I'm swimming in deep thoughts. Dark ones. Light ones. All the feels.

Do you know what has happened to me? Here's what happened. I wanted to post a poem last night but I didn't. Why? I was afraid that someone who said anything nice to me in the comments might be flagged. (I'm sorry, "downvoted".. to be steem-politically correct nowadays.) Insert a massive eye-roll here.

I was afraid of that because that is a thing that has started to happen. If you're nice to me, you will be a target. That sucks for you, but guess what? I'm not going to stop blogging.

I've woken up realizing that by not posting my poem, I am failing myself. And I'm not going to be afraid of that anymore. I will post what I want to and when I want to. That is just a fact. And before you judge me for not being able to let things go, I CAN ignore the bullshit, but I WANT to get this off of my chest. So judge not, ye judgy judgers of idiots.

Sometimes all that judging actually makes you look uppity and .. hmm. What is a good word?

Fluffy. And I am SUPER FLUFFY myself sometimes. I'm as judgy as they come. I can be a pot calling a kettle black, sure. At least I can admit it when I'm being a douche bag.

Maybe you don't want to talk about "flaggers" because it will attract idiots, but I am not giving a shit about what happens in my comments anymore. If I want to ignore you I will. If I want to call you a fatass whore who drinks donkey spit for breakfast because you flagged my complimentary comment to the haiku bot, sure. It's my right as a blogger. I came to Steemit not to earn money. I came to BLOG. I am no stranger to trolls. I've been on the internet since 1994. I am a musician who has put her strange voice online for strangers to critique and crawl all over. I can handle myself. Screw it.

"Flag wars." As if it's some sort of war. They are NOT wars.

War is living in Syria and having your house bombed and your children murdered in the middle of the night for reasons that didn't even concern you. It's living in Venezuela and not knowing where your next meal is going to come from because you were robbed and stabbed by someone who ALSO desperately needed to feed their family.

These are things that are happening in the world while I bitch about flags and all the other types of miscellaneous random horse shit that rains down upon my alien head and shoulders. I'm LUCKY to sit here and type out my thoughts about horse shit. And I know it.

Because meanwhile, in the "real world".. greedy, selfish souls who think the world owes them everything are wreaking havoc. And, contrary to their deluded beliefs, the world owes them nothing. The world is simply a globe. Rocks and water.. soil and slime.

We're a proverbial pot luck, a casserole dish in the realms of space. .. mixed up carbon molecules, swirling about all over the place, not knowing anything about anything. The "world" doesn't even know to owe. (accidental rhyme..HEY, lets call that my poem. Score.)

The world owes me nothing.

I am blessed, however. I am grateful for everything that I have. Every crumb of food, every glance at the moon, every breath I take while standing under a giant maple tree on a warm summer day.. every time I look into my daughter's eyes and melt into a thousand tiny puffs of dreamy fairy dust. I get it. I feel the blessings.

But, something about me.. I'm a little bit off.. I have severe anxiety and oh, hey.. I'm bipolar type 1 and 2.

I recently learned that when you have symptoms of both type 1 and type 2 bipolar disorder they now call it "mixed." We are emotional "muts" so to speak. But that is another conversation, one which bores me right now. I have my every-three-months appointment with my psychiatrist on Tuesday.. Probably then I'll have stuff to say. I usually do.

You may be shaking your head at me right now. Judging me.

"Oh, Serena. You say too much."

Some people think I shouldn't bring that stuff into my blogs, because the world will know my weaknesses. I don't care. I do not care. I care not. I blog for exactly THIS PURPOSE. To get my thoughts out. If not here, then where? No one in my "real" life wants to hear this stuff.

Deep conversation scares people.

Especially face to face. It really does. For instance, tell someone you are bipolar at work and it will be spread all over the building by the end of the day. Then people will stop talking to you. I know because it happened to me. Once. I actually don't share that at any place at which I'm employed anymore because, honestly, that kind of real-time judgement is too hard to handle.

Annnnyway....

I may be emotionally "damaged" .. but I am not "weak."

I wasn't always this way, you know? The depression came when my grandmother died in 2001. It was such a huge surprise. It never went away.. that feeling of abandonment and betrayal from having been denied the information that she was dying. I lost the gift of saying goodbye. Anyone who knows that understands.

And the anxiety and my irrational fear of other people came from a sexual assault a couple of years later. I'm fine talking about it now, but it took me a decade to get to this level of healing. To be able to talk about it like this is a marvel of nature. But look at me, I CAN talk about it. I'm proud of myself for that. Baby steps.

I'll even tell you what happened that night

I say this not for sympathy or whatever. Just in the mood to share it, and somehow it's making me feel empowered right now.. I am exiting my comfort zone. Here I step.

One very late night, in a third shift job

I worked as a desk attendant in a dorm where I attended college, and I was physically attacked by another student. How did that happen? Was it my fault? Let's analyze.

He stopped by as he usually did on Saturday nights to say hi and talk about random things with me, and I had no reason to be afraid of him at all, I thought. He talked about his sister and how she was coming to visit. He talked about how he had been in trouble a bit, and how she had changed his life for the better, motivating him to change his ways.

Then we actually had a talk about ouija boards and I made one out of a pizza box and put it up on the desk and we talked to supposed spirits in the room. I have always looked back at the ouija board moment as my worst idea of the night. Those things are EVIL. Or, rather.. they can invite it into your space of being. Again, that's another conversation that I don't want to get into now.

I was so embarrassed about the ouija board thing that I left it out of the police report. It was actually the only thing I lfet out in the description I had to write down of everything that happened that night. They make you do that. It is not easy.

Anyway, so, when he asked if he could come behind the desk and sit with me because there was no chair on the other side of the desk, I truly thought nothing of it. I trusted him entirely. I trusted everyone back then because I'd never been given a reason not to yet. I was naive and trusting. Bad combination sometimes.

He was in the mindset of how I said above, feeling entitled. (I hate that word lately) I am not using that the way people use it nowadays to describe their oppositely-minded political party in some bullshit way. I am using it in the deep-down emotionally selfish human nature way. It was that notion that the world owed him everything and so he could "take" whatever he wanted. And so that is what he did.

His name was Calvin, by the way, I forgot to mention that. For some reason it matters to me to say his name

Anyway. I suddenly found myself in a bad situation, literally backed into a wall, a filing cabinet actually.. hands held behind my back. But I new his weaknesses. I asked him what his sister would think of him right then. What would his mother think? What did HE think of himself right then. And suddenly, he stopped. He just backed away and said he was sorry. Yes, I talked him out of raping me that night.. (I am one hell of a talker when I need to be.) I believe he genuinely felt sorry for what he did. He felt disgusted with himself. I could see it on his face. But guess what? I was disgusted with him, too.

He took too much away from me before he was sorry

Unthinkable things that will never leave my mind as long as I live. I was shaking and I was hurting. Many of you know that to feel pain both physically and emotionally at the same time is just .. it is the worst of all feelings, in my opinion. To this day I do not like to be in a room alone with any man. Sometimes I don't even like being alone with women.

To the rapists, the "hurters".. inflictors of pain. This is what you do to people. Hear my thoughts? It's YOUR fault. It's not MINE.

What happened to me? My courage went away. Strangers are sometimes terrifying. Hallways make me nervous. Hotel desks and post office counters give me anxiety. Strange thoughts. I hate you, Calvin. I imagine that in some twisted turn of fate that you are reading this. And so I say.. I hate it that I hate you. But I do. You're the monster in every shadow. People tell me to forgive and I tell them to fuck off. In my head. I've never told anyone that for trying to helpe me. Usually, I just say, "Okay, yeah. You are right. I do forgive him." But that is a lie. I am a liar.

I do have those moments of being chatty and such. In a crowded room but one one one with someone in the corner, I can talk your ears off. I can bore the crap right out of anyone, I can talk so much. I love to have conversations with people. I love the deep conversations. The ones about the universe, about ghosts and demons.. about love, pain and angst. About the future. I AM a talker. I have always been shy, though.

Another weird thing, I make crude jokes sometimes, a lot , actually.. and I have no problems when people are flirty online. It's fine with me.. but face to face.. I don't do that. It makes me uncomfortable. That's not me. So, if you meet me someday and you make crude jokes or are flirty, I will walk away and probably won't speak to you again... Life of Serena. You have been notified.

And so, I leave you with these words..

People online are often not who they seem. Perhaps they are very cheerful, flirty.. chatty... it doesn't mean they're like that in the real world. Perhaps they are shy and damaged.. perhaps they are living a bolder life here than they can out there.

And perhaps they are being assholes and mean to people. Well, THAT needs to STOP. Because just because you're having a shitty offline life it doesn't give you the right to be shitty to other people in your online life.

But, ALSO.. Complaining about complainers is still complaining.

You silly complainers. I do it, too. Oh, and look at me right now. Look at me complaining about people who complain about complainers. Hot damn, I really AM a shit show.! I need a medal of dishonor or something. Anyway.. judge me. Screw it. I don't care. Sorry for my cursing all throughout this post but I am in that mood. If it offends you, you're welcome to complain about it. Ha ha. (Courtesy laugh.)

That's all I want to say now. I've grown tired of my coffee thoughts and keyboarded words.

Here's a scan of a picture I took in my first year of studying photography. I developed the film myself. I swished the prints around into the trays in the darkroom, watching images begin to appear as if by magic.

This was at a thrift store downtown. Miss Mannequin was standing above a giant wooden crate filled with donated lingerie. Ever buy lingerie from a thrift store? I have. Don't judge. I received no complaints and red is my color.

Have a great day! Chill out. Or rage. Complain. Make love. Kick a tree. Think you're making war. Swallow your bubble gum and wait for it to drop.

It's up to you how you want to spend your day. But don't try to hurt people. Especially do not hurt people on purpose. Because 17 years later someone could be writing about you on the internet and saying that they can't forgive you for what you did to them. And I don't think you really want that. I can't imagine ANYONE would really want that. I sure hope not. If that is the case, then you really are a shadow monster.

And with that cheerful note... I'm out!

Good day.. afternoon, evening.. night..

Much love always,

♥ -Serena

p.s. Did anyone read all of this? I hope you know that there will be a quiz next time we speak.

p.s. Don't lecture me unless you want to be ignored. Or unless you want to fight with me. (Our betting odds there are about 80/20.)

p.p.s. I didn't get a chance to finish glancing over this for typos.. I have to leave to go buy coffee and toilet paper. I am out of both things. This is not good.