For the proest voters I offended - hear me out.

I'd like to start things out with a bit of a preface on me. For anyone who does not know me I'm a very headstrong woman who is not afraid to voice my thoughts and opinions. I'm also stubborn and have a really hard time backing down once I've gotten riled. That being said, I'd like to say that I can admit when I'm wrong.

At the peak of election night I re-posted and added to a post needling third-party voters about the protest votes. This post upset some people and by the next day there was a very heated argument and tears on both sides, in a way that only Facebook seems to feed up best. I generally stand by my opinions, but in that moment when I stood over my phone, I realized something that made me feel even more sick than I did over this election debacle. I was helping the chaos spread just as much as every racist bigot who came out of the woodwork and showed their true colors. I still stand by my opinions. I have yet to see or believe that the protest vote is the right way to go about things. However, in my approach I didn't focus on the real problems we are facing - but instead attacked those who, like me, are trying to make a difference. In these moments after the election I feel like it will make or break our country. I've seen a lot of people arguing and dividing, people hiding behind their doors refusing to believe reality. But none of this is going to make things any better, it's only going to make it worse. So much worse. We are stronger together, and we are going to need every single one of us who stands on the side of justice and equality to fight in whatever way we can to keep this country's head above water. This means figuring out the real enemy - racism, sexism, xenophobia - and standing united against it.

Things need to change and though there are a lot of different views on how this can get done, we need to stick together to make it work. So for those of you who I upset, am I ashamed of my opinions? No. Am I ashamed that I divided those of us who can be allies in this, blamed the wrong people, and acted in an inflammatory fashion that was beneath me? Yes. I'm not going to take all the blame for everyone's actions, but I know when I have something to apologize for. So this is me apoligising not only because I don't revel in hurting those I care about - really hurting anyone at all, but because I want to make positive change in the world, not negative.

Everyone who made a choice did so for their own reasons and I respect that. We have freedom of choice for a reason. What I fight against are those who wish to use their freedom of choice to take away the freedom of others or further trample and abuse minority people. If anyone else feels like that I believe we should be on the same side regardless of who we voted for.

Our system in America is really messed up. Our government, the politics, and our politicians are really messed up. It is up to us to work each day to make that change. While I believe that it was the wrong time to push the protest vote, I understand what these voters were working for. I get their motives and even agree with what they want the final outcome to be. Yes I was angry, I'm still angry. I feel like there could have been better times ahead for the protest vote to have more heft. However what's done is done and I really have enough people to fight against at this point. It was wrong of me to blame them for the full fallout in the way I did, even if I had my reasons.

So though I don't roll over and submit to people, give up my opinion easily in the face of adversity, or let any one silence me, I can admit when I'm wrong.

Standing together is more important than my opinion on a protest vote. And standing with those I care about can be more important than my opinion. So I hope that maybe more of us can stand together and not let this thing divide us when we need each other, need love, and need hope, more than ever.

Regret

When I was thirteen,

I was desperately afraid of being different.

So much so that I got rid of priceless and irreplaceable parts

of my childhood,

all in an obscure effort to fit in.

Now at 25 I wear my differences like armor,

my words tempered weapons

– fuck the world if they have a problem with it.

Except somewhere along the way I,

in my mad dash to never be pushed down,

I started being the one who pushed others.

But it was okay if it was in the defense of what was right?

Right?

When does pushing back start to become pushing down?

When did I decide that my pride was more important than my best friend?

Regret is s paperweight safety pinned to my heart,

tearing me apart with every sway of my halting steps.

I imagine you showing up at my door

– the relief I’d feel knowing you could forgive me

for telling you that you weren’t worth it.

Why was I so surprised to find that when I told you to go,

you walked away –

when I asked you to come back

you decided I wasn’t worth that trouble.

I tore myself apart with the silence

I created when I hurt you.

It was an argument that turned into a flood.

I still keep afloat on my convictions,

but I should have taken your hand when you reached for me,

to try to pull me from the water we created.

Regret is a paperweight.

Maybe someday the weight will feel less. 

Let me tell you a story

I have a friend, the kind of person you wish wasn’t in your life. You know the type: someone who’s been in your life for as long as you remember, but not in the good way. Instead of hours of childhood bliss spent wiling away the hours you’re still able to kill, there is no giggling fun and lighthearted dream spinning. Instead all you ever remember is every bad thing this person said or did to you, how shitty they made you feel, and how mad they still make you.

For the sake of this story let’s call my friend Debs. I don’t know why I keep letting Debs come around. She’s dead weight and I should tell her to hit the road. Still she comes around and I can’t say no. I let her come in and I listen – to everything. She tells me how incompetent I am. I can’t do my job, not at all – according to her. I won’t accomplish my dreams, so why try. When Debs comes to stay she takes a perverse pleasure in wrestling me down and making me realize that I’m empty. She won’t listen either, not about my loving husband, my good job, the wonderful house I live in. She shakes her head, disregards everything I have that’s beautiful and wonderful in my life. Then she tells me I’m empty. That I have nothing. That I am nothing. And there’s no point in even trying to change any of it because I am a pretty useless mediocre person. When she says all this, I nod slowly. I can feel the way my stomach dips, the sinking hopelessness in my middle where there should be something to hold onto, something to make me feel real.

The worst part about Debs, is I feel like I can’t really tell anyone about her. A guilt looms over me whenever I see the very things I tried to show Debs so futilely moments ago. How can I complain when I have so much? How can I be such a horrible person to dare to be unhappy when so many more have it worse?

In these moments I’m so sure that Debs is right – about everything. I can feel myself sinking into a nothingness I almost embrace. It isn’t until much later that I realize something very important. Debs is a cunt. That’s right, I said it. She’s a self-serving bitch who takes advantage of my every insecurity and I seriously need to throw her out on her ass.

Now I’m going to tell you something else. Debs isn’t a real person. I made her up. But she is very real to me because she lives inside me. Debs is my depression. She makes me feel horrible, alone, useless, worthless. It takes a lot of time, practice, and love from those around me before I can tell Debs to fuck off.

For those of you who have your own Debs, you are not alone. And though your depression might make you feel ashamed, don’t believe that bitch. Depression isn’t something you should be ashamed of. Every life is fit for the person who lives it, every good and bad thing unique to that person. We are allowed to feel pain, and let others know and understand it. As much as I’d love to say that this is a success story, where I tell depression to tuck and roll as I kick her out of a moving car – I’m not going to be a liar. Depression will probably always be a part of me, waiting to prey on me when I least expect or want it. Maybe it’s a part of my brain chemistry – or maybe it’s just me. But I won’t let depression win – and I hope neither will you.

Maybe this bad friend has come to visit you lately so I want you to know a few things. You are loved. You have a lot going for you. Depression is a dirty lying whore. But most of all, it’s okay to be upset, to be sad, and to let people know. I hope you can tell your depression to fuck off soon.

So here goes everything – fuck off Debs. *slams door*