Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 20

Did I tell you I got a nutritional therapist?

I was afraid I was becoming addicted to sugar.

It runs in the family.

And I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be like my family.

I want to be better.

So I hired her.

And we took a deep dive into my family, into my trauma, and into why I sometimes emotionally eat.

And she started slow.

She suggested increasing my water intake.

And making healthy brownies instead of buying chocolate.

And that helped.

But that rejection the other day triggered another emotional response.

And the first day, I surprisingly didn’t eat my feelings.

I felt alright and I thought I talked it all through with my friend back home.

But then the weekend came.

And with it came the shopping, the distractions and the reach for old, happy memories.

And honestly I don’t feel shame about it.

Because I know why I did it.

I have pain inside me that needs to be seen.

I need to cry more and I’m really bad at making time to cry.

But I know I need to try because this pain has been with me for a decade now at least and I’m tired of getting so hurt when people don’t want to be my friend anymore.

It’s just getting ridiculous, you know?

Because I know my worth.

And I am a good friend.

And I am a good person.

So if I know this about myself, then I shouldn’t let these comments or actions stick to me.

I should treat them like rain on a duck’s back and just let it slide right off me.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 19

It slides down like butter

Hot

And

Burning.

And there come the goosebumps

The heavy breathing

The release

All I want is to not regret it

The taste of you

Hot Cheetos

Was worth this painful poo

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 18

And just like that

I got rejected.

By another one.

Damn sensitive American girls.

And I can say that!

I’m American.

She thinks we’re not a good fit because on Friday she went to an event I went to and I didn’t sit with her.

Talk about unreasonable.

And no, she wasn’t alone.

She came with all her friends who were visiting from out of town. Our table was full. She had to find another table and I didn’t sit with her.

I’m sorry I fucked up.

In all honesty, I thought she was fine. She was catching up with her friends. But no, the girl got upset.

Now she doesn’t want to be friends.

Literally this is insane to me.

I actually apologized too.

I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. I honestly thought she was fine hanging with all of her friends.

But nope.

She’s done.

Just dropped me.

And I’m a good fucking friend!

Literally when I was in college, I walked out of a class for my friend Catherine because she text me saying she needed me.

Yeah, I’m that girl.

I’ll move mountains for you if I have to.

And she drops me because I didn’t sit with her?

Such a fucking quitter.

And you know what sucks, it fuckin hurts.

Even though it’s unreasonable, the rejection still hurts.

I actually even cried when I got home.

Yeah, I can be a damn sensitive American too.

But you know what?

I’m not giving up.

I know my best friend is out there somewhere and I’m not closing up shop just because one girl can’t get over the fact I didn’t sit with her and all her friends.

I’m not miss hosty, okay.

You’re an adult. You can manage yourself at an outdoor concert.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 17

What is this desperate feeling?

I have everything I need.

My dog. My dude. The sun. The beach.

All the comforts in the world

And yet here I am continuing to reach out.

Are my dreams of friendship unrealistic or borderline Hollywood?

I want someone I see every week.

A friend to grow with.

To learn from.

To laugh with.

And I have beautiful friends here.

But I feel I always initiate.

And I’m starting to think that is my burden to bare in order for me to meet my friend quota.

But it does hurt a bit.

Not feeling wanted.

I know people are busy.

They have partners and other friends and work and all the bullshit we all have.

I guess it’s just easier when you live with your friends or live in the same neighborhood as them.

I lived with my friend Sarah for two years back home so it was easy to become best friends with her.

Friends through convenience I guess.

Why are people so fucking lazy now days?

Anyways, here’s me telling the universe I would like a best friend in Sydney who is responsive and initiates drinks and wants to go on trips and who wants to go deep man. Because I’m ready for that deep friendship here.

Amen.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 16

Just got this card in the mail.

He apologized for disowning me.

He’s never apologized to me before.

This is a first.

He always use to say I love you instead of I’m sorry.

They’re not the same.

And I’m glad he sees that now.

Thanks dad.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 15

Today I feel encouraged.

Excited.

Thrilled for the evolution of women.

Because lately, I’ve been meeting more and more women who are okay with not having children.

And people, this is a big deal!

Because when I was growing up, I was surrounded by young, christian girls who believed their soul mission was to find a man, wait for sex, get married, and then pop out some babies.

And it was fucking discouraging for me to live up to such a mundane existence. And such a stringent one at that!

1. Waiting for sex? Shit I tried and I even pat myself on the back for getting to 20 years old at least. But it wasn’t for me. My libido was insane growing up and I wish someone had told me it was normal, that it was okay and even went so far as to hand me a vibrator. Because that would have been alot more fruitful than seeking dick for seven years and thinking I was a slut or worse, a bad christian.

2. Marriage? Nah bitch. This girl is too traumatized for that shit. I was raised with fighting, miserable parents staying together for god and the kids. I don’t want that.

3. Babies? Now that I’m thinking about once in a while, but the difference is I actually feel no pressure about it.

I feel very okay with having one or not having one.

And I even feel more okay having one and not being married first.

I know.

Shocker.

But yeah, meeting all these strong, beautifully capable women tell me they are pretty “meh” about the whole idea, is actually really exciting for me. They don’t feel rushed. They don’t feel confined.

They feel free.

And isn’t that a fucking victory for us?

I mean, it feels like it to me god damn it!

So let’s raise a glass to all the women out there deciding their life is more than just a vessel for children and pray those around them have the eyes to witness this evolution without being absolute fuckwits.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 14

You wonder why I get them.

You don’t understand the ink.

Or the addiction.

So let me explain it for you.

This tattoo in the picture is for my Grammy.

She died in 2014.

It broke me.

I had never experienced loss in such a real way like that before.

I was 21.

Living a life for my dad.

A life of fear, resentment, and high expectation

But all of that changed with this phone call.

“Brooke, Grammy had a stroke at church. She’s in the hospital.”

I responded, “hmm”

“What do I say to that” I asked myself?

Because I couldn’t understand.

I just saw her three months ago.

She was outside raking the leaves.

She was fine then.

Yet now she was hanging by a thread in a hospital all the way in Texas while I was in California?

God just simply claimed her without warning?

I wasn’t given notice?

I felt like a computer giving the circle of death.

I could not compute.

So I put it in a box.

I stored those unprocessed feelings away and decided to continue with my studies.

Understand up until this point, no one important in my life had died before.

Also, I was mocked by my father at a young age for my emotion so I thought bottling it up was the way to live your life.

Fake it till you make it, they say.

So I faked it.

Until I got the next call.

She was dying.

“We’re about to pull the plug, Brooke. Any last words?”

Um how about, “Why did you kill my hero, God?”

Why did you kill the one spark of joy in our family?

She was raspberries in the summer.

And hummingbirds in spring.

She was joy.

And now she was dead.

So I did what any young adult would do.

I fucked the world.

I said, “Fuck religion. Fuck god. Fuck my studies.”

Nothing matters if he’ll just kill the most religious person in your life in fucking church for Christ sakes!

So I fucked everyone.

I swiped right all the way to hell.

I was numb to everything for a year after her death.

Yet somehow my friend Bryan pulled me out.

He took me on a walk and said, “This isn’t you.”

And by that point I knew he was right.

I couldn’t fuck the grief out of me.

I had to face it.

She was gone.

And it wasn’t god’s fault.

It was just life.

Life happens.

So 2014 became a milestone for me after that.

A milestone that says, life is precious.

Remember it.

And when I remember her, I think of hummingbirds.

So that’s why I get tattoos, mom.

Because I want to remember my trauma and salute it for its ability to change me.

I love you.

-B. Ray

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 13

I’m speechless.

I come home exhausted and defeated after a two hour walk with my psycho dog

And there in the house is my boyfriend.

My boyfriend who is suppose to be at the job site.

The boyfriend I just got off the phone with.

He’s in the house.

With a bouquet of roses, dinner made, candle lit and music playing.

I’m not joking.

I started crying.

I was so shocked at this huge display of love.

I lost it.

Sometimes a person’s love for you will do that.

It will just sneak up on you and reintroduce itself.

Hey Brooke, my name is love.

We met a while ago, but you’ve gotten a bit comfortable and have forgotten me so I thought I’d reintroduce myself.

It was gentle.

Soft.

And the biggest relief to have dinner made.

Because Fuck I love food.

And he nailed it.

Truly, I am so honored to be his partner in this lifetime.

What a fucking legend.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 12

So far, I’ve met two Americans through facebook this week.

Both very lovely women.

Both married.

And I hope they last.

I mean, I hope our friendship lasts.

This is always my fear.

Rejection

Or even worse

Apathy.

I’m always the initiator in relationships.

I am always searching for that Grey and Yang relationship.

And I actually found it once, in North Carolina, with my roommate Sarah.

But can I find it here?

Will someone let me be their Grey?

Because I miss sleepovers damn it!

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 11

I get it now.

The drinking

The writing

The addiction

It feels good to write intoxicated.

I feel free

Uninhibited

And yet I’m lucky

I don’t have the addiction bug

Like my father

Like my brother

Like all the men in my family

Is it a man thing?

I don’t know

But I’m lucky

I know when to stop

Thank god

Or the devil

For skipping me

I appreciate it.