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An Ex is an Ex For a Reason

You know those girls on television with the perfect hair and lips? The ones you imagine have a perpetually happy life because they are living their best life in exotic locations, wearing itty bitty bikini’s and look great no matter their age? You so know who I am, she’s the one in the Maybelline commercial with the sexy car and has like no problems?

She has a great car and is always busy, she never has time to cry because her life is perfect and even if they don’t show her life in the commercial, she’s still fucking perfectly happy because you know in your head how the commercial ends. It ends with her and her sexy lover, husband or wife, and everything is just fucking hunky fucking dory all the fucking time.

Yeah, she’s a fucking figment of conditioned fiction. She’s the girl your ex wishes you were, which is exactly why that mother fucker is a fucking ex.

She’s the girl who is perfectly kept at all times, always well read and has the answer to every possible question, she’s not you, she’s a fucking dream girl that looks like you and kinda is like you because they’ve imprinted who you actually are with who they wish you were and she is fucking bullshit so stop trying to be her.

Breath.

She’s the girl you aren’t, which is why you packed up his shit and threw it out years ago, because you refused to hang on to anything that reminded you he tried to make you into something you aren’t by doing things you did not like, like slapping your ass over and over again even though you told him you hated that.

He’s the guy who dated every girl you knew, wanted you to get dread locks and refused to be with you until you became some version of Lisa fucking Bonet to fulfill his “In another world” white boy fantasy’s.

He’s the guy that asked you if you wanted kids…WHILE HIS DICK WAS STILL INSIDE OF YOU.

He’s the guy who called you a whore, because he had a difference of opinion with you on immigration reform.

He, she, them or they are the ex boyfriend, girlfriend, friend, or person who was once in your life and is no longer in your life, because they proved time and time again they were only interested in being in your life if you were anything but your truest, honest to goodness self, and you are NOT the girl in the fucking bikini commercial.

They are the people that stole your choice and made up lies that fit their narrative, who are dumbstruck as to why they aren’t allowed in your life any more.

They are the Tattoo artists who lied to your face, pretended to be someone you could trust and then ran their hands all over your body without your permission, because you signed a waver saying they could put a mark on your body…of your choosing.

They are the people who did not, who purposely chose, to disrespect your boundaries, because they didn’t think you’d be wise enough to get caught being assholes. They are not your friends, or your allies, they are your challengers and while some of their intentions may have been for the best, “in their own minds” that does not mean that their presence in your life actually served your best interests.

They are the people who thought they were doing what was best for you, by doing what was best for themselves, and now that you recognize that, I give you, (myself) permission to say goodbye to them with the absolute massively largest “Fuck You” I can possibly muster.

I love you for the experience, but I am done now.

I am done pretending there is going to be a time that I allow you to come back into my life, no matter how much money you offer me, you hurt me, and you’re gone now and that’s the exact right place for you to be, gone.

I used to think that I had to apologize for not being every thing to everyone, until I realized I didn’t exactly like how people saw me. Sure many will say that I’m really nice, there are a few people who have a recommendation from me in their college applications and one day I hope I’ll get to say thank you for asking me to write that for you, but those are not the people that I called my closest friends and allies.

A few years ago, many many years ago actually, a group of friends got me a guitar for my birthday and they all signed it, and I “lent” it to a friend who was going to travel the country for awhile. I figured he’d return it one day…I was wrong, and all these years later I’d rather have the guitar.

Largely because we’ve gone to different places in our lives and become different people, as good a person as this person is…what he did was really mean. I never even got to play the damned thing, and I’d love to have it back, before my hands are too old to be able to play at all. This was the reminder I needed, so I started thinking about all the people who claimed to love me, and I looked back at how they showed that love and I realized I didn’t quite like it.

We spend so much time trying to be the person that we want others to see us as, that we forget to really look at ourselves and ask if we’re actually truly happy.

I’ve been completely and utterly lazy these last few months when it comes to doing basic self care, so focused on writing this website, and on creating content to prove that this site, that being the Loud Mouth Brown Girl is “my” destiny, I forgot why I was doing it. I was in a very real sense claiming my destiny, and while doing it, not giving a fuck what anyone else has to say and frankly there’s a freedom in that.

My house is not clean, and the end of the LMBG commercial does not end with me kissing a handsome animal person or a beautiful sexy doctor, I do not return to the picture perfect life that you might think I have when you’re finished reading this post. I return to a messy and chaotic household with a single cat and an irritatingly “there” mother.

Over the last few months I’ve made a whole crop of new friends, who are or have been in and out of my life for years, and when I say “new” I mean that they are essentially the same people I’ve known for more than twenty years, but much like me over the last year they have become brand new versions of themselves, without expecting that I become less of myself to fit their narrative of who they want me to be.

Breath.

I am the girl who is secretly plotting a world that does not exist, filled with majestic and majickal characters all built into the fabric of this website, I am not the girl who is going to get dread locks and move to fucking Squamish British Columbia. I am the girl who might go live in Britannia BC if I can ever afford it, largely because it’s one of the most beautiful places on this entire planet. Or Hope, because I, like my little brother love the idea of living in a place called “Hope.”

Or maybe one day I’ll buy an old Ghost town and turn it into a rebuild refurbished sanctuary city, who the hell knows, but what I do know is that “ex” means “ex” which means “past” not “present” and I am totally excited about what that means.

Whose with me?

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