Posted in Being Vulnerable

It’s my birthday

So I stayed up for my birthday last night.

Watching love is blind.

Ya I had to know who lasted till the end, man.

So happy for Cameron and Lauren!

No spoilers because this was season one.

Anyways, it’s my birthday.

I’m 28 and cannot wait!

I love a birthday, mate!

And Australia is my fate.

So I’mma fucking celebrate

On this date

Even if I’m late.

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 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.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 10

So I’ve been called a sadist.

But I’d like to describe it more as

A controllist.

I like to believe I have the upper hand.

But what this person doesn’t know

Is this is my wall talking.

He doesn’t know I’m full of shit

He doesn’t see me crumble

in therapy

Or cry with joy from being loved for three years by the most forgiving man I’ve ever met.

He doesn’t know me.

He tried to pull that perceptive card,

But I’ve met his like before.

Confident on the outside

Insecure on the inside.

Like all of us.

So don’t tell me, you can read me.

Because I know you’re no fly on the wall.

You’re just like every other psychology cock sucker thinking you’re the next Freud.

So bye boy.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 8

Walking on egg shells

Tip

Toe

Tip

Toe

My mind rewinds

Plays

Rewinds

Plays

Will she understand my intention?

Or

Will she be offended?

I feel like I’m trying to create a relationship with a social media troll

Hush now

Be sensitive

The egg shells may crack