If you are a sensitive person, the whole rest of my website is probably not a good place for you to poke around. Consider this your trigger warning.

I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and Attention-Deficit Hyperactive Disorder (ADHD) and recently I was told I am Autistic and my adult-only blog is my attempt to document as much as I can about what it means to try and live in a brain like mine. I have had an unusual life and my blog tends to reflect a lot of extreme changes in emotions. I write stream of conscious and only rarely edit which means that it isn’t the highest writing quality I am capable of producing. I write such quantity at such speed that I do not have time to edit my blog given the other time constraints of my life. Sorry about that.

Since I was a little girl I have been aware that the things I felt compelled to write down did not really resemble what I was told I should write. Telling me how I should be is pretty much a guarantee I will run in the opposite direction. I have been told to be less abrasive, less hostile, less jolting. Well I decided it was time for me to have a space where I really don’t have to give a shit what other people think about what I am writing. If they don’t like it they don’t have to come read it.  I don’t tend to get along well with forum moderators.

Hello to the people who have never heard of me before. I’m not as mean as that paragraph indicates. But I talk about rape and incest as casually as other people talk about sports or computers. If that is something that you have a problem with then you might not like reading anything I write. If you are under the age of 18 you probably shouldn’t read my writing. Legally I am supposed to tell you to go somewhere else. This is a great place! Or, go read my kid-friendly writing!

I talk about extremely graphic sexuality regularly and I don’t give ongoing trigger warnings. I’m a walking trigger warning. You should assume that I might say something upsetting in my writing at any point and read only when you are up to dealing with the fact that there are people like me in the world. My existence and my words about my life are not actually about you even if you suspect I might be writing about you. I probably am not.

I write because I have a lot of things in my head that need to get out. I need them to exist and be real in the universe somehow and the only real outlet I have is to write them down. I want it to be known that I am here. That I am thinking. That I have been. Not everyone needs that in the same way. But incest and rape will come up constantly. I write about being white trash. I write about being suicidal. I write about depression and anxiety and PTSD. And parenting. I write graphically about sex and sexuality and bdsm. I write about being queer but appearing entirely heteronormative. I try to consciously examine my privilege as a (currently) upper middle class white woman. I try to look at the weird behaviors I developed as a child living in extreme poverty.

My husband wooed me by telling me that if you can’t look back on yourself eighteen months ago and say, “Man I really sucked then you aren’t trying hard enough.” I have been homeless and starving. I have been to graduate school. I taught high school. I was a stage manager and theatre rigger. I ran a marathon. I spent 5.5 months traveling around the US with my kids.

I don’t know what I’ll do next. But there is a lot left to learn. I have two kids. We are home schooling. I have a husband. He’s really nice to me. I kind of do the dirty hippy thing; so weird eco-focused stuff randomly comes up.

I have written two books so far. I’m absolutely convinced there will be more.

So welcome to my sandbox. Be civil or go away. Avoid using the word “should” if you want me to listen to your advice. Just sayin’. I like hearing stories from other people about what they have done. Blogging is a strange beast. I do like comments. I understand that my writing is very hard to comment on in a neutral fashion. I get butt hurt over the smallest things and that makes people feel like they should walk on egg shells. I get it. But I like knowing you are out there.