On a necessary breakdown

I was the one raped by a cop a year ago. Besides some dude that was on and off again before and after that, I haven’t really been physical with anyone. I’ve felt asexual for so long… Until last night I was with a guy I’ve been dating. It got physical for the first time last night and I had a physical reaction- there’s no better way to describe it besides straight PTSD. I was so scared I’d ask him to stop and he wouldn’t be one of the outliers that stops on the first hand push away or “no.” But he did. But I still cried and had to explain. He held me and was amazingly sweet, even told me he’d sit in the waiting room at therapy when I mentioned I definitely need to go back, but I still feel torn up inside. I didn’t think it still had a hold of me, but now I feel like it will always creep back into me when with someone new. How do I accept and live with that? How do I live with this? I got so angry last night because I had convinced myself I cleansed myself of it months ago, but now it feels like such a major part of my story forever.


It will not always creep back into you. You will get better. It will always be a part of your story, but you will not always have to live with it.

There was a part of you that didn’t think the rape still had a hold on you, and there was a part of you that manifested all of that asexuality you felt. One was a coping method of the thinking part of you, and the other was a coping method of the feeling part of you. Both parts were doing their best to protect you from pain, but they weren’t reconcilable, and they certainly weren’t sustainable.

It really is okay that you had a breakdown. The physical reaction you had was a good thing, one that quite frankly was inevitable. You needed to have it. You needed to feel all of that pain you’ve been avoiding. I know it didn’t feel like anything positive, but it was. It was progress.

You’re absolutely right to want to go back to therapy. You’ve still got some work to do, and this is the perfect time to do it. On a practical note, I highly recommend you find a therapist who specializes in EMDR. It really works, and it’s exactly what you need for the kind of trauma you experienced.

I know you aren’t feeling it at the moment, but this is you healing. You’re ready to move forward now in a way that you weren’t before, and things will be different. It won’t be an act of cleansing this time. It will be an act of acceptance, and you will get better.


On your mental health

The person I’m sleeping with is convinced that my mother is a monster. He’s never met her. All he knows is that at the age of twelve, I was taking paxil, lamictal, Ritalin and 200 mg of trazodone to sleep.

All of those drugs were prescribed by a psychiatrist and I don’t believe my mother wanted to hurt me, but I’m starting to think my boyfriend has a point when he says she “poisoned” me to make me easier to deal with.

He’s convinced that this “abuse,” which lasted for years, has permanently altered my brain. I have been mostly unhappy since I was 12, so I wonder if he’s right: I have a lot of trouble with my emotions and relationships; although I’ve never done anything intentionally cruel, I am not an easy person to know. I’m sure I meet the criteria for being a toxic person.

He thinks I should find a doctor that will help me detox and deal with underlying problems. I agree. I had been thinking about that exact thing for years before I met him. But I actually don’t know how to live without drugs. When I’ve tried coming off them before, I was overcome with despair and self hatred. I have been hospitalized twice, both times after coming off the meds. (Mental hospitals, by the way, are incredibly dehumanizing and abusive, as you probably know)

So I’m not sure what to do. On some level I’m choosing between my loyalty to my mother and my trust in this man, right?


I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy. He sounds awfully controlling, especially for someone who rises to the level of “the person I’m sleeping with.” As a general rule, I don’t let dudes I’m regularly fucking have any kind of opinion about my mental health. Who is this guy you hesitate to call your boyfriend? Where the hell does he get off telling you jack shit about your medication or your mother? Seriously, if he’s making you feel like you have to choose loyalties between him and a family member (particularly one he’s never even met) then stop sleeping with him and run.

Also, we need to talk about how you use the word toxic. Stop referring to yourself like that. You have a mental disorder that causes emotional dysregulation, and yeah, it’s probably wreaked havoc on your past relationships, but that doesn’t mean you’re toxic. It means you’ve got some problems with your neurochemistry, some of which might best be solved with medication. That’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with being on mood stabilizers. It doesn’t mean you’ve been poisoned. It doesn’t mean you need to detox. (Again with the idea that you’re somehow toxic.) Clearly, you’re someone who benefits from the meds, and again, you shouldn’t be made to feel bad about that. Quite frankly, this guy is kind of an asshole for thinking he knows better than your treatment team.

I understand the desire to live life without the drugs, but you have to consider what that has meant for you in the past and what that might mean in the future. If you spent the next couple months slowly coming off your medication under the strict supervision of your doctor while concurrently starting some kind of behavioral therapy, that might prove to be a worthy endeavor. At the same time, you might have another episode and have to go right back on the medication, perhaps even involuntarily. You have to be in the mindset where that isn’t failure, where it’s okay to need a little medicine to live your best life.

Oh, and one final note. Your mother was not an abusive monster for taking you to a psychiatrist at age twelve. That was her taking care of you. That was her loving you. That was her dealing with a difficult situation as best she knew how. I’m not hearing that she whacked you upside the head with a bunch of chemicals just to make you docile. I’m hearing that you have a genuine disorder that bears significant consequences if left untreated, one that has continued into adulthood. Again, that’s okay. It doesn’t mean you’re broken or toxic or somehow less worthy of leading a normal life. It just means you were dealt a shitty hand, and you have to take care of yourself thoughtfully, responsibly, and without the input of douchebags who think that sharing your bed somehow grants them a medical license.


On the possibility of a little fundraising

I know you’re super busy, and while we are a secret treasure, we aren’t your priority. But…Forums?

Also, You should have a go fund me or patreon.


Okay, yes. You guys actually are my priority, but it’s not evident at the moment, because I’m super busy writing all sorts of stuff for magazines and blogs in advance of the book release. (Don’t think I’ve forgotten you.)

Also, yes. I still might want to do some kind of forum thing, but more than that, I’ve never really had a professional designer build me a really hot shit version of the website, and I would love for that to be my next big project after the book. (A forum of some kind would probably be folded into that redesign.)

I was able to cobble together this (pretty decent) website solution after getting kicked off of Tumblr, but it was only meant to be temporary. Naturally, a year has already flown by, and what was meant to be a quick fix has turned semi-permanent. I don’t want that. I want a hot shit website.

Now, the problem is that doing it right costs actual money. Quite a bit of money. Money I don’t have. (Contrary to what some of you think, I am not a rich girl.) In fact, just yesterday I had to pony up a bunch of cash I wasn’t planning on spending to keep the site running smoothly, because my traffic continues to grow and grow. I know that’s a good problem to have, but the money part is still a problem.

I’ve looked into Patreon as a potential crowdfunding source, and it looked cool enough for me not to dismiss it outright. What do you guys think? If I put together some kind of campaign to raise enough money to build into a really kick-ass website, would you be willing to donate? I dunno. It feels weird to even ask, but it’s not like I’d just be pocketing the money. We’d all get to benefit from it.

So, yeah. Hit up the comments section and tell me what you think. I’ll be super curious to hear your thoughts.

Fun-Sized Advice

On even more fun-sized advice

How does a girl know if she’s the version of the Nice Guy Syndrome? Didn’t even realize that was a thing. Mind = blown.
Combine a sense of entitlement with unrequited romantic feelings and, regardless of anyone’s gender, you’re gonna wind up with some version of Nice Guy Syndrome.

Is it inappropriate to give a copy of your book to my therapist?
Nah, it’s a huge compliment. For both of us.

Why do I sometimes feel like I have a stronger emotional relationship with men who are not my boyfriend? Just grass is greener? I always tell myself off for this bullshit btw
You feel that way because you do have a stronger emotional relationship with men who are not your boyfriend. It’s not about the grass being greener. It’s about you protecting yourself. Holding back some of your emotionally availability is a defense mechanism that prevents you from being too vulnerable in your romantic relationships.

Why is so difficult for people to believe Amber Heard was abused?
Because she’s one of those actresses that radiates a sort of Machiavellian cool. She seems calculating, and that’s all it takes for people who don’t know any better to dismiss her accusations as some sort of opportunistic contrivance. (I’m not saying it’s right. I’m just saying that’s the way it is.)

Sitting at a bar waiting on a tinder date who’s gonna be at least 30 min late… WWCQD?
I’d order a drink and enjoy myself.

I broke up with my boyfriend and moved out over a month ago, and I’m still crying every day. When does the pain stop?
November 9th, 2016.

My therapist thinks I have a drinking problem, partially because I am open about my weekend indiscretions, and partially because ADHD can look like alcoholism. How do I clear this up?
Hey, fucknuts. You do have a drinking problem. The alcohol is interfering with your life. You’re just so used to it that you don’t even recognize the ways in which you’re suffering from consequences. Stop rationalizing and try spending your weekends relatively sober. See what happens.

Have you dated a man/woman from every race?
I can’t accept the premise of this question. The word “every” is throwing me off, as if there exists somewhere a definitive catalog of the races. That’s creepy and a little bit wrong-headed. I’ve dated a lot of different people from a lot of different ethnicities, nationalities, and yes, even different races, but I feel like your question presumes a world view that I don’t really share.

Do you think you’ve achieved your 10,000 hours?
No, not yet. It’ll take a few more years.

Fun-Sized Advice

On more fun-sized advice

Is it possible for a straight female to suffer from nice guy syndrome?

What should a tired, unhealthy, passionless failure do next?
You’re not a failure yet, so get healthy and then use your newfound energy to find a passion.

How do people fall out of love? Were they never really in love?
There are lots of ways to fall out of love, and for what it’s worth, you can’t fall out of love if you were never really in love.

I’m about to start an enterprise that’ll take, on paper, six years of continuous felony.
Well, if you’re not gonna hurt anybody, then I wish you six years of continuous luck.

How do I know I’ve crossed the line from “I’m just an anxious person and I’m working on it” to “my anxiety is out of control and maybe I should try a medication?”
This is the exact question you should ask your therapist and/or doctor, but generally, unless you’re dealing with acute panic symptoms, I wouldn’t recommend jumping to medication until after you’ve put a few months worth of genuine effort into some good ol’ fashioned cognitive behavioral therapy.

Have you changed your opinion on Sam Harris?
Hell no. I love Sam. Fight me.

Are you excited that Winona’s making a comeback?
Winona never left.

Have you ever met any of the Real Housewives?
I almost killed Lisa Vanderpump’s dog once.

Are you on Tinder?
Yes. (I prefer Bumble, though.)

Do you dream or is it just blank at night?
I dream. Vividly.

How many stamps are in your passport?
Which one?

Do you ask for a bite of people’s food when you’re out to dinner with them?
I don’t have to ask.

Do you run this show (blog) by yourself?
I occasionally ask for help from a close friend or two, but it’s largely a solo effort. (Story of my life.)

Why do i keep reloading your page like there’s going to be something new there?
Because of moments like this.

Fun-Sized Advice

On fun-sized advice

I’m twenty six. Shit’s not for me anymore is it? Music, movies, commercials, etc. It’s actually all for sixteen year olds, isn’t it? Why?
Because you haven’t changed the channel yet. (Hate to break it to you, but it’s time to start paying for premium channels and going to see live music at smaller venues. Welcome to adulthood.)

Do I get a PhD at a top five institution and pursue academia? Or should I sell my soul to Google/Apple/Amazon?
I promise, you are selling your soul either way. Might as well get a good price for it.

The fact that you’ve written off Samantha Bee’s new show is a travesty. She’s holding down the best post-Daily Show political satire of them all. Blowing John Oliver out of the water.
Please. John Oliver’s show dominates Samantha Bee’s show in every conceivable way. However, I will grant you, I was too quick to write off Full Frontal. Her writers do damn good work and occasionally her segments are brilliant.

My boyfriend of 4 years has had it with my escorting. Vanilla jobs and their paychecks depress me. What’s a (call) girl to do?
You can’t escort forever, and you don’t strike me as particularly young. Accept the inevitability of a second career, and start planning for it now. Go get whatever advanced degree that might be required, and continue escorting if necessary, but demonstrate to your boyfriend that you’ve got a path that will eventually lead to you doing something else. That’s a respectable compromise that has the added benefit of you facing reality.

Am I missing out because I’m too shy to get eaten out?

Have you ever dated any of your ex’s for a second time? Or do you believe that once it’s done, it’s done?

Am I bisexual, or am I just slightly attracted to women because women in their 20s put way more effort into their appearance than men?

should i buy my conservative religious mom a copy of your book or will it offend her?

Is it inherently shitty to screw your ex’s friends?
Nah. It’s inherently shitty for your ex’s friends to screw you.

How can I tell my boyfriend that I want him to wear a condom even though I’m on the pill?
Use your words.

Please tell me you haven’t started to believe your own hype.
Ew, gross.

You have improved every part of my life.
Right back ‘atcha.


On staying wild

Coketalk (sorry I still call you that, but it’s really what first comes to mind when I think of you)–I proposed marriage to the man I love in the wee hours of this morning after staying up all night. The day before we went to Clearwater beach and took acid to celebrate our first anniversary. We actually don’t have a specific “date”, we have a two-ish week period in between the night we first slept together and the night I told him I loved him and if he wasn’t okay with that to get out of my apartment. At 3 a.m. After he insulted my favorite band. For some reason, he stayed. For some reason, I let him. I guess it’s because he loved me or wanted to love me and that was enough for then. That was enough for me then, too. But this morning he said yes and then realized what the fuck I actually just did and got scared. I was as supportive and apologetic as possible because its kind of a fucked up thing to do to someone, isn’t it. But I just didn’t worry about if he was going to change his mind. It didn’t matter. His answer didn’t fucking matter. It’s only been a day. He could change his mind tomorrow. But we were married today, in our hearts and heads and synapses between nerves and blood and hands. We were married the second I started crying after he realized I was serious and kissed me, we were married when he almost backed out, we were married that night over a year ago when I said “I love you” not because I wanted him to feel loved but because I was such an absolute wreck of a human that I couldn’t stand the thought of him being in my life if he couldn’t deal with ME–me in my head, real me, the actual feelings and thoughts that make up my own reality. And quite frankly, it’s not fair to me OR him for me not to be 100% authentic and that’s what our entire relationship has revolved around. Since that night when I told him I loved him the first time it’s been a slow crawl, sometimes a race, sometimes a drag and a hell of a lot of fun to get to where I am: a changed woman, in control of her life, master of her own Universe, at peace with her parents and sexuality and inevitable death, in love with a man who had a crush on her in 7th grade (for real. Long story) who I know could disappear from the Earth tonight by accident or from my life in the morning by choice…and who I’m okay with loving even despite the cautionary tales and the knowledge that we are just monkeys born in 2016 with the privilege of using language and toilet paper and WiFi (alternate reality: God wants us to fuck and make love into oblivion and make thousands of babies and reward us for our good karma with happy, fat lives? We’ll never know the difference either way, so why not enjoy right?). Because really, Coke, it was a marriage of myself. To life itself and to me for as long as we both and I shall live. Amen. And thanks for being a big, necessary part of it, you crazy fuck. Love, love, love, me.


I’m happy for you. I’m happy for him. I’m happy for everyone who reads this and understands.

Keep up the good work, and enjoy whatever comes next.

Stay wild.



On being smacked with awareness

Sometimes the fact that i am a breathing living human hits me so hard that everything feels surreal and i forget how to walk and breathe? Usually it wears off after a few minutes but recently this feeling can keep going for about an hour. Its like i get freaked out of being alive and aware of every little movement and thought. I truly feel that i am here and completely conscious about everything around me at that point. Its like i have taken psychedelic drugs.

This can at times be a wonderful experience but lately it just freaks me the fuck out.

Any idea what this is?


Yes, totally. What you’re describing is a shift in consciousness from a mental state of identifying with your thoughts and emotions to a mental state of present moment awareness. Essentially, you’re being smacked upside the head with a rather aggressive and involuntary form of mindfulness.

It’s kind of awesome, actually. Most folks have to meditate their faces off to reach that mental state. You’re one of the people who just gets it dropped on them. Treat it like a gift. Don’t resist it. That’s why it’s freaking you out, because you’re trying to control it. Don’t do that. Just go with it. You can play with it a little, and by that I mean be playful, but it has to come from a place of peace and/or joy.

If you start to get freaked out, just let your breath anchor you. You can always fall back on a gentle awareness of your breath, and you will be fine.




On getting over yourself

I’ve just read your piece “On a beautiful mess” for the fourth, maybe fifth time since you posted it. It was the first time, however, that it brought me to tears. That girls’ words have resonated with me before, but never so strongly. I’m too tired to wait for an answer to arise inside me though. My therapist suggested I go on antidepressants a few months ago but I just can’t do it. If I start taking them, I won’t be ‘me’ anymore; my personality, my true identity will be covered and shaped by those pills. It feels like I’ve got no way out since I can’t live a normal life without them either. I don’t believe that a human life has any inherent value really, not more than any animal’s life, or that we’re here for a reason or that there’s anything ‘on the other side’ so why not end this? I’d rather kill myself than be a fraud, a ‘happy robot’… I guess my question is — is a life worth living if you know you’re not really yourself?


I’m very sorry that you’re suffering from depression, but do yourself a favor and quit being such an asshole. Taking antidepressants doesn’t make you a fraud. They don’t turn you into a “happy robot,” and you’re a fucking idiot for saying shit like that.

It’s perfectly fine if you want to be an existential nihilist, but it’s not okay to be a whiny little bitch about it. Sure, life is meaningless and death is likely to be an eternity of nothingness, but so fucking what? That doesn’t mean life is without inherent value. Life is incredibly valuable. Life is precious. Life is all we’ve fucking got, and the reason you’re such a gaping asshole is because you’ve been given an opportunity to vastly improve the quality of yours, and all you can do is whine about it. Fuck you.

Speaking of which, there is no such thing as “you.” There is no “true identity” that exists as some static, concrete artifact to be covered and shaped by antidepressants. That’s not how it works. That’s not how any of this works. Your fear of antidepressants is childish and ignorant, and the whole dumbfuck myth that you won’t be “you” anymore is insulting to the millions of people whose lives have literally been saved by selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors.

Take the fucking pills. That’s not a suggestion. That’s an order. While you’re at it, quit “waiting” for the answer to arise inside of you. That’s such a lazy way to think, and with that kind of shitty attitude, you’re not gonna stumble onto any profound revelation.

Like I’ve said before, the answer does exist. It’s already inside you, and it really has been there all along, but you’re never going to find it as long as you keep clinging to this depressed, whiny version of yourself that you insist is your “true identity.” It’s not.

Seriously, get over yourself. Tell your therapist that you’re ready to try antidepressants, and take the fucking pills.