Swimming back through a sea of lies

Swimming back through a sea of lies

I’ve always tried to be honest with my friends and family. I don’t mince words and I won’t tell you a lie to make you feel better. It’s usually why my friends come to me for advice. I give words of wisdom while telling you what an idiot you are, but I’ll do it nicely. It’s all part of my charm. 

Lying to your loved ones is awful. The guilt eats your insides and rots inside you. It makes you paranoid and shifty. And one lie leads to others. To cover up that one lie you had to use others. It never ends. If you are caught in a lie, consequences vary. Get grounded, parents lose trust, friend doesn’t speak to you for a few weeks, lose your friend entirely, your significant other leaves you, get fired from work, etc. 

The feelings that rise when you lie to yourself are far worse. Physical pain. Emotional outbursts. Your brain goes round and round 24/7. Arguing with yourself. Trying to convince yourself of whatever lie you need to believe for whatever reason. A constant bug buzzing in your ear that you can’t swat away. 

After years of lying, I think it’s time to come clean. Don’t you?

I’ve kept my true thoughts about sex to myself. I didn’t want to be different or weird. I was already the chunky tomboy who would rather read a book than be with friends. I wasn’t prom queen or head cheerleader. I was always in the background with my books. I wasn’t boy crazy like the other girls. I didn’t really date. I had no real interest in it anyway.
Eventually I did date and each one was both amazing and terrible. Kissing was always weird. I had braces  in high school when I had my first boyfriend and he had a lizard tongue. I still cringe thinking about it. I was “dating” this one guy the summer before I went to college. He wouldn’t call me his girlfriend until he “test drove the car”. I wasn’t ready to have sex and we just ended up dry humping most times. I thought it was nasty all the same.

A couple years ago I dated this guy and it was incredible. I fell so hard for him and the sex was mechanically good. Like on a purely animalistic type level it was spectacular. But deep inside? It killed me to be touched that way. There were times where I forced myself to be intimate with my boyfriend and prayed the whole time for him to be done so I could sleep and be left alone. At times I’d be in the bathroom dry heaving after having sex. I felt disgusting and wrong. I wanted to dip myself in scalding water and scrub ’til my skin was raw.  I did date and each one was both amazing and terrible. Kissing was always weird. I had braces  in high school when I had my first boyfriend and he had a lizard tongue. I still cringe thinking about it. I was “dating” this one guy the summer before I went to college. He wouldn’t call me his girlfriend until he “test drove the car”. I wasn’t ready to have sex and we just ended up dry humping most times. I thought it was nasty all the same.

I wholeheartedly believe that much of my anxiety and depression, especially in my last years of college and just after I graduated, were from trying to convince myself to be some hyper sexual being. Dating always gave me anxiety. Days after having sex I was depressed and hated myself. After one particular time I felt like dying. 

I think sex is gross. It makes me want to vomit at times and other times I wish to hide under the bed. I don’t want to go to all that effort just to sate some biological urge. I’d rather cuddle with a pillow and eat a whole pizza while watching Netflix than go on a date with someone. That is the level I’m at. 

Hi, I’m Jessica and I am gray-asexual. 

No, I did not make up that term. It is a legitimate sexual orientation within the asexual spectrum. Sexual orientation is this incredible spectrum full of various preferences and identities. There are lots of gray areas too. And I fall into one of them.

People who identify as gray-asexual are on the border “between feeling sexual attraction to others and returning to their asexual tendencies. They feel sexual attraction, but not as often as sexual people. They don’t feel like acting on their sexual attraction. They are confused about their feelings of sexual attraction. They don’t feel that sexuality is a meaningful concept.” (Love Panky)

I appreciate someone’s general attractiveness, but I don’t want to jump into bed with them. I felt some sexual attraction for someone recently, but I never acted on those feelings because the though of doing it made me sick. It’s all just a big “meh”. I’ve engaged in sexual acts to appease my partner or to make them stop nagging me about sex. 

Sex feels good on a basic level, I’ll admit, but I would rather spend time hanging out with friends and family, reading books, watching movies, snuggling in my nest of blankets and pillows, writing super long blog posts. I would love to find another asexual or gray-asexual person and have a relationship where I am not pressured to have sex or do anything remotely sexual.

Since unraveling all these lies and opening these thought boxes I have had less anxiety and felt better. I’m not overtly depressed and I haven’t had one self-hating thought. I haven’t felt like dying in months. I broke down the first time I said out loud that I was asexual. 

I can breathe easier now.

one drink won’t hurt, c’mon!

one drink won’t hurt, c’mon!

I get a lot of strange looks when I tell them I don’t drink anymore. They think I’m crazy or I’m pulling their leg. They stare for a few seconds and then launch into an endless array of questions. They’re either curious to know why I quit drinking or they want to convince me to have “just one” because “it won’t hurt”.

To those that are curious, I am honest. I have no issue explaining why I chose to stop drinking and how much better I feel. But those people that think one drink isn’t harmful? Well, they can shove that one drink up their ass and leave me the hell alone.

I’m guessing all of you reading are wondering why the hell I stopped drinking. What could be so bad that this young woman would make such a decision? I will gladly explain.

As soon as I turned 21 the flood gates opened. I could legally buy alcohol and drink all I wanted. And I did. Of course there was underage drinking before that. I got drunk for the first time when I was 17 at a friend’s New Year’s Eve party. I drank Malibu and pineapple juice. Then I found the wonders of Jack and coke and I was hooked.

I was in college when I turned 21. I was a Jack Daniels girl. Most of the time I drank it straight from the bottle. No chaser and no cup. That was for pussies and I wasn’t a pussy. I had a high tolerance and could hold my own with the best of ’em. I wasn’t a sloppy drunk either. I laughed constantly and danced all the time. I was also the drunk that called her ex and talked shit I wouldn’t remember in the morning.

I was also a black out drunk. Drinking slowly became more than just fun. It became my escape. My coping method for the anxiety and depression. I didn’t want to feel so I chose to be numb. I would drink during the week and then get wasted on the weekends. Sometimes alone in my apartment or at a bar with friends. I drank til I fogged out. I drank til someone had to drag me to my house and put me to bed. It was blissful.

Graduating college and moving back how slowed me down. Yes I still drank, but it wasn’t as much. I was going crazy. The chances I did get to go totally ape shit crazy I made sure to chug my Jack and get obliterated. There are some nights that I honestly don’t remember at all. Not one detail. It scared me, but not enough to stop.

What made me stop was what happened one New Year’s Eve and hearing about it the next day. I was mortified. I cried. I hated myself. I wished to go back and not drink that much. I had fucked up and couldn’t take it back. It made me so sick that I threw up.

I stared at myself in the mirror that day and made a promise. No more alcohol. Not one sip. Not one drink. No shots. NOTHING! Completely alcohol free. It was so hard at first. My friends would ask to go to the bar and they’d ask me if I wanted a drink. I wanted to feel that burn. I wanted to taste that fire again. But I refused. I’ve been refusing those drinks for over a year.

I am proud of myself.

I feel so good.

I’ve learned healthier coping methods.

I don’t mind the questions at all. I understand how strange it is for someone my age to say that. I get it. My only sticking point are those people that try to shove a drink at me and get me to drink with them. Why is it so hard to respect someone’s choice? I’m not sure I’ll ever understand that one

I will close with a little PSA. If you’re going to drink, do it for the right reasons. Celebrating something. Let loose with your friends after a tough week. Relax at home with a cold beer. Thirsty Thursday at your fav bar. Don’t use alcohol to self-medicate. It will tear you apart and make things worse. Take it from someone who knows.

that whole dating thing sucks

that whole dating thing sucks

I’m going to apologize in advanced for this little rant. I’m running on little sleep and lots of soda. I have miles of thoughts I’m trying to untangle and this was one of my threads.

Dating in this day and age is the worst. I would rather walk on Legos than try and date someone. Yeah, I went there.

Think about it for a moment.

Countless dating apps. Some are even specifically for age groups, sexual orientations, ethnic groups, and religious affiliations. There are even ones you pay a membership for and have to answer a billion questions on top of it!




There’s also speed dating events, singles night at bars/clubs, those horrible set ups from your married friends.

It’s a migraine I really don’t want to have. Ever.

It started out as having a crush on someone you hung around with at school or one of your friends buddies. You kept hanging around your friends hoping you’d see them again and work up the courage to talk to them. You’d exchange numbers, maybe even AIM screennames! That was legit as fuck. Now, you find someone on an app, talk for two weeks, “hang out” a few times, and your whole relationship is on your social media page of choice.

So our mode of dating has changed as well as the language, which for me is the biggest deterrent right now. Instead of “It’s a date!” or “Want to go out with me?” it’s become “we’re just talking” and “we’re hanging out”, or the worst “Netflix and chill”. WHAT EVEN IS THAT? How long do you have to be “talking” to be considered a relationship? And however that whole “we’re hanging out” thing happened, I wish it was immediately stopped because it’s fucking annoying.

Now, I don’t begrudge anyone for sharing relationship events like anniversaries, presents, cool date locations, family pics, whatever. I love seeing my friends and family happy and getting treated right. I love seeing happy couples and all that sappy love stuff. It gives me hope for this world.

I guess I’m just a little old fashioned. I was having a conversation with a good friend and I told her I wish someone would court me. Come to my house, call upon me with a big thing of flowers, and take me somewhere special. It doesn’t have to be fancy, just different. A park, the beach, a late night drive downtown, a drive-in movie, some hole in the wall diner that has the best burger, ANYTHING really!

The more I try and date, the more I find it rather pointless and horrible. It feels like I’m trying to wedge myself into this tiny box, but I’m not going to fit. Why do I even bother anymore? Is it some brainwashed idea that the media planted in my brain? Is it some ingrained instinct to find a suitable mate? Whatever it is sucks balls and I’m fighting like a salmon upstream.

I have the relationships I want and I’m content as all hell with that. I’m taking that box society gave me and burning it.

Embracing those hairy ass legs

Embracing those hairy ass legs

A few months ago, I watched a video of these women talking about their body hair and body positivity. I then watched other videos and more blogs about women embracing their body hair and choosing not to shave.

I was grossed out at first. I mean…hairy ass legs and armpits. Not trimming your lady bits! At the time I watched those vids I said I would never stop shaving or trimming. I was obsessed about my body hair and making sure it was taken care of.

I have been shaving my legs and pits since I was 13-14. I didn’t start trimming my pubic hair until I was 16. All four years of college I shaved all my pubes off. At one point I was shaving my legs every day, mainly during the spring and summer months. I hated the feel of unshaved legs and pits.

In the last two years I have been more lax about shaving. It’s easier in the winter because I wear nothing but pants. In the summer I was a bit crazy about making sure my legs looked hairless and pretty. But my obsession came at a cost. Razor burn, in-grown hairs, rashes. I changed razors, shaving creams, and lotions to prevent burn and razor bumps. But I fucked up my legs with my crazy habits.

We live in a world which parades these images of what “true beauty” looks like. Society bombards us with ads for razors, home waxing kits, shaving creams, etc. It wants us to be these smooth, hairless dolls to live up to a crazy image they created. There is a stigma regarding female body hair, and these women are breaking it.

I was inspired to do the same. My skin is so sensitive due to years of obsessive shaving and I can’t do it anymore. I had a talk with my wife about this as well. She made the same decision. She explained that she was fed up with the skin irritation shaving caused and stopped shaving for a few days to let her skin breathe. She commented about how at first the new growth was disgusting and she wanted to shave, but also wanted to see it grow more. She hasn’t shaved in a month now, though she still fights the urge to shave because the growth is somewhat gross, she is not going to give in.

I haven’t shaved my legs or arm pits in two weeks. I was so grossed out the first few days. The itchy stubble was nasty. I wanted to shave so bad, but I resisted. After that first week I noticed how soft my leg hair was and found myself constantly petting my legs. I know I sound ridiculous, but it’s so fucking soft! Seriously, I’m fascinated by it. My underarms are the same way. I have also noticed that I don’t sweat as much under my arms and I don’t smell as bad.

Normally, I would be having a panic attack about going out in public with furry legs, but I don’t give one fuck. If people stare or make rude comments, it doesn’t bother me. I am doing something that makes me feel good and is good for my body.

I still trim my pubic hair, but I don’t shave it bald or shave it at all. Not only do I not have the time to dedicate to such a daunting task, but my skin can’t handle that level of shaving anymore.

Do I worry about what my future partner(s) will say? Not at all. If they don’t like it, that’s their problem. I am not going to change for anyone. If they want a shaved pussy, they can watch porn.

I would love to hear from other women who are embracing their bodies. Have you received any comments from people or partners? What were your reasons for not shaving? What were some of your initial thoughts during the new growth stages?

Embrace your bodies ladies, you are all beautiful!

is two really better than one?

I was washing a car the other day at work and got to thinking about my mental illnesses. In my psych classes in college we discussed comorbidity quite a lot. Comorbidity is the presence of two chronic diseases or illnesses in a person at the same time. It is quite common for people who have anxiety to simultaneously have depression or vice versa.

I am one of those people….if you hadn’t already guessed. I have anxiety with depression as my comorbid illness.

Comorbidity sucks fucking balls. If one starts up the other is sure to follow. Those scary little monsters feed off each other and encourage the other to grow bigger. They whisper to each other. They plan and scheme. They poke and prod my mind and heart. They snicker and smile. Anything to try to bring me down.

But I fight. Tooth and nail, I fight.

I was reading an article a while ago on having anxiety and depression. It gave a list of things that happen when someone has this comorbidity. I wanted to share some of these and a few of my own. I will include the link at the bottom so you can view the entire thing.

  1. It’s having to stay in bed because you don’t have the will to move, but unraveling at the thought of what will happen if you miss school or work.
  2. It’s making six million to-do lists just to untangle your thoughts, but knowing you’ll never actually cross anything off.
  3. It’s the constant fear of winding up alone, but accidentally isolating yourself because you sometimes just need to hide from it all.
  4. It’s alternating between feeling paralyzed in the present and scared shitless about the future.
  5. It’s sleeping too much or not at all.
  6. It’s needing a break from your racing thoughts, but not being able to climb out of the pit of yourself.
  7. It’s needing to do everything, but wanting to do nothing at all.
  8. It’s worrying about losing all your friends, but not having to energy or motivation to hang out or talk.
  9. It’s being so depressed that your mind wants to shut off, but your anxiety never allows it.
  10. It’s stressing over a first date, but canceling in the end because you know deep down it won’t work out.

There is so much more that I could list. It’s not fun. It’s a tug of war between two monsters. It’s exhausting and never ends. Fighting against those intrusive thoughts and finding the strength to get up and move are taxing, but necessary. I found myself getting lost in my depression for a long time and took even longer to crawl my way out.

I wish more people could understand this entangled dynamic. This twisted relationship between two painful illnesses. I have to mask the pain and torment because I don’t want pity or questions. How can I possibly explain something that often times doesn’t make sense in my won head? How can I explain something that only exists in my head and is a complete fabrication but feels and seems real?

If you’re interested in the whole list, please follow the link: https://www.buzzfeed.com/annaborges/20-feelings-that-sum-up-having-both-depression-and-anxiety?utm_term=.ctjN4A2eo#.tq4xOMn0v

crashing along Anxiety Lane

crashing along Anxiety Lane

I’m sure we’ve all experienced anxiety drop. Those moments after the attack when you just free fall into a zombie. It’s scary. Beyond weird. And unexplainable, but I’m going to try and describe it.

Last week I was so frustrated with work bullshit. I was spitting mad and cussing up a storm. My mind buzzed with all the shit that was going on. Blood boiling, I tried to finish my tasks as fast as possible.

I knew I was cruising down Anxiety Lane when I felt all that anger boil inside me. My ears started ringing and then went dead. The world was turning white and closing in around me. Tremors overtook my hands. Tears burned my eyes and cheeks.

All I could do was breathe. Deep and slow. I focused on the things I could feel around me. The music in my ear buds. The soft feel of the rag in my hand. The smell of Windex as I wiped the windows on a car.

I had to keep calm and cool as long as I could. However, that didn’t last long. I was swimming in my pool of anxiety and felt weights clap around my wrists and ankles. I was drowning and my body was shutting down. I felt this black cloud envelope me and I was falling. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. There was this white noise in my head.

I was crashing. Hard and fast.

I found myself moving towards the office to find a space to sit. I talked with a few co-workers, one of whom made me hot chocolate and gave me a bag of cookies. Her kindness and care helped me back to reality. The warmth from the drink slowly ran away the cold of the drop.

I was going in and out of coherence. I could tell they were speaking but not what they were saying. I was floating now. On the surface of reality. Slowly coming back to myself.

It was the most painful experience.

I hate the drop. I’ve only experienced it a handful of times, but that’s too many for my taste.

To be honest, I’ve been feeling a little lost and dead to the world even before this recent anxiety drop. I’m putting on this mask of emotions when I feel absolutely nothing inside. It hurts to talk. Social interaction is exhausting. People are grating on my nerves and I wish I could escape them.

I would love to hole up in a cabin deep in the forest away from everything. Just set up some internet so I could have my Netflix and be able to buy books. I’d have a couple dogs and curl up in a puppy pile every night.

That’d be perfect.











a color for every occasion

​You’ll never forget that night

The drop of sherbet on her chin

Her laugh as you wiped it off

Your heart pounding from the way she smiled
She wrapped her arms around your neck

Kissed you sweetly and smiled so wide

yellow roses on the counter

A whole year
She was breath taking

Delicate purple fabric made her ivory skin glow

How you longed to touch her

Your heart skipped and your palms sweaty

That little black box weighed heavily in your pocket
Close your eyes and take a deep breath

This was it

As the music starts you turn your head

Walking down the isle was the most beautiful woman

And she was all yours
You are late…again

You apologize and hand her the pink tulips

Her favorite

Your hope crashes as she sighs and kisses your cheek

Her once dazzling smile is dull and not so wide

What changed in the last 5 years?
Another night another excuse

Were you crazy?

She would never betray you…right?

Your mind began to wander

Images flashed in your head

Hot jealousy coursed through your body

You waited in the dark

This had been going on for years

Her words faded away

All that was left was rage

Blind rage

The world converged to red
Your hands were shaking

Time stopped

The sound of your blood roared in your ears

You close your eyes

All you see are those blue lips


It was over

Every shred of jealousy and rage

Washed away

Her cold body lay on the bed

Your world turned black

That barrel looked so welcome