested in what our companion is saying? Are we afraid to do so now? Have we lost that ability because we are so insular now that technology has bred two generations of socially phobic technophiles that depend on their phones and computers and tablets just to communicate, who become verbally constipated when asked to use their words? I think we have.

This is where I drew the line for myself. This is where I said no more and I've been learning to end my dependence on such things. Friends are encouraged to talk with me in person when they're close enough. If they aren’t, we talk on the phone. When working with participants I insist they put their phones down and look at me while we speak. Or I ask that they turn away from the computer and face me out of respect for our conversation. In our home, my husband and myself don’t have our phones out during serious discussions out of respect for one another and when I’m with family for gatherings, I make sure the phone is on silent and it’s away. It's taken some time to break the habit of checking over and over but in time, the addiction and the insecurity has started to go away and I'm finding my voice. The excuse of, “I’m too socially phobic,” is becoming lost and the truth of “I’m too busy” is really true or if I don’t want to get together, it's a legitimate, “I really don’t want to hang out with you,” because those people are outside of the wall and earning their way back in.

The reliance on technology concerns me and I think part of it has to do with the fact that technology contributed a great deal to my damage as a person. Growing up I was a gregarious child in spite of the fact that I had a lot of shitty experiences. Even still, I didn’t let that stop me from trying to make friends and being a good one in turn. It wasn’t until I got online that I became an angry, shitty person who bordered on narcissistic and didn’t care what others felt and allowed my emotions to rule over me. On the internet, you’re the most important thing in the world and when you’re not looking at the person you’re talking to, it’s easy to disregard their feelings. Text messages can work this way too. It was easy to hide away and become mired in this so-called “social anxiety” that I supposedly had. If there’s one thing I learned in my current line of work, the best way to combat anxiety is to expose yourself to the thing you’re scared of… so if you’re scared of being around people, the last thing you need is to be online or hiding behind a text message. We all could do with a lot less of that shit in our lives. Sometimes just saying hi to a stranger or seeing an old friend changes the course of your life in ways you wouldn’t expect. Sometimes you make new friends in the process. But how are you going to know if you’re stuck behind a computer or staring at a phone?

It’s not a rhetorical question. The answer is that you won’t.  

Overcoming Madness

Right now I really should be working on a response essay for my pointless remedial English class that Capella seemed to feel I needed to take. I protested to various counselors asking them to review my transcripts citing that I had taken two English courses at the art institute and then an advanced placement English course at NYU but they still insisted that I would need this class for my psychology degree. I think it goes more like they needed the $950. I decided that I needed to transfer out of the school… this came after a confrontation with a professor who insisted that “I statements” were never to be used in discussion posts and I, having enough with her foolishness, decided I would rather not learn anything from her. So now, down to one unnecessary class, I’m finishing my requirements to avoid being charged by the school and withdrawing at the end of the term. Next destination? Westfield State.

But this isn't why I’m blogging today. My school drama has always been present and I've always been nomadic. Thankfully this time around I've decided on my major, I've obtained employment in the field to ensure that I LIKE what I’m going to be doing, and I’m going about this the right way now. So that’s that.

Today, however, I've been reflecting on the journey I've experienced in the last six months. Leaving my job in medical after a mental break, deciding to downgrade my medications, finding spirituality again, backing off on my medication, and reevaluating who/what is important enough to have in my life going forward and what it is that I’ll accept from others as appropriate as well as learning to identify when I’m not being fair to others as well. It has been… illuminating to say the absolute least on the subject. I’d forgotten that I’d had this amount of strength inside of me and being able to pull from it has been invaluable.

Part of me almost wants to laugh when I think about how I was insistent upon the fact that I absolutely needed to be on disability back in April. That I would never be able to work again. Little did I know that my mental illness hadn't even fully exploded yet and that the worst of it was going to come in the form of a full on auditory hallucinations, dissociative episodes, and anxiety attacks that would rival anything I’d experienced up to that point. But I was so sure that I was fucked up THEN. The government disagreed with me though and told me I was fully capable of working even if I found my interactions with people difficult and I conceded to their ruling and looked for work. We all know now that I have a job that I love working with people who have similar histories to my own past as described in my last entry.

What some don’t know is that in the time it took to get to that point I put myself through some of the most rigorous mental work that I’ve ever gone through alone in a long time. My therapist had been dismissed and the new one was next to useless (he’s no longer in the picture now either) so I was left to figure it out on my own. Learning to cope with the fact that I felt disconnected with my body whenever I left the house was a new one. Up to that point I’d had shades of this experience, feeling “loopy” when I’d go to stores, events, performing, etc and I would breathe through it. However, as time went on this became more intense and I started to feel like I wasn’t actually there but observing the entire experience. I came to learn that I was dissociating and doing something called depersonalizing. I was there but I wasn’t. I was on autopilot and this was a result of trauma, years of it, the last of it had been the extreme shit I’d gone through with the medical job and my family issues. With a lot of journaling and self-awareness I’ve been able to recognize when this is coming on. When it does, I don’t fight it because it’s not harmful. It’s just weird and as long as I can do what I need to, it works. It’s even come in handy during a few crises at work. So I consider it a superpower now. Positive spin helps!

Sadly not all of the reflection time had positive results and it was during this time that my anxiety attacks at home took on a new form and meaning. In the past I’d have these attacks where I became hyper aware of my surroundings, I’d get scared, but after a time they would pass but I think they were perhaps a precursor to the later development of the voices I now hear. Initially it started with whispers that sounded as if they could be coming from other apartments in the building but upon investigation they weren’t. Not long after that they become fully formed voices that would say things that I didn’t care to hear. Was it scary? Yes. It still is sometimes and when I’m stressed or extremely tired they become more… present. But having a logical attitude toward them has helped. Sadly the doctor had been seeing up to that point, who is now thankfully retiring, was dismissive and said it was “just anxiety” and “you know how you get.” I stopped seeing him after this. I figured if he wouldn’t help me I’d help myself and I did all the research that I could on hearing voices. I’ve learned a lot and I’ve been fortunate to have a few supportive friends to talk with about it when I was going through the initial stages of accepting this new development. This blog now is me officially outing myself as someone who hears voices. Part of me hopes that there are no adverse effects but at the same time I hope it serves as a means to help others who experience similar issues. It will be okay. You’re not going to die and even if the voices say they hate you, it’s best to reality check and remind yourself that there are many others that don’t. Sometimes I think it’s just a part of myself that is saying these things to push me to be a better person. It’s the best I’ve got to try and make it work for me.

The big hurdle of delusional thinking was terrible. Medical issues were my fixation. Any ache, paresthesias, headache, skipped heartbeat, or bout of confusion had me convinced that I had a tumor in my brain, some horrible neurological issue, or that I was just simply dying. Identifying the triggers for these thoughts was incredibly helpful. My own were easy to find and when I was able to get a handle on my Dr. Google addiction and stop looking up every single issue I had, my visits to the doctor ended and my persistent belief that “something” was wrong and “they’re all lying to me” began to abate. I fear it still sometimes but it’s always something that I work through. My second delusion was that my friends really didn’t like me and that they were just going to hurt me or they were planning to. I found basis for this in the actions of others I had known in the past. By realistically assessing everyone I knew and eliminating contact and the ability to look in on those that I’d had a bad history with, I was able to focus on my positive interactions with others. Sometimes I still have intense debates with people, they know who they are haha, but I’ve learned to understand that this doesn’t mean we’re not friends anymore. We just disagree and when they post something later, it isn’t about me and if I worry that it is, it’s better to ask than assume.

My mind and mental issues are a work in progress. They always will be thanks to the genetics that I was given. Profound mental illness runs in my family. Suicide is common. Substance abuse is almost always present in virtually every person on the more recent tree. Schizophrenia, psychopathy, and sociopathy are badges pinned to my father’s name when I give a history in my doctor visits due to his horrible actions. My mother is a depressed narcissist, my brother is… something not good. My grandparents are beyond fucked on both sides. This deck was stacked against me from day one without even adding in the environmental shit that occurred. But by working hard to revise my view of the paradigm and reaffirm that I am NOT my illness and that it doesn’t run me, I run it, I’m able to live my life with a high level of function and, now, peace. That was all I could ever ask for and now I’m working to give that to others. I hope I can do them justice and give them what many never felt I deserved: A chance to be. Some say you make your own breaks but a little help and guidance is invaluable. 

The Road to Recovery Counselor

If you asked a teenage Dae if someday she’d be the “asshole staff” that would be working in a residential home like the ones she found herself living in for most of her adolescent years, I’m almost 99.9999% certain that her answer would be, “Fuck no, I hate those guys. I’d [insert some horrible action to myself] before I sold out like that.”

Going on through the years I, again, never considered residential counseling. It wasn’t even on the radar. Writer, musician, and medic were the Big Three up until recently. There had been that stint when I was about 27 when I had kicked around the idea of becoming a Psy.D but that went through the window when I realized it was “too much” schooling and, at the time, I couldn’t be bothered to deal with other people whining at me about their problems. I was still nursing the wounds from the battle (compassion) fatigue of being an emergency tech and the drama that comes from that. I was still trying to figure out who I was after investing years into my failed relationship. I was just still trying to just be.

I never had the chance to just BE when I was growing up or really ever when I got to thinking about it. As a child, mother dictated everything. When I lost my shit and found myself locked up in residential homes and hospitals they dictated even more. Back then it was a different game. They had restraint protocols in the residential homes that got intense if you got too intense. The hospitals had a chemical restraint program and if your parent signed off that it was okay to drug the shit out of you then, guess what, you were going on a vacation whether you wanted to or not.

The very sad and very frightening reality is that I don’t remember a lot of my teens because I was either self medicated or I was medicated against my will. When I wasn’t medicated I was emotionally shut down so that I didn’t have to think about where I was because I had no idea when or if I was going home. I had to deal with level systems, begging for rides, no alone time because one always had to be in the milieu during awake hours, asking for permission to piss, counting out loud when I was in the bathroom just so that they knew I wasn’t harming myself. I could be barged in on in the shower at any moment just in case I was taking too long. Shaved legs? Forget it. The bohemian look was something I just had to deal with. I learned to like it for a time. Shared rooms with up to three other girls, bunk beds, people stealing your clothes and make up, sometimes more. People getting in your space after lights out. It was… not fun. More to the point, it wasn’t fun when you finally got sick of it and broke and the staff had to hold you down and put you in the “quiet room” where you sat alone until you were willing to process. If you didn’t process you stayed there. I spent a lot of time in this room when I found myself at my final destination of Harbinger House. It was the only way I had any alone time. They got wise to this and soon found that my acting out (swearing at staff) wasn't going to get me alone time and I was forced to go to the next level if I wanted to be alone. Not a recommended course of action... 

I lost so much of integral development living in that environment. Up to the point that I’ve never really been able to understand the outside world much at all. The coats now say it’s because of the Asperger’s but I think it’s because I was never socialized properly to begin with. I watch TV shows about teenagers and I see them going through their rights of passage and I think, “I never got any of that.” I went from pre-teen to adult. I went beyond that, I went to adult who was homeless for a time and on tour with a band and I saw shit that I shouldn’t have. I ran away from everything I had just seen and I tried to be someone else. I divorced myself from the residential years. I wanted to live and…. I sure as fuck did.

Now, I’m 33 almost 34 and I’m one of those staff working with an age range of 19 to 78 year olds who have seen some of the same shit I have, some who have seen far worse than I could ever imagine. I think about that every day that I walk into one of the homes and I think back to that young girl that I was, screaming at the staff, throwing chairs at walls and threatening all manner of bodily harm. Some days I meet some version of myself in the people that I help every day, when they’re screaming at me, threatening me, crying for what some of you would think is no reason, telling me the same story they told me last week, and, yes, sometimes attacking me (though this is very rare) and I think to myself, “No I never imagined that I’d be doing this. But I’m glad as hell that I am. Because sometimes I think I’m the only one who gets them and I’m the only one strong enough to do this.” Because of my past I love what I do. Every. Damn. Day.  I can't see myself doing anything else. 

Memory time: Adventure: Dae and Anna go to Chemlab

2007-01-04 

   So I just got back from an adventure about two hours ago. Tonight was the long awaited meeting of Anna and I to see the Chemlab show at Great Scott in Allston. I took off from here around 6:30 to grab coffee, buy gas, and then head down to Randolph to pick Anna up. The first leg of the journey went off without a hitch. I made it to Randolph without getting lost although I did pass Anna's street and have to turn around and ask her where she was at. 

About 5 minutes later I was at her place and we were on our way acting like two typical girls - laughing, chatting, and... getting lost. haha Actually that was my fault since I didn't print off the directions from her place to the bar so we pretty much had to follow the directions from the bar to her place backwards. That didn't work and we ended up on 93, passing through Boston, then having to turn around somewhere in Somerville I think in order to get back over the Zakim bridge (which is WICKED pretty at night by the way!) and then back to the Pike to take the Brighton/Cambridge exit that would take us to Allston. After lots of calls and Anna and I putting our heads together we finally made it to Allston but... "Where the <i>fuck</i> is Commonwealth Ave???" 

"I have a feeling it's parallel to us." 

"There's a 7-11, Ima go in and ask them." 

Stop the car, get out, two people yammering at the counter... enter in Dae in cheerful/cutesy voice, "Hiiiiiiiiiiiie! I'm soooo lost can one of you tell me how to get to Commonwealth Ave pweaaaase?" They smiled at me, gave me directions, and I flashed my grin and went back outside. "Yerp. It's parallel to us." 

So we <i>finally</i> get on to Comm Ave and we're riding along the access road. At a stop light I look over and see a couple making out and I go, "Ewwwwwwwww! Don't make out on the corner!! That's GROSS!!!!" 

Anna laughs, "Dae!! The window's down!" 

Ooops. Oh well. That'll learn 'em! Onward we drive and we notice that 1. We're on the wrong side of the street and 2. Numbers are going up. Blarg! So we turn around and <i>finally</i> get on the proper side of the street going in the proper direction and <i>finally</i> make it in time. Not a moment too soon because call of nature and all. Hey! Chicks. We always gotta pee when we arrive somewhere haha. 

So... we arrive. No bands have gone on yet and we settle in at the bar for booze free drinks and good conversation. The first two bands were shitty as all hell. No idea who the first one was but they absolutely murdered "Terrible Lie" and just sounded stupid I think. The second band, Tragedy Ann, was performing their "last show ever" and as soon as their singer started... erm... singing (??) I could see why. Ho.ly.SHIT was he terrible. I thought I was bad. His personality was even worse because he kept flipping the audience off, saying things like "Shut the fuck up" when he would talk between songs, and then said something to the effect of, "You people standing in the back go to Ceremony. It's okay we don't fucking like you either." Hmmmmmmm... that's not very nice. He should be happy people weren't chucking their drinks at him for being a meanie head! I would've if I could get away with it. 

So finally Chemlab came on and that actually was pretty awesome to see. I wasn't sure I was gonna dig them too much because I'm not so much into the industrial tunes anymore but the singer, who looked like Andy Warhol kinda, was actually pretty cool I think. He had a great stage persona even if it was a bit theatrical in a not-so-cool/effective way. I liked what they had going on musically though and I would've loved to stay but it was a long drive getting to Anna's and it was gonna be a long drive going home. Plus week night shows are hard. Work and all the next day. Not for me but for Anna. So we left about 4 songs in but it was okay. :) Trying to get out of Boston was a bitch. We got lost again because I went the wrong way. I should've gone left instead of right, we had to go back onto the Pike and take exit 17 to turn around and head east but then there was a detour since there was something going on. Blarg! But we made it to Randolph in one piece and then I drove back and made it home in one piece as well. It feels refreshing to finally have gone out again and seen a friend I've been talking to forever on here. I definitely am glad that I went. 

Thanks again Anna for the invite and for putting up with my silliness. Next time I'll get the drinks :) So that's "The Adventure of Dae and Anna go to Chemlab." I'm sure the 69 Eyes show is gonna be even better since it's a Friday and we will be having a guest in the form of Dietrich Thrall joining in on our craziness. If anyone is in the area and would like to join the three of us, get in touch with me via cell, IM, MySpace, or e-mail. It's going to be happening on the 26th of January and I can give rides to anyone who is along the general route. 

the story behind the guitar photo

I’m not one for selfies. I think they enable our most narcissistic traits and bring out the worst in people. Blogs are a close second in many cases as well. There are, however, exceptions and I think it’s when those selfies or those blogs capture a moment that is so exceedingly special in a person’s life that they absolutely have to remember it. Our memories are just that, memories. Intangible things that we’re unable to take out of our heads and review with the aid of a pensieve (sp?) as they did in the world of Harry Potter. So what do we have otherwise? Selfies and blogs.

Today I had one of those moments that I need to remember in both places. They say a picture is worth a thousand words but the picture I took could simply be interpreted as this girl playing her guitar. Those that know me as Dae Noctem might think, “Oh, she’s writing a new album. Cool!” They would be wrong. Those that know me as Dae Sloat might think, “Oh, she’s practicing her guitar. How nice.” They, too, would be wrong. My husband would think, “I don’t think she’s played that thing maybe once or twice in the three years we’ve lived together… what’s changed?” He would be asking the right question.

That guitar, an Ibanez GAX75 , a beautiful guitar that was given to me for Christmas in 2005 as a “I’m sorry I’m cheating on you and I won’t be here for Christmas, have fun,” gift has essentially sat unused for the past 9 years. It has the original strings, I’ve maybe picked it up to play it once or twice and I’ve tried, unsuccessfully, to sell it but was never able to get what it was worth. To be honest, I lost my desire to ever play guitar after so many things happened that year and beyond it. I lost my love of music finally in 2008… pretty much after I released my album. I did some live shows from 2011 to 2012 but trying to write music was impossible. I just didn’t have any joy in it. I was dead inside when it came to creating anything. Who or what killed that could be blamed on so many things. I could blame people, I could blame medication, I could blame life. It could be depression. But the fact remains that my first love (sorry Shaun) had left me and there has always been this ache without it. Taking music away from a musician, not being able to play anymore when that’s all I’d done from the age of 5 is like losing a limb.

Something was different today though. I had some music playing and I heard “I would for you” by Nine Inch Nails playing and I’ve always loved the chord progression in that song. Though sitting down and trying to play it proved there really is no chord progression per se. Nevertheless, hearing it made me want to try and I got my guitar and I began to noodle like I used to as a kid in my room. The surly teen playing along to “Broken” and “Pretty Hate Machine” thinking I was so cool because I figured out the line to “Wish.” But it was U2 that did it for me then and did it for me today. Forgive me as I become a bare and emotional person for a moment but sound has always been my memory maker.

It was either my 8^th grade year or my freshman year but I was mercilessly teased because I was a geek and didn’t fit in at all. But for whatever reason my mother agreed to get me guitar lessons with a woman named Jodee whom I thought was the coolest person in the world at the time. She taught me how to pick out songs by ear and for that hour in Mr. C’s each week we would take songs I liked and learn how to play them my own way based on the bass lines, turning the root notes into bar chords. Today I heard “Every Breaking Wave” off the new U2 album and found myself homing in on the bass notes and just like that 13 or 14 year old kid I was back then, sitting with Jodee, in that small as hell room, I began to play like I’d just put the guitar away yesterday. A day hadn’t passed. I didn’t realize that I was crying until I felt the tears on the fret board and my fingers. Whatever it was that I was feeling, that was hurting inside me, that still hurts a little, was coming out as I strummed those notes. In the photo you can see the tears on the fret board and it’s the most painfully honest selfie I’ve taken in a long time.

I’ve sworn to you all that you’d never see me cry. But maybe that’s not so true… You can see some of it. J

Fuck you, pay me.

It’s rather amazing what a year will do to a person. This time last year I found myself in such a state. I was terribly depressed because my wedding was fast approaching and it was supposed to be the happiest time in my life but I felt so out of sorts. My mother wasn’t even remotely interested in helping me plan my wedding and had essentially been absent from the entire process. It had been a year since my best friend went into the hospital when the port for her chemotherapy got infected and the infection went systemic and after 3 years of battling breast cancer she died very suddenly. Something I wasn’t even remotely ready for and even now when I allow myself to think about it for too long I crack in half from the pain of how much I miss her. They say it gets easier with time but I think when you let down the wall you build to keep the hurt from really hitting you, you realize that it doesn’t get easier. The wall just gets stronger from holding the flood that keeps trying to crash through it. But sometimes it leaks. Like now. Thankfully it’s like some of our storms here and it passes quick.

Complicating matters was trying to work through the difficulty of the job I had at the time and my inability to fit in there, the lack of friends even after two years of living in this area and feeling like an alien no matter what I did to fix it. Nothing I did worked. I got medication to regulate my moods and make me less volatile, I tried to talk less, I tried to talk more when that wasn’t appropriate, I tried to model the behavior of others, finally I just gave up. Nothing was right and I lost the few people I had left. I conceded that I had no one left and the bridal party that I was left with were made of my last remaining close friend at the time, a friend of Shaun’s, one of his family members, and a girl I knew from work whom I had hoped would become a friend but eventually turned out to be someone I couldn’t trust. Which is difficult for me to do anyway with my past. She made it worse and a few months later she was banished. Ask most that used to be friends with me, they’ll tell you what a terrible person I am. :P

Sadly I got to thinking a lot about friendships lately and it’s funny because around this time last year and even recently I was so desperate for friends. To the point that I was begging, almost literally, for people to just CARE about me. I would almost literally do anything for anyone to just SEE me and what I had to say or think. I’m not sure what changed or why. Maybe it was one of the last messages I received from a former friend who told me one final time what a terrible person I am and I broke. Maybe it was reading through some of the old text messages I sent to a current acquaintance of mine where I sounded almost pathetic and I didn't want to be that person begging for validation. Maybe it was my self-imposed isolation from people recently where I realized that I wouldn’t die if no one came around. Maybe it was everything. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was realizing that the people that DO care make themselves known in their own ways and that it’s just a weird form of friendship that we have and my expectations needed to be checked because they’re so far out of alignment compared to what is normal because of my experience of being raised by a woman with narcissistic personality disorder and all of the abuse I experienced (I will NOT say suffered because I am not a victim) growing up made me unable to differentiate what is normal and what isn’t. Now that I’m figuring it out I’m okay with being by myself more often than not. Now I’m starting to see a lot of things about a lot of people that I don’t like with a rare couple of exceptions. I also see things about myself that I don't like either. Especially the fact that I don't like how I've let it all affect me so much.

It’s unfortunate but the majority of my adult life I’ve felt used and fucked over and this has not changed and I don’t see that it’s something that will change unless I’m less “eager” to assume that people are what they appear to sell when I meet them. I used to be so hopeful that people were good when I was younger. I wanted to believe that people were what they said they were. That when they wanted to be my friend they were genuine but I’ve learned to live with a lot of disappointment in this. One of the last e-mails I received from a former friend was a blast saying that I think I’m being used a lot but the sad reality is that I’ve experienced this more often than I’ve ever wanted. Having been the kid with the pool  growing up, I was ignored all school year but when summer vacation rolled around I was never at a loss for friends because of that pool. When I got older and I began working in the music industry at 17 or 18 years of age it turned into people skulking around for free admission to shows, chances to meet the band I worked with. Then it was looking to meet the other bands I met. Later it was looking for free opportunities to get good gigs. When I married my ex and we had money I was the first person people called for a loan. When I lost my money and the gig in music, those friends were gone. When I started music again, I suddenly had a lot of people to talk to again. I was never lonely. When I even had a little money again, there were always people around to buy drinks for. My tab was long at the end of the night. I never said no. But I was well liked. I was essentially a whore without the sex. I'd trade favors for friendship. Sad.

It went away again for a long time. But then I had gigs to share again. Suddenly my phone wasn’t quiet and my Facebook numbers were climbing. It was starting all over again. Until I killed the band. Then it died down. But now here comes a new band and while my personal profile has crickets chirping, I’ll sign into the new one to 7 or 8 messages. A radio show yields more bands asking for favors. Now I have a magazine gig. What’s that going to yield? More fake friends I’m sure.

I’m glad I made and kept the friends that I did in the last two to three years. Because the new ones that come are far from genuine. I can’t even call them friends. If someone can’t bother to sit and get to know me before they ask me for a favor or only talk to me for the duration of whatever it is I can do for them… I’m not interested. I’ve been through all that. If that’s all I’m worth then it’s good to just put that out there right away. I don’t do the fake anymore. If I wanted that I would’ve just gone to LA like I’d planned to years ago. I stayed here and I moved to western Mass in the pursuit of some genuine friendships. I heard people out here were nice but all I’ve found is more unkindness and more reason to believe I’m right in keeping myself closed off.

It’s hard to believe in the good sometimes but I push myself to stop falling into that cynicism. I'm just to the left of jaded but only JUST so. I wish people would prove me wrong once and for all. I really do. Only a few have and for those people I'm grateful for that small act of grace. There's that at least. But it's discouraging at times when the only time I ever meet anyone new is when they want something from me and when they get what they want, I'm cast out. It's like one of my friends said, "They just take a bite out of you and leave." It's sad but true. I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. I think it's a side effect of the music business sometimes. It sucks and it's annoying. Many people think we're fuckin' free or something. But we're not. I think I need a shirt that says, "Oh you want a favor? Fuck you, pay me." 

 There's nice and then there's being a sap. 

It takes a celebrity...

Just a fair warning before read: This post is about suicide, it’s about personal attempts, it’s about my feelings on what might have been Robin Williams’ apparent suicide attempt, and it’s about my feelings towards society’s hypocrisy. This post may be triggering for some people and if it is, please, I BEG you do not read it. Just understand the basic point of it is that I think people are full of shit and if you’ve attempted suicide in the past and if you’re feeling pissed off about the shit people are saying now about how they’re so sorry about Williams’ passing but that it was selfish and/or has made them appreciate life more and how they’re going to be a better friend to their depressed friends… I fucking get it and I’m saying fuck you to them too.

I said my piece on Facebook yesterday about Williams’ passing in general. It hurt to lose such a gem but it wasn’ t my loss and it wasn’t the world’s loss. It was his family’s loss and it should end there but because he was a celebrity we’ve all been rocked by this cataclysmic event like it was an emotional explosion that no one saw coming except for the ones closest to its epicenter. We all have been affected by it in some way. Those of us who grew up with him on our screens are remembering the man with the whipped cream mask and the fat suit trying to get his children back because he loved them so much it hurt. We remember the man who traveled through heaven and hell to get his wife back because he loved her so much it hurt. We remember the man in the one hour photo lab who wanted a family so bad that it hurt. In all of this he was a man that hurt. In every comedy show he did, his eyes were sad while we worked so hard to make us laugh. Sometimes he hit us so bad in our funny bones that we fell over crying. Sometimes we watched, curious, as he ran around on that stage screaming and wondered, “is he okay?” We all know the answer to that now. He wasn’t okay. He was hurting and we know how he fixed that pain and for him it’s over. For his family it was probably a pain that they had to endure with him and it will be a pain they have to endure for a very long time.

I’ve lived a similar pain for as long as I can remember and I live it now, even as I write this. An acquaintance of mine wrote such a profound post earlier today about how deeply depression affects each one of us on the emotional and spiritual level that it felt as though I had written that post myself. No two experiences of depression are the same but the results are uncannily familiar. It leaves the person stripped, broken, seeing the world sometimes as if they’re living in a version of Silent Hill where everything is smoky and colorless and, at any moment, the air raid siren is going to toll and the executioner is going to appear and it will be over. The executioner is ourselves. We never know when it’s going to happen, if it’s going to happen, how it’s going to happen, or why. It could be a build up over days, weeks, months, years. It could be that one final bill too many went unpaid. It could be that the medicine stopped working. It could be the medicine was one adjustment too many. It could be just a bad fucking day. Or it was raining too long. But it happens sometimes and when it does that, “I’m here if you need me,” is useless because we do need you but we don’t have the energy or will to reach out. You were supposed to notice that we’ve stopped being us. As the friend who cared so much, you were supposed to see the change. You were supposed to check in. Does that seem unfair and a lot to ask of someone? It is. Which is why so many with depression push away their friends and family because we know the toll it takes on the people around us and we don’t want you to come down with us. But it’s up to you to fight for us if YOU really want us to be here. If you don’t, then don’t blame us for dying because it was our choice to do it and your choice not to call the police or take away the knife, the pills, the rope, or the gun that did the job. I can say this with absolutely no guilt because I had a friend who did do this for me once and I owe her my life.

When I was approximately sixteen years old or so I had a fight with my mother. I had already been depressed because I had broken up with my boyfriend a few months back and after several attempts to reconcile it was finally over and my rebound boyfriend and I were done too. My friends and I were on the outs because they didn’t want to deal with me. I had been sexually assaulted and my best friend had overdosed and died. That’s a lot for a kid at that age to deal with so my mother fighting with me over the fact that I had contacted my father was pretty horrid but just the same she did it anyway and I fell apart. I took an overdose of all of my medication I was on at the time went to school and hoped I’d be dead before the end of homeroom.

I went to the bathroom and started to feel sick and my friend at the time named Tracy saw that I looked messed up and she followed me in. She knew I had a problem with drugs and she asked me what I was on. We had an altercation where she tried to get into my pockets and she found the bottles and she saw that they had been filled the day before and were empty. 2 + 2… She screamed for help and the last thing I remember was collapsing in to her arms before I woke up in intensive care with acute renal failure. I learned that I had been clinically dead for several minutes and I was lucky to be alive and there was a possibility that I would have lasting brain damage from the incident. In the end my kidneys regained their function and I do have some lasting brain damage.

My mother essentially signed me over to the state after that and I never saw that girl again. I lost most of my formative years as a teenager to depression. I lost the ability to normally interact with people. I went home at 17 and a half and quickly left again. I lost most of my friends because of what I did. I was the girl who did that horrible selfish thing to everyone. Because no one understood… No one ever has.

Throughout my life I’ve lost several friends to suicide and I’ve contemplated it many more times. The most recent being this past November. I was a newly-wed in the throes of one of the worst depressions in recent memory and all I could think was, “I just want to die.” But I had no one besides my husband to reach for. My family had turned their back on me again and I had no one else that I trusted to turn to. I heard the, “If you need me, I’m here.” But I could barely lift my hand off the bed to wipe my tears when I cried. It all hurt inside so much. Why? The trigger was a fight with my mother but in the end it was just me in my own personal Silent Hill with the air raid sirens saying it was time again. I kept running and hiding from myself until they stopped by it was the hardest I’d ever fought in a long time. Much like that book, “How I stayed alive while my brain was trying to kill me,” I distracted myself with all that I could and I beat it but some of us never do.

Reading the posts about Robin Williams and how people say they care all of a sudden about their depressed friends and family members and how they’re suddenly wanting to be in tune with this disease pisses me off. I should be grateful but why does it take a tragedy and/or the death of a celebrity to make people open their fucking eyes? These people were hurting a year ago, a month ago, a week ago, and a day before he died but because it was someone we all liked it suddenly comes into the radar of your concern? What the fuck is that? You should have cared before that Uncle Lenny sits alone in his apartment drinking and crying quietly and needs a friend to talk to. You should have cared before that Debra who is usually quite talkative is suddenly not around much anymore and she’s suddenly giving all her shit away. You should have made it a priority to check in with your friend who is posting those kind of sad posts on Facebook/Twitter instead of going on about your shit. What kind of a dick are you that you’re gonna be that asshole when those people are gone someday that you show up at their funeral and say, “I remember when me and Lenny/Debra/(friend name) used to hang out… we were so close.” You’re a liar. It’s what you do now that matters. Not what you should have done. Be the friend now when they need it, not the friend you wish you were.

The fact that it takes the death of a celebrity to wake up a whole society to how intense depression is makes me sad for how selfish people have become. It makes me so very very sad and I’m glad that a huge part of me has learned to cope better because if I did rely on others the way I used to… I’d be dead a long time ago. Perhaps the fact that my last depressive episode forced me to see that I had no choice but to fight with no one to rescue me but myself made me realize that I did have that inner strength but I count myself one of the lucky ones. But I live in fear every day of the next round and if I will ever be that lucky again because I know there will be a next time. This is what it's like to live with a depressive illness whether is major depression, bipolar, schizophrenia, or otherwise. People like me need a strong support system and when we don't have it... it makes it that much harder to fight but some of us can and do. Am I saying that *I* need the support system? No. But if someone you know needs you, don't wait for them to ask... go to them and you make sure they know you're there and be there. Because if they look like they need you, then they do. Sometimes it's something as simple as sitting with them and watching a movie or just taking them out for coffee. Just knowing that someone cares is the best thing in the world for someone who feels like their world is falling apart. Because in that despair is a loneliness that is so pervasive that no words can ever describe. If I could never feel it again, I would give up my ability to make music. That's truly saying a lot. 

So please, people, save your platitudes and save your “I’m gonna’s” and “I should’s” and just do it. Because otherwise your words are just empty. To do that to a depressed person is just fucked. Don’t tell them what you’re gonna do. Just do it. It’ll go a world toward showing them you actually do care. Broken promises always lead to broken hearts and thinking on your worst possible moment of sadness... what have you done in that time? You've called out for help. Now imagine if your voice has been taken from you. You'd still want someone to come right? That's what depression is like. So put yourself in your friend or family member's place and just do it without being asked. When they're able to, they'll thank you for it. Trust me. 

some nice advice

I haven’t blogged in a long time because many people don’t read what I have to say. A lot of my blogs in the past have been about personal struggles and with a culture where our world is really all about the mindset of, “Fuck you, I’m too busy trying to get mine and I really don’t have time to worry about what you have going on inside your head right now,” I began to feel like it was pointless to share my feelings with the public (and my friends) at large unless I was specifically asked to do so. Often I am not and after a lot of struggle with that, I realized that’s okay. I have a journal and I have a husband and a therapist who do listen.

Today is different though. I saw a video that affected me profoundly and I wanted to share my feelings with whomever would listen because the video really hit close to home. It was a video of a young Hispanic man going up to two separate individuals. One in a restaurant and asking if he might have a bit of their food because he was very hungry and he had no money. The person’s reply was no. The second cut of the video is the same young man going up to another individual in a food court asking the same question, again he is turned away. Both individuals had plenty of food and could have shared if they had wanted to. The video cuts to black and words come up where the filmmaker says, “I had my friend give a homeless man some food.” The young man from earlier in the video approaches the homeless elderly man and asks him if he could please have some food because he’s very hungry and the homeless man asks him, “You’re hungry?” Without hesitation he splits his sandwich in half and hands it to the young man and they sit together and share their food. The image is so moving that even now I’m tearing up just writing about it. An elderly man with nothing who was likely just as hungry as the young man had no compunction about giving up half of his food to someone in need but individuals with plenty and with the capability of getting more were unwilling to share with someone less fortunate.

This video depicts in one minute and twenty-eight seconds everything I have always struggled to reconcile in my mind about modern humanity. When I see things like this, it physically hurts me. How is it so easy for another person to turn a blind eye to another individual in pain whether it is physical, emotional, or otherwise simply because one has what they need? Should it not be the duty of humanity to ensure that our kind is cared for? That we’re all okay?

For years I struggled with depression and for years so many watched and turned a blind eye. Perhaps thinking, “I got mine. I’m happy. I don’t want that raining on my parade. I don’t have time for that. Let someone else handle it.” Or like the car with the flat where people drive by not helping the motorist, “I can’t stop, I have somewhere to be. Someone else will stop.” Or the person in the apartment next door screaming while their partner is hitting them. “Someone else in the building will call. I don’t want to get involved.” The homeless man with his sign that says he is a veteran and he’s hungry. “How do I know it’s not a scam? Yeah I have loose change in my pocket but what if I need it for something?” How hard is it to hold a door open for someone behind you? Or the person behind the register who looks a little sad that might need a smile. Or heavy kid sitting in the corner that no one will talk to because they’re heavy and they’re being judged for it. 

The internet is bombarded with shaming photos surreptitiously taken with cellphone cameras and posted to social media pages making fun of people for looking "ugly" or "stupid" according to the photographer. How many of us (even myself in the past) have judged others for wearing the wrong thing and said terrible things about each other behind the other person's back. How many wait until so-called friends are out of earshot or just not present and say terrible things about them to, what? Build ourselves up? We do so many things just to not be there as friends for our friends and as good people to other people. We have become isolated little communities of our families, couples, and if we're pushed we may move outside of that for a moment but the vast majority doesn't now. Videos like the one I saw today are made for a reason. They're meant to show us that we're moving in a very wrong direction and we need to wake up. 

When did we stop caring about each other? When did it all become about our own bullshit? When did it become too much effort to simply take a minute to ask one another if we’re all okay? Is it too difficult for us to share? Not just our food but ourselves? Is it too hard to say hello? To check in? To be kind? Are we too afraid to open up because we've been isolated for so long?

Once upon a time I worked in a field where I saw the terrible things that people would do to one another for the sake of, “I gotta get mine.” For money, for drugs. I saw crimes of passion and jealousy. I held the hands of people while they were dying and never once did anyone ever say as their last words that they wished they had made more money or had more material possessions. Never once did I hear someone say that they wished they were alone. Most of the time they were terrified of the fact that they would be alone at that last moment and wanted someone there to tell them it would be okay, even when it was a complete stranger. The most profound thing I ever heard someone say as their last words is that they wish they had been a nicer person.

Be a nicer person. To yourself and to others. Because you don’t know when your last day will be. None of us do. It's a risk but sometimes it's worth it. I took a risk meeting two complete strangers in December 2008 and I ended up married to one of them years later. The other one even bought me dinner because I was hungry.

"What was that song?" - Broad cast list 7/11/2014

Thanks to those of you that tuned in to the first show last night! I hope you had fun and thanks for putting up with the technical difficulties. :)

For anyone that wants to know who was played on the air last night, I'll provide a list below. The schedule as it stands right now is Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday from 7pm to 10pm eastern time. Requests will always be taken live by chatting with me on Facebook. Add me there by finding Dae Noctem. Pre show requests can be sent to daenoctem@gmail.com but I may not always receive them in time.

This week I'm introducing a new feature called "Wicked Wednesday" - So send me a facebook message with your most funny, evil, embarrassing confession to be read on the air. I'll keep it anonymous if you like and maybe I'll tell you one of mine. :)  Let's make this shit ridiculous.

Now, who did we hear yesterday? Some AMAZING artists to start the show. If you're in a band and you want to be on Leaf Pile, send me a message on FaceBook or e-mail and link your band. If I like it, I'll hook you up. :)

Rammstein	Ich Will
Moonspell	Soulsick
Mortiis	The grudge
Spider Bait	Black Betty
Nine Inch Nails	March of the Pigs
Ozzy Osbourne	Let Me Hear You Scream
Lacuna Coil	Enjoy The Silence
Icon and The Black Roses	Healing Touch
Tiamat	Love In Chains
Pop Will Eat Itself	Everything's Cool
Deathstars	Cyanide
The Birthday Massacre	Video Kid
Social Distortion	I Was Wrong
Joan Jett	I Love Rock and Roll
Rock Kills Kid	Paralyzed
Placebo	Song To Say Goodbye
White Lies	To Lose My Life
Poe	Hey Pretty
MSTRKRFT	Click Click F. E-40
Pendulum	Hold Your Colour
Julien K	This Machine
Radiohead	Bones
Coldplay	Paradise
Shiny Toy Guns	Major Tom (Cover)
Saint Eve	While the City Sleeps
Spahn Ranch	The Judas Cradle
David Guetta	Memories (Feat. Kid CuDi)
Deep Dish	Say Hello
Antidote For Annie	Beneath (Day Twelve Remix)
Bang Bang Rouge	The Blood of Saints
Jaw	Creature Of Masquerade
Lunascape	Mindstalking
Ellie Goulding	Lights
Lana Del Rey	Dark Paradise (Parov Stelar Remix)
Project Pitchfork	Timekiller
Lady Gaga	Applause
Ladytron	Little Black Angel (Death in June cover)
MSMR	Hurricane
Neon Trees	Sleeping With a Friend
The Hundred In the Hands	Tunnels
The Hundred in the Hands	Faded

40 Questions All White People Need To Answer… Answered

I saw this on BuzzFeed and since I’m mostly white along with part Spanish, Brazilian/Uruguayan which means I’m probably whole bunch of other shit too, my abnormally pale skin allows me to answer these questions with a certain level of ambassadorship for the Saltine-American crowd. So… here. We. Go.

Note: Please don’t bitch about racism. This is all in good fun and I thought these questions were HILARIOUS.

1.       Why do white people call guacamole 'guac'?

I don’t personally but a lot of white people are lazy and like to shorten the fuck out of words to make new ones because it sounds cool. Or they like to smash words together to make new ones to take up less space in their mouths when they’re talking because a lot of us talk really fast and we don’t have a lot of time to be wasting with talking and words. We have to get it done right away. We’re the people that microwave our pop tarts and don’t you forget it.

2.       Why do white people like bearded men and horses so much?

It’s a hipster thing to like beards. I think because it harkens to some intellectual look or something. But most people just like the “rugged” look because it’s supposed to be manly. But actually have you looked at all of our ads? Most of the men in them have no hair…. Like at all. Apart from their head hair they’re waxed within an inch of their life and look like they’re cut from stone. It’s kind of weird and almost perverse.

3.       Why do white people like comparing arm tans?

Blame the truckers and the rednecks for this. Plus they want to see who’s darker. Everything’s a competition in the US. We’re born and raised to compete here. This spreads across all races, not just whites. You must tan better than your neighbor, your grass must be greener, must grow faster, and your TV must be bigger and have a better pixel rating or you’re not doing it right.

4.       WHY DO WHITE PEOPLE LIKE CHEESE SO MUCH?

Because it’s fucking delicious, that’s why. That’s totally not a white person thing either, cheese is an integral part of many cultural foods. There are over 700 different specialties of cheese in over 64 different countries and that’s not all just white people.

5.       Why do white people like to explore attics?

One word: Goonies. We’re all looking for treasure maps.

6.       Why do white people like the sand Dunes so much?

Where there are sand dunes, there’s usually dropped jewelry. You’ll likely fine someone with a metal detector around there somewhere looking for someone’s lost stuff. I shit you not. Plus a lot of cool shells get washed up there. We’re major hoarders.

7.       Why do white people like Kiss?

Not everyone does, but those that do think they were an amazing rock band. For their time they were. They did some pretty ground breaking shit at the time they were popular. You have to look at the context of when they were popular. If all that was around was folk musicians and pretty boring music and here comes this band that’s spitting blood and looking like they came straight out of some crack in the ground shot straight from Lucifer’s hands… you’d think that was pretty bad ass too. The 70s was pretty boring in terms of musical imagery. These days, people are pretty jaded so of course they’re boring looking so it’s all a matter of perspective.

8.       Why do white people like the woods so much?

It’s a nice place to go when your boss has been screaming at you all day, Facebook is pissing you off with your friends posting incessant photos of their kids who only they could consider adorable, you’re seeing nonstop posts of people going out to dinner, and you’re flat fucking broke all the time and the only texts you get are people who want to bitch at you and no one seems to care about what you feel… Hmmm am I bitter? Yeah I think so… So the woods are a nice place to go to get away from all that and just decompress before you go on a massive ass kicking spree. Plus they smell really nice. Try it some time. Less people would get hurt I think.

9.       Damn why do white people like pumpkin so much pumpkin pie pumpkin latte etc…

I’m not gonna lie… that shit is delicious. Have you tried it?? If you don’t like it, that’s cool. But it’s so good.

10.   Why do white people like playing in the snow. Snow is cold.

Yes it is! I HATE the snow. But there are some white people who are insane and do this thing where they want to best their buddies in a game of “Who’s more tough” (Remember that stuff about competition?) and they go out and try not to break their neck on skis, skates, and snowboards in the cold to see who can stand it the longest. It’s fun for a short while but it’s cold. Very very cold.

11.   Why do white people like Drake so much?

Who the fuck is Drake? No, seriously, who is that?

12.   Why do white people like hummus so much? it's literally chick peas.

It is but it’s got some extra stuff in there to season it so it’s more like a dip. It works with vegetables and bread. Try it some time. You won’t regret it. Especially when you get the stuff with the flavors. If you have some balls, get the hot pepper kind… You’ll cry.

13.   Wait why do white people like shark week so much?

They want to see the shark attack the guy. It’s like when you’re driving by an accident… everyone always hopes they’re gonna see a dead body.

14.   Why do white people like candy corn so much? I literally see 7 people in my class eating it.

Sugar was our first drug growing up. Candy corn is literally the most potent form you can get because it’s straight up corn syrup and wax essentially. Think of it as the crack-cocaine of the candy world. The shit cranks you out if you have it on an empty stomach. I eat that and I get a headache like I’ve just blown lines backstage at a Kiss concert.

15.   Why do white people like ray ban wayfarers so much smh

You can’t fuck with a classic. Enough said. I prefer Versace, Dior and D&G myself though.

16.   Why do white people like going to abandon houses or other places like have you not seen horror movies?

That’s exactly why. We all want that rush of “What if?” It’s fun to see what could happen. But I’ve had some black friends who go up in there too so it’s not just a white thing. Sometimes you find cool shit too. Goonies style.

17.   Why do white people like putting their bare feet on the dashboard?

We’re trying to air out the stank.

18.   Why do white people like to pick their own strawberries so much?

Yuppies. They think if they “work” for their food it makes them more interesting. I shit you not. But they only do this once a year and they pay to do this. It never occurs to most of them to just grow it in their own yard. Make sense? Nope.

19.   Why do white people like to cuddle so much during storms?

It’s a way to get laid! Try it lol!

20.   Why do white people like nutella so much.

It’s got chocolate in it. We like chocolate.

21.   Why do white people like kissing dogs in the mouth? Acting like it's good luck or something?

It’s actually gross IMHO. And if you have a cat in the house with the dog, rest assured that dog has eaten snacks out of that cat box.  It’s just what they do.

22.   What is a "color run" and why do white people like them so much?

It’s actually kind of cool. It’s an untimed run where every so often in the “race” the runners have paint dumped on them for fun and by the end of the race the point seems to be that no one knows who’s black, white, yellow, brown or what. Everyone’s equal. I can get behind that.

23.   Why do white people like to hunt ghosts?

It’s all about our endless search for meaning. White people always want “it all to mean something.” And I think they want to stop being afraid to live.

24.   Why do white people like avocados so much?

Some asshole in a drug rug and dredlocks told them it cleaned up free radicals in the body so now they like it. All fruit and vegetables are good.

25.   Why do white people like Christmas music so much that shit gets annoying?

It’s a forced sense of happiness that comes on each Christmas that is actually bullshit. People get happy for about 5 minutes once the season starts and then by the end they’re ready to Terry Tate your ass as soon as you get in their line or take the item they were looking at. Consumerism makes everyone evil. Again, race doesn’t matter in this situation.

26.   Why do white people like that Thrift Shop song so much?

Not sure what song this is? lol

27.   Why do white people love hot glue?

Blame Martha Stewart for this. Many people think that if they make a lot of useless shit with melted plastic and sell it on etsy that it somehow makes them more interesting because they can say, “I own my own crafting business.” But really it doesn’t make them interesting at all. They’re just providing the world with more useless crap to collect dust in someone else’s home.

28.   So why do white people love full house so much idgi

Because Bob Saget (the star) plays this overly nice “father knows best” guy when in reality he was this psycho coke head who hated everyone so watching it now and knowing this, it’s hilarious and ironic. And seeing little Michelle as a baby and knowing she is really part of a twin-set of drug addicted, eating disordered, fashion designers is kind of nuts.

29.   WHY DO WHITE PEOPLE MAKE INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT FOR THEIR PETS?

Because they think their pets are kids.

30.   why do white people put their kids on leashes?

Because they think their kids are pets.

31.   why do white people love mason jars?

Because Martha Stewart told them to. They forget that this is actually meant for canning and preserving things to survive. Not to show of useless crafts.

32.   why do white people love the beach so much.. yall are always fucking there i dont get it?

They’re trying to devolve and go back to the water. Let them. Those are the ones we really don’t need.

33.   Why do white people dance like this though (Image of a white person dancing, we all know what it looks like)?

They’re having seizures from the bright lights.

34.   Why do white people say "idear" instead of idea? Where in the fuck is there an "r" in that word

Those are the southern white people. The ones in the north don’t talk like that.

35.   WTF is gluten exactly and why do white people hate it so much?

Okay… this one is a huge annoyance to me. Gluten is a protein that is found in wheat, barley, rye, and other members of the wheat family. Most people are fine when they eat it but there are others who have an intolerance to this protein and when they ingest it they’ll suffer a number of different effects like gas, bloating, vomiting, diarrhea, headaches, neurological effects like numbness and tingling in the hands and feet, fogginess and difficulty concentrating, and other issues. Others have a full blown disease call celiac who have a worse form of intolerance who have all those symptoms but also have damage to the small intestine where it will become inflamed repeatedly over time and if this continues the individual runs the risk of stomach cancer. They also run the risk of becoming malnourished and can lose a lot of weight. – NOW… a lot of people have been under the impression that if they follow a gluten free diet they will lose weight. This is wrong. They’re fucking idiots. The only reason a person loses weight from a GF diet if they have an intolerance is because they’re bloated due to constant inflammation. Once they have leveled off, their weight loss stabilized. The truth is though that most GF foods have a lot of fat and calories in them so a GF diet cannot be sustained long term by a person who does not need to be on it, plus it is expensive. So for this reason anyone who doesn’t need to be on it, don’t bother. You’re a fucking moron for following that hype. Eat a balanced meal of whole grains, fruits, vegetables, and protein.

36.   Why do white people love 'turn down for what' so much?

No idea what that is either.

37.   Why do white people love cooking with beer so much?

It adds a nice flavor to food but because I had a gluten intolerance I can’t lol!

38.   Why do white people always say "have a good one" have a good what?

Remember what I said about us being lazy with our words? That’s one of the examples. This is a North thing. We’re just trying to be nice.

39.   Why do white people gotta be climbing everything?

Parkour!

40.   Why do white people say "for Pete's sake"??? Who is Pete?

St. Peter. They don’t want to take Jesus’ name in vain and say “Jesus Christ” I say roll out the “What the Fuck!?” It’s much more bad ass.

So there you have it. 40 questions for white people answered.

Challenge accomplished.