Tag Archives: inspiration

NEW YORK, HERE I COME!

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So, as I mentioned last time, I had an interview in New York last Monday for a television company. Not even joking, on Friday, just FOUR DAYS after the interview, I received a phone call.

Ladies and gentlemen, it appears the Dark Horse has had a victory. I will be going to New York in January!!!!! WOOOOOHOOOO!!!!!

And this got me thinking about my journey here in grad school. When I first arrived at Harvard, I had nothing. I didn’t know a single person in Boston. I had no internships or connections to professors.

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I picked up a job at Whole Foods to pay for rent (and luckily I have federal grants for tuition). I had no real skills that I knew of, although I knew I was smart, and I knew that I knew how to survive. But nobody had every cared about me, or had ever given me a chance in life. Mostly, I just felt alone and stupid.

Essentially, I had no real skills to speak of that would make an employer outside of the food industry think I’m worth investing in. I had always taken the first job I could find somewhere, completely terrified of the idea of being unemployed and homeless. This means I’ve lived an entire life slogging through whatever restaurant or retail chain would give me a job. And thus was the cycle. Restaurants lead to restaurants. Retail leads to retail. My brain slowly rotting away with boredom in the process.

I always knew I wanted more. I was never one of those people who could work their 9-5, bored out of their fucking minds, and then justify their horrible life by going to bars and drinking it all away every Friday and Saturday….just to then have to repeat the cycle the next Monday.

 

But, growing up in Ohio during recession made me afraid.

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I watched as adults with college degrees applied to work in the diner I worked in. I thought it was so strange and scary that I, a high school student, was working the same position as someone with a college degree.

I watched my mom lose her job due to a merger, then lose her next job due to a merger, then the next due to the company going bankrupt. By the time America had finally climbed out of the hole, she had been through 5 jobs.

 

But the whole time…I knew something was wrong.

Everyone kept telling me to be thankful for what I had. They kept telling me to get my head out of the clouds. They kept telling me about the dangers of big cities (which actually, is hilarious, because my hometown has a worse crime rate than cities like New York, Los Angeles, and San Fransisco). But, when you’re 16, and everyone around you keeps telling you that being a waiter is better than being homeless, it’s hard not to let it get to you.

 

And so, I worked and worked, and the depression, the misery, and the boredom grew until it was intolerable and I lost my mind.

Flash-forward to being in grad school. I knew I needed to make a change in my life. I knew I had what it took to achieve my goals. I knew that if I could just have some way to prove myself, I could show the world that I was a force to be reckoned with.

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And what better place to do it right?

And so, the job at Whole Foods turned into a job on campus, giving me more flexibility to get involved in school,

which led to me joining clubs,

And then I picked up an internship with a nonprofit where I created Facebook posts to help inspire students,

Which then led to another internship managing social media for a literary magazine,

which led to editing for that literary magazine,

which led to me getting an internship at a second literary magazine,

which led to me getting an internship with a podcast,

and then my internship with the literary magazine started paying (woohoo!),

and then I created and hosted a huge event at school,

and there was that paid job I had in Shanghai over the summer that I never would have gotten without all the other experience from being back in school,

and now, the real fuckin’ deal. Working for a big TV channel in New York City.

Is this the fabled American Dream ? 

Have I just made something of myself ? 

 

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Am I about to be a writer living in New York City? Just a small-town boy tryin to make it in the big city?

(Also, (Groans) Im sorry for using yet another Sex and the City GIF… God, Im such trash…)

 

 

Anyways, I’m excited for my future.

I’m excited and I think my writing talents have grown. I believe in my writing now. I believe that I can get published.

I also believe that my life can be filled with adventure.

and most importantly, meaning and happiness. 

 

Are there people out there who are happy living in Ohio or Iowa or Indiana? YES.

AND GOOD FOR THEM! THEY CAN DO WHATEVER THE FUCK THEY WANT.

But just like they’re allowed to work at H&R Block in some city like Dayton, you’re also allowed to go big, and want to work a big city, doing whatever the hell you want. Never let the people from where you’re from try and tell you you’re not allowed to dream big. Because changes in this world only happen when people dream big.

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~ The Dark Horse

(#NotProofRead. Proofreading is for your grandma! Live on the dangerous side!)

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The Highs and the Lows: Riding The Emotional Wave

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So, I just got back last night from New York City. I was there for an interview.

Yes. Someone actually thought I was good enough to be interviewed in New York City. (I can’t believe it either, trust me)

So, anyways, it goes like this. I was here alone for Thanksgiving break. The entire city clears out because Boston is one of those places where people move to, not someplace where they’re from. So the city is empty. It’s 10 degrees F, everything is closed. And I’m alone.

I feel like shit.

Until….

I get an email. 

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This email is to inform me that I have an interview, for a very large company. A media company. A media company whose offices are in a very trendy building with other very trendy companies in a very trendy part of town.

So, my dread turns to intense anxiety and joy, and I head to NYC as fast as I can…

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So,  wind up in a hotel, next to Bryant Park,

during the holiday season

in New York City.

It was like a movie.

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I ate sweets as I watched ice skaters while Christmas jazz played, with the Empire State Building in the background.

I got donuts, I went to New York delis, I got amazing Chinese food. I walked fifth Ave. and Central Park.

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It was like life had gone from zero to hero. Finally, I had a real tangible piece of evidence to prove that I was making something of myself. An interview. (This was actually my second interview…the first was via phone). So, it was like a MEGA self-esteem boost to see that someone thought I was good enough. And not just someone, but a fuckin huge awesome company.

 

So then the day came. The interview. OMG people it was amazing. The office was amazing. And it was located in an awesome building. As someone who had grown up working retail and restaurants, and being told constantly that I’ll never get anywhere… THIS WAS FUCKING HUGE!!!!!

I hope the interview went well. I would love the job. I would love to live in New York. I would love to have a chance to show the world my skills. To show the world that I do mean something.

So, I walked out of my interview, and got myself a tea at a trendy little cafe.

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(I couldn’t write a post about NYC and not reference Sex and the City….cmon people!)

 

 

But now, Im back in Boston. The interview is over. The whirlwind is over. And It’s like someone has slammed on the brakes again.

And I have this feeling in my throat. Like a weight, pulling me down. A weight saying YOU KNOW YOU’RE MEANT FOR THAT LIFE. YOU KNOW YOU’RE MEANT TO TAKE ON THE WORLD. YOU DON’T LIKE YOUR LIFE BEING SLOW BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT A SLOW PERSON! YOU WANT TO LIVE IN THE FAST LANE AND THAT’S OK! YOU SHOULD! 

I’ve spent too long listening to people. Too long listening to anyone and everyone who’s willing to spend their time putting me down. Telling me I can’t. Telling me I have no talent. Telling me I’m worth nothing.

But GOD FUCKING DAMN I CAN’T ANYMORE.

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Every time I get these little tastes of a life I like, the voice in my head gets louder and louder. It keeps telling me this is where I belong.

It keeps telling me that I AM ALLOWED TO DREAM. That I am allowed to fight for a good life.

I’m allowed to have friends

I’m allowed to fall in love

I’m allowed to have a career I love

If I feel like I want a high profile job then listen up MOTHERFUCKERS… I CAN!

AND WE ALL CAN. FUCK ANYONE WHO TRIES TO KEEP YOU DOWN.

I read a great quote the other day that said something like, “The only people who try to put you down are those who are already beneath you.”

So boys and girls, let’s find out nicest clothes, polish up our self-esteem, brew a little confidence and rock out our best Carrie Bradshaw

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PS – Ive never actually watched Sex and the City…is it even good?

 

~ The Dark Horse 

 

Another PS- I also never proofread. Oh well.

 

Dispatches From My Agoraphobic Tower

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So, I recently stumbled across my old photos from when I was living in Melbourne, Australia.  I haven’t looked at these in years, and just seeing them flooded my mind with memories.

During my time in Melbourne, my unchecked depression and anxiety quickly developed in panic disorder, which quickly developed into agoraphobia. I was alone in a foreign country, locked away in my little apartment cube, afraid to interact with the world around me.

 

Honestly, it’s so strange. Because All me memories of Melbourne are so awful. The thought of Melbourne fills me with nothing but loneliness, dread, pain, and misery.

But then, I saw this picture:

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I took this from the roof my apartment complex. How could such a beautiful view ever have been scarred into my brain as bad? How have I always thought of Melbourne as the ugliest most miserable city I’ve ever seen?

Was Melbourne really that bad?  or was it me?

Was I the one that was ugly and miserable? 

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Look at that! How many urban areas have are quality that good?

I think this is a perfect example of how your mental health really effects everything. I mean, depression and anxiety isn’t just about being sad. It’s about feeling such a cold, dark, sad misery, that somehow, a sight as beautiful as this, was skewed into what I perceived at that time to be hell.

And that’s why we need better mental health support. Not just in America, but all around the world. I don’t ever want anyone to feel how horrible I did in Melbourne. I used to hide in my shower and cry until I could hardly breathe. I was fired from my job because I kept collapsing from panic attacks, and was blowing all my money on therapy, and take-out food because I couldn’t even walk to the grocery store.

To this day, my parents think I blew all my money in Australia partying. They have never fully forgiven me for how “sloppy” I was there. And I paid the price for it. After my time in Australia, I returned home to Ohio and picked up a job in retail. My parents thought that me having to return to Ohio with my tail between my legs, forced to work in retail for a year while I re-figured out my life, was good punishment for my immaturity and selfishness of going broke abroad.

They still have no idea that all my money was being blown on therapy and food. They also don’t know that while back in Ohio, I got back into therapy. The University in my hometown offers free-to-the-public therapy were grad students studying psychology act as your therapist.

My mom thinks that I was out running around town, when in reality I was in exposure therapy.  I know a day will come when I will need to tell my parents the truth. That in reality, I wasn’t as strong as they I thought I was. While they thought I was out having the time of my life, I was actually in the lowest stages of my life thus far.

 

But there’s also hope.

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I didn’t due in Australia. And I didn’t when  I came home and got into therapy.  In fact, I got stronger. I got better. And it inspired me to start writing. We may think that those tough moments are the end. We may think that there’s no going on, but there is. 

THERE IS ALWAYS A TOMORROW.

THERE IS ALWAYS A CHANCE TO HEAL AND BE BETTER .

And here’s how: 

Alright people, listen up. Step number 1: Call Lifeline. I don’t care if you’re not suicidal, if you’re at a point in your life when just living through the day seems impossible, call them. I literally used to call Lifeline everyday back when I was agoraphobic. They are so understanding and not scary at all! never hesitate to call and just say, look, I’m really struggling to just be alive right now. Whether it’s depression, anxiety, panic, PTSD, bullying, or any of the others. If you’re that miserable, YOU DESERVE TO HAVE AN EAR TO SPEAK INTO. AND NEVER FORGET THAT.

This is a list of lifelines around the world:

I have called at least 4 of them, and can tell you, these services are amazing

List of Lifelines

Step number 2: Find inspiration! There are some great sites out there that helped me get through horrific times.

Beyond Blue. An Australian website that is fantastic!

Beyond Blue

 

THIS WAY UP! Online therapy for the busy person. I’ve used them, they’re great!

This Way Up

 

ADAA. Resources for Depression and Anxiety

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And most importantly, NEVR EVER GIVE UP! if you ever think you can’t go on. Call Lifeline, reach out to a friend, or even write a comment on this blog. I’ll totally respond and tell you you’re a kick-ass motherfucker.

I’ll leave you with this sunset from the roof of my building in Melbourne, which, I somehow didn’t recognize as beautiful back then, but do now. 

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~ The Dark Horse

(was the proofread? ugh… I can’t be inspirational, and proofread!)

The Best Memoirs About Overcoming a Crappy Life

THE BEST MEMOIRS

(And no, Mommie Dearest isn’t on the list. That’s the kind of book my mom would read.)

So, as I’ve stated numerous times before. I love write because it helps me talk about my life. I’d love to publish stories about what I’ve been through, and not surprisingly, I love a good memoir that does just that.

My criteria for a great memoir about overcoming a crappy life are as follows:

1.) It needs to be an interesting story. I’m sorry to all you 50-year-old women out there who want to write about your divorce…nobody cares.

2.) There needs to be humor and honesty. The second I start reading something that reeks of desperate and trying too hard for the drama, I’m done.

3.) It needs to be a story. I hate those memoirs that just turn into a rant about the philosophy of love and life and whatnot. I came to read your story, not your ill-formed journal entries.

**Special note** There will be no spoilers here!  I hate when “reviews” basically go in and tell you the entire damn plot-line of the story. 

Alright, here we go!

 

WILD by Cheryl Strayed

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An incredible story for sure. After her mother dies when she’s in college, Strayed falls into a deep spiral of self-destruction. The story takes place as Strayed hikes the Pacific Crest Trail, while weaving in flashbacks about her life that are heartbreaking and eye-opening. But her bad past only makes you root for her journey on the trail even more!

 

I AM NOT MYSELF THESE DAYS

by Josh Kilmer-Purcell

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Josh is living in NYC working in an ad agency. However, he leads a (sort of, but not really) secret double-life as an alcoholic drag queen Aquadisiac. However, one night, Josh gets not1caught up with a crack-addicted hustler and his life spirals out of control. Please note – I actually think that Josh is a complete piece of crap human. And there’s a few things that happen in the book where I’m like… I think you literally could have gone to jail for that… But it’s a very gripping book.

Plus, he lives on a farm now raising goats or something, so I guess he’s not anywhere where ha can cause more havoc. Also, I’m pretty sure they still see their goat-milk soap and stuff. You can buy Beekman products for your home and tell all your guests, “You know, this was made by a man who used to do drag and potentially killed a man!”  

 

 

WISHFUL DRINKING by Carrie Fisher

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Hilarious and jaw-dropping. It’s amazing to see the world that Carrie Fisher came from. It’s obviously fun because she’s a celebrity, so you know who she is, and you recognize all the names she mentions because they’re all famous too. It’s kind of like the best high school gossip you’ll ever get. But what really sets this apart from the other Hollywood gossip fluff reads, is how real and honest Carrie is. She doesn’t just talk about the funny stuff. She takes responsibility for her actions. She shows her scars. She shows you both sides of her life, and that makes it a fantastic read!

The highlight? When she creates the “Hollywood Incest” family tree she comes from. It’s truly laugh out loud.

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RUNNING WITH SCISSORS

by Augusten Burroughs

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This poor kid… Oh man. A young Augusten is sent to live with his mom’s therapist.  Because that’s totally normal, right? And the therapist is just as crazy as his mom is. Watching Augusten navigate such an unconventional life surrounded by people who deserve to be institutionalized is mind-blowing. But he writes about it all with such a welcoming, open, and hilarious viewpoint, that you find yourself laughing, when in reality, we probably should be contacting Child Services.

What’s even cooler is that the entire family wrote books! His brother ended up writing a bestselling memoir about their fucked up family titled Look Me In The Eye that was wildly popular. And then, not to be outdone, their crazy mother tried her hand in the memoir game and wrote The Long Journey Home, where she desperately tries to defend how she treated her children.

 

 

PARTY MONSTER by James St. James

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Another book on our list where the author should probably actually be in jail right now.

Party Monster tells the story of club-promoter Michael Alig’s rise to fame in the New York club scene. Luckily, James was Michael’s best friend, giving us a firsthand look through it all. From his arrival in New York, to his rise to power, his spiral into the world of drugs, and ultimately, the grizzly murder of his drug dealer that later would send him to jail.

One thing that makes Party Monster so amazing is that, because they were all famous by the end, there’s documentation everywhere about the events. Articles in the Village Voice. Videos of them appearing on The Joan Rivers Show, and other books about them such as ‘Clubland’. But what really makes Party Monster so amazing is that its fucking hilarious. You will never in your life laugh as hard while reading about a murder, I guarantee it! 

 

 

Special Mention: David Sedaris

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Not quite on the list… but Sedaris writes some great stuff about his life. However, some of his writing can be a little boring. And I’m pretty sure everyone on Earth has already read him anyways.

If you haven’t read him yet, what you need to do is buy Holidays On Ice, and read Santaland Diaries.

 

Get Reading!

~ The Dark Horse

Crossing The Sea: Finding Your Way In Dark Times

 

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So, I’ve recently started submitting my writing to literary journals and publications.

So far, I have received nothing but a lot of rejections.

I even applied for an internship at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, and was rejected. However, their email said, “Although we’re impressed by your credentials…”

Maybe they say that to everyone? Or maybe not? Who knows? 

Point is this: The more I write about my life, the more confident I’m becoming, despite the rejections. I’m realizing that I’ve actually been through stuff. Stuff that’s worth of being written about.

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I intern at two literary journals right now, and for one of them, I’m helping with editing. AND I TOTALLY DON’T SAY THIS TO BE MEAN, BUT…. Some of the stuff we publish is mind-blowingly uninteresting. Especially in this 2018 environment. The amount of stories I get that are like, “I’m a woman and one time in 1972 A man grabbed my breast (shirt still on) and It’s destroyed me ever since and it’s ruined my entire life, and I don’t know how I’ll ever recover…

Literally, we’re about to publish a story right now about a woman who claims that, back in the day when she was a young beatnik, she hung around the dirty art-scene bars in NYC. And at one point she saw a semi-famous artist there. She approached him and flirted. Then he smacked her ass, and she claims, art was forever ruined for her. Like… a guy touching her somehow destroyed the entire concept of art. She claims she couldn’t even look at paintings for over forty years. And not just paintings by this artist who touched her, but any and all paintings by any man.

She claims that when she looks at a painting by a man, all she can see now is the destructive angry beast behind it, looking to abuse women.

NOW LOOK: I am a full supporter of the #metoo movement. And I also believe women when they discuss their experiences. Like, Dr. Ford for example, that is fucking bravery. The women who came forward about Cosby, and others like him, also bravery. I fully embrace them.  And I even embrace this woman for having gone through that moment in the bar.

But I also believe in stakes. In writing, we have stakes. Stakes are the what happened and why is it important enough to be telling a story things within a story.

For example, what’s at stake in The Day After Tomorrow? The entire human race’s survival. Get it?

And when stakes don’t match the circumstances, the story tends to fall flat, and die. For example, using The Day After Tomorrow: If the scientist at the beginning of the movie was like, “Global warming has melted a section of the polar ice cap, and within the next year, global sea levels will rise by 1/9th of an inch. ALERT THE PRESIDENT! TELL EVERYONE TO GO TO THEIR UNDERGROUND SHELTERS NOW!!!!!!

That seems like crap right? It’s like, something in your brain goes, YES THAT IS BAD! WE SHOULD WORK ON THAT….BUT THE END OF THE WORLD IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW? BECAUSE OF 1/9th OF AN INCH?

And that’s how I feel with a lot of memoir-type stories I’m seeing these days. I’m like, yes. It’s crappy that the artist slapped your ass… but, then the entire concept of art was ruined for you for 40 years after that? Really? You promise you’re not embellishing a little in the hopes of riding the wave of #metoo and get yourself published? Or perhaps, if this is true…is it possible that you’ve really just let this slap on the ass effect you a little too much? Is this really a #metoo moment story, or is this a mental illness story? Or a story of self obsession, about a women who, if this is the worst moment of her life, is actually extremely privileged? Because the stakes don’t add up. I’m sorry. They don’t.

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ANYWAYS, I’VE GONE WAY OFF TOPIC.  POINT IS THIS:

Reading stories like these is really annoying to me. (And it actually makes me a little bit angry too, considering that I think these women are demeaning the #metoo movement by embellishing their stories for attention) BUT, It also gives a breath of inspiration. It makes me want to write and share my stories. And most importantly, I WANT TO CHANGE THE NARRATIVE.

When I write about the time I spent in LA on the streets, or the my agoraphobia in Melbourne, or being beaten up in high school – I want to write about this with humor and hope. I hate the self-pity and misery that accompanies the modern-day personal narrative genre. (Don’t believe me? Well, here’s a NYT article stating it too…just so you can’t call me crazy: THE PROBLEM WITH MEMOIRS )

I just scrolled ALL THE WAY DOWN TO THE BOTTOM OF MY BLOG, TO MY VERY FIRST POST. (Oh god…THE SCROLLING!!!! THE SCCCCRRRRROOOOLLLLLLIIINNNGGG!!!!!)

My first post was on December 13th, 2013. I was trapped in my apartment in Melbourne with agoraphobia. Completely alone. I had just gotten on the phone with the Lifeline. The woman on the phone told me I should blog. I should have an avenue to vent through. I started this blog that very day. At the end of that post I said this:

oh oh ! Before I forget.  the BIGreason for this blog is because I have HOPE.  I have hope that I can be happy and feel good about myself one day.  And I want you to have hope as well

 

I’ve felt like a lost boat at sea for so long. Like I didn’t know what direction to take or where to go. All I knew is that I didn’t want to die. I didn’t to give up. But where to go? There was no land in sight, and I was lost.

But now, I feel more motivated. More structured. I want to share my stories. I want to inspire people. I don’t want to dwell in self doubt. I want things to be better. I want others to be better. Fuck the self-pity memoir. Let’s all be more like Jenny Lawson, Carrie Fisher, or David Sedaris. Let’s look back at our lives and laugh,

cuz bitches, WE SURVIVED IT!

We triumphed. Let’s remember that.

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I think I’ve finally found land.

 

~ The Dark Horse

AMERICA, YOU ARE JUST LIKE MY HIGH SCHOOL

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In my last post, I was in a weird mood. I was pretty depressed.  In fact, the last two weeks I’ve been really down. The thoughts of depression and anxiety were nagging at me: You’ll never be a writer. You have no talent. You’ll always be alone. You are the problem, it’s always you. you, you, you! 

And then people were killed at Kroger.

And then a bunch of bombs were mailed to people all over America.

And then a synagogue was shot up.

    People, look. I don’t care what your political party is. The Trump administration is a disaster, and it’s ruining our country. The hateful rhetoric coming out of that man’s mouth (and those in his administration) is fueling the fires for the already hateful amongst us.

And to make matters worse, his followers are completely separated from reality and therefore are putty in his hands. As a Kathy Griffin fan, I felt compelled to write on Donald Trump’s Facebook page that he and his family spent an entire week destroying her; Calling her disgusting and evil. They did everything they could to ruin her career. She was put on a no-fly list, and had to take part in a federal investigation that accused her of actually plotting to assassinate Trump.

And yet, when bombs were sent out.

Actual Bombs…

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The Trumps were oddly silent. A few comments here and there. Trump, you could tell, was forced to say it was wrong, and he said with the conviction of a wet mop. And then hours later he went back to blaming the media for all of this.

So, I felt like posting on his Facebook page, reminding him that he spent more time talking shit about Kathy Griffin than he did about 12 bombs being mailed out that could have taken multiple lives.

Yes. Ladies and Gentlemen, your President.   

I was immediately bombarded with tons of responses from Trump supporters informing me that the bombs were clearly a liberal conspiracy. Planted by Democrats to garner sympathy and persuade the “libtards” and “snowflakes” to hate Trump. 

First off, why? Wouldn’t Libtards already hate Trump? Where is the logic in this?

Apparently, to Trump supporters,  liberals are jealous of Trump. Trump does so many amazing and wonderful things that liberals are lost in jealousy and are determined to hate him no matter what.

But then, wait what?!?

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It turns out that the bombs weren’t actually sent out by the Democratic party?

…wow, big shock (cough).

And of course, the responses on my Facebook post went dead silent.

So I probed a little further, and responded asking anyone if they cared to share with me how they felt now that they learned it wasn’t a liberal conspiracy.

more silence.

But within a few hours, Trump supporters were once again vocal around the country, hailing Trump and saying all of this was the fault of someone else, anyone else. Lost in delusion.

And that’s America. This is our country. The place we have to live. The place that has gone completely insane. 

And I think this is where a lot of my recent depression and anxiety is coming from. Part of me honestly feels like there’s no hope for this country, or for a future life here. I hate Republicans for how insane their greed has made them. I hate Democrats for not standing up to them more. I hate that it feels like the bullies are somehow on top. We have coyotes running the henhouse, and we all know that can’t be good. 

And that’s when it hit me: THIS IS LIKE HIGH SCHOOL. 

This is why I’m stuck constantly looking back at life in Ohio…because this country is running like a giant recreation of my high school experience. The bad are rewarded and get to live happily in their delusions. Nobody holds them accountable.

In high school, it was just accepted that because I was gay, I was bad. It was my fault, I was the problem, I brought this all upon my self.

And now, it’s just generally accepted that Trump and Republicans are in power, will say insane things, and then we just let them. Even as a synagogue is shot up, bombs sent, a car runs over a protester in Virginia, people are stabbed to death in Portland by a racist, and a black church is set on fire an has the words VOTE TRUMP written on it.

Listen bitches, I’ve been here before.

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I’ve dealt with these shitty little twats my whole life. Growing up in the Rust Belt has given me firsthand experience in what the rest of America is now experiencing. And this one thing that I need to remember, and that I want to share with all of you as well:

They didn’t take me down back then, so they’re not going to take me down now.

 

I waited tables all throughout high school in my crappy Ohio town so I’d be able to escape and go someplace better. I worked and worked and worked and managed to move to LA for college. I’ve been able to live and work in Australia, New Zealand, and China. I’ve overcome fucking agoraphobia.

I aint gonna let some uneducated greedy racist white trash piece of shit make me feel like this country doesn’t belong to me.

Oh honey….hellz to da No you aint!

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Today, I’m re-vowing the same things I did when I was fifteen. Back when I was in my bedroom, friendless, watching the movies that inspired me to go see the world:

“I will not let these people take me down. I will not let them make me feel bad. I will not let them force me to give up. I will not give them what they want. 

I’m going to live my fucking life and be successful and happy because I’m fucking allowed to.”

Eye to the Sky. 

 

~ The Dark Horse