Loneliness

November 9,2018 8:00pm

Have you ever felt so alone but you feel like you could start screaming maybe in your apartment or even out in a crowd and nobody would hear you or even give you a second look? Well, have you? That’s how I feel sometimes, certainly how I’ve been feeling as of late. I feel alone, I feel isolated, I don’t know that “insignificant” is the word but I feel empty and hollow.

Loneliness fills my apartment. It takes up space as would helium in a balloon. It’s tangible. Palpable. Real. The angst and sadness lingers in the air and just hovers like cirrus clouds on a cloudy day. The artificial sound of connection emanates from my tv on an endless loop, I am surrounded by characters. Some I relate to, some I don’t, some shows that turn my brain to pure mush like a squashed banana on a seat or other shows that stimulate me and wake up my cells. But regardless of what streams out of my Tv from the $79 internet bill I pay a month I am still alone.

The tears that want to pour out of my eyes start in my stomach and then rise to my throat, build their way through my cheeks and then they stop. They never fully make it out of my eyes. Maybe if they did I would feel some type of release, some type of feeling, some type of catharsis. Some type of feeling alive and a little piece of loneliness would leave me but instead I feel boxed in and even more alone and isolated.

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My Room Is Illuminated and Bright. A story of personal growth and overcoming self harm.

I woke up this morning to this this Facebook reminder. When I looked at it I smiled and was briefly reminded of how much this day was a catalyst to where my life is now. Now less than an hour later, on the 1 train headed to the Apple store, I feel sick to my stomach. I feel sad. You see, I had to just count on my fingers how many days it had been a year ago (when this post was made) that I first started self harming. At this point a year ago it was a week straight; my troubles started December 8, 2016. This is a day that I remember like an anniversary, like one would remember a birthday or death (perhaps this was a rebirth?) On this 1 train at 1:21 pm I am listening to my playlist “December 2016” which consists of all the sad songs I used to listen to for almost 10 months. Just as a little taste some of the songs on this pit-of-despair-in-music-form playlist I’ve got:

⁃ Hurt, Johnny Cash (a personal fav when the self loathing of cutting came in)

⁃ Under The Knife, Icon For Hire ( I think we can all guess what that’s about)

⁃ Creep, Radiohead

⁃ Hurts Like Hell (which, shockingly enough is NOT about cutting- it’s about people leaving you)

…Anyway. You get the hint. #sad #angst

SO! On December 8, 2016 I began to cut, on December 16 school let out for Christmas break, and Christmas Eve I left acting training.

It wasn’t another 4 months until my violent, life threatening behavior ended and I stopped hurting myself in March 2017. I can greatly attribute my recovery to my constant cognizance that what I was doing was dangerous, in addition to my willingness to go to therapy 4 times a week. Now I’m down to 3 because I don’t need to meet with my psychiatrist weekly anymore- we are now on a 3 month in-between period to touch base.

It’s sad because that moment in the status above mentioned a teacher grabbing my face and saying those words to me “you are worthy of love and belonging” was in response to me simply saying I probably wouldn’t return for the third year of training (a whole semester away from where we were now in training.) What I was really saying was “I know I don’t have you as a teacher next semester in the first place, I know I would have you again next year but I can’t do this anymore. Goodbye.” Same thing happened when my classmates and I went out for drinks after class was finished for Christmas break- I knew in my heart that I wasn’t coming back. I sat there, detached at the schools haunting grounds, mildly dissociated trying to quietly let on I was leaving.

I guess word spread among the staff at Atlantic because I soon revived a message from the student affairs director on December 23 and then eventually we had a phone call on Christmas Eve discussing my “options” even though we both knew it would be in my best interest to leave the rigorous training program that I was no longer mentally capable of meeting the demands required for success in the program. It’s funny, I was going through my old phone a few days ago and found the exchange between this human and I over Christmas break:

Looking at the conversation I see the resistance, anger and embarrassment I was harboring at the fact that she had found out what I had been doing to my body. It’s clear the amount of shame that I had considering this is the woman that took me to the hospital in the middle of a school day and ended up saving my life when I came to her and told her that I had tried committing suicide the night before back in September 2015 .During our phone conversation on Christmas Eve with her I decided to leave school. So there I was, in the north woods of my Wisconsin lake house in 18 degree weather, I felt as if a weight was lifted from my shoulders. I KNEW it was the right choice. I wrote a blog post that was called “Christmas Eve Drop Out” that I posted on Facebook and my WordPress blog. That night my post was read over 100 times and I received over 30 comments from people, some current classmates, some classmates in the grade below me who I never got a chance to know, family friends, teachers, and some private messages etc. In that moment I felt loved and supported. Part of my post:

“I had deep undercurrents of sadness and a sense of mistrust in myself and my ability to succeed at this school. By the final two weeks of school I had cut myself near 100 times on my wrists and legs as a way to deal with my feelings that I couldn’t express. I made it through to the final day just barely, missing classes became a pattern for me which is a no no at my school. I had begun to fall down the rabbit hole each night that I took a razor to my skin and inflicted such pain on myself.

I am lost and weak. I have lost who I am. Yesterday I wrote saying ” An inferno of sadness as engulfed my soul.” In this moment however, I don’t feel that way. I see a light in the corner, a light that I am actively chasing to eventually illuminate my whole room. This is the reset button. I will leave school to undergo intensive psychotherapy and get the help I desperately need but more importantly, want…. It is time that I stand  (shakily) on my two feet and walk into the light of recovery. It’s time to rebuild. “

After I came home from the lake house it was time for an action plan. We looked into hospitalization back in New York because I refused to move back to Wisconsin- cutting or not New York is my home. My therapist was in way over her head and told me she couldn’t help me anymore. Luckily that’s when Callen Lorde came in and saved my life. Callen Lorde is an LGBT community health center in Manhattan– the place I make the 2 hour commute 3 times a week to better myself.

So. That’s all in the past, yes? Well happily the answer IS yes. I haven’t cut myself in 286 days (and for those of you that are mathematically challenged *not judging, so I am* OR too lazy to figure out how long that is- it’s 9 months.) I still have sooooo many clinical diagnoses that are listed in the charts by the many mental health professionals I see, but guess what? I am working on it. Although these conditions will never go away, I am finally in a very stable place where my days aren’t soiled with the acrid taste of regret (usually alchohol) and sorrow that used to wake me in the mornings (and by mornings I mean like, 2 pm because I was a depressed mess.)

I have written about my past of self harm and depression extensively on my blog ‘The Rilen Files’ on WordPress (shameless plug. )Most notably the post called “56 Little Marks” that has a (horrifying) 486 views where I document the 56 scars left on my body that still remain a year after my 3 month fall apart-who-the-fuck-am-I-help! period in my life. Below is the beginning of the post (a good read if I may say so myself)

It’s nice that I’ve gained allies throughout that horrific time in my life. I’ve sustained friendships that have weathered my tornado. Friends I’ve met online across the world on different continents who I talk to daily,and trust inherently. Not your every day Joe Shmoe could’ve been sucked in and devoured by my sea of despair because they simply weren’t strong enough or had the compassion to deal. Cuz seriously, what the hell would YOU do if someone was texting you at 3M, drunk, depressed and (sometimes) angry telling you they a) have a knife next to them and either they want to cut themselves or b) they are already bleeding????I don’t even know how I would react to that.

So, to those friends, and therapists (that will never be able to read this- unless I decide to take the whole session to read this novel) thank you. Thank you for your friendship and unwavering love.

It’s been a year and then some but as 2018 approaches in (counts on fingers again- I told you I wasn’t kidding) 16 days, despite the haze that used to cover my eyes and cloud my thoughts, the darkness that consumed me, the vicious thoughts and voice in my head that whispered and sometimes screamed at me to cut deeper and give up, I am excited to see what wonderful opportunities are headed my way. On December 24,2016 I wrote “ I see a light in the corner, a light that I am actively chasing to eventually illuminate my whole room.”

And now on December 14,2017

My room is illuminated and bright.

A Christmas Eve Drop Out

It’s 5:40 pm in Tomahawk Wisconsin. I traveled from Waukesha to Tomahawk, a couple hundred miles beginning at 7:18am this morning. So far today I have taken a nap, drank a dark and stormy, had 2 pizza puffs, listened to sad music, dropped out of school and played with my dog.

I sit here writing in the basement of my dads vacation home, aware of my blessings. A Bose sound system blaring Johnny Cash’s rendition of hurt “ I hurt myself today 
To see if I still feel .I focus on the pain, the only thing that’s real ” clothes covering my back, a scarf at my neck, a dog at my toes. Bandages cover my wrists, a hat covers my head.I am grateful.

I left one of the nations most prestigious and rigorous acting schools today, but this isn’t the first time, but this will be the last. What was supposed to be only a month hiatus has now turned into an eternity of time where I will no longer be a student at the Atlantic again. When I first moved to new york in August 2014, I began the acting conservatory 4 months after my mom tragically and unexpectedly died. I entered school, lost and broken down, but determined to make my new york dreams come true. 1 week into the school year I did a jumping jack and tore my ACL. I had to leave new york to have knee surgery.I moved my things back to Wisconsin to under go surgery. Over the time I was home in WI, I came to the realization that I was transgender and began hormone replacement therapy.

I went back to school again for fall 2015 with a new out look on life, my emotional healing had been done and I was in a better place with my moms death and my knee was fully healed. 2 days into the school year, I was sexually assaulted on September 5, 2015. My whole life crumbled down. On September 19, I tried killing myself and spent a week in a pscyh ward upstate new york. I battled dissociation, cutting, drinking and losing any sense of self and safety I had for the first half of the semester. I some how was able to make it through the days at school, somehow still able to memorize lines, smile and laugh. I decided I would spend the entirety of my winter break to fly back to WI in order to undergo intensive therapy to go over the trauma that I underwent. I went to therapy twice a week for over a month. I rehashed every detail of my assault and grew stronger from it even though with each memory of his touch that flooded back into my senses I felt broken again.

I got though the second semester much better than the first. My teachers noticed a difference and so did I. I rarely dissociated and was able to do some meaningful work that I will forever be proud of. Now, if we rewind 15 weeks ago at the beginning of this school year and how I got here, seemingly no singular event has triggered me to leave this time.

I started the year hopeful and excited to see what was actually possible now that I had my life seemingly put together. I was excited to meet the first years, a few I had the privilege of to get to know quite well. I loved my group, a dynamic jumble of people from all over the world with an immense amount of talent. At times I felt like a true ant among giants. I felt working with some people so utterly small and insignificant. I thought from the moment I started my second class on the first day that I wasn’t good enough to go there or continue. I thought I sucked and wasn’t good enough to show up and do the work that was being asked of me. I proved myself wrong. I did some of the best work that I have ever done in my life in my final semester at the Atlantic. I achieved things in scenes I had only dreamed of being capable of. But this story doesn’t end on such a happy note though does it?

Despite making strides in my acting, I was still restricted and struggling with my various mental illness. I was crippled by anxiety and unable to speak in one of my classes called “speech.” I have been diagnosed as having bipolar since I was 22 and more recently have a name for the disorder that plagues my life on a daily basis, which is what brings me to the end of my time at the school I love so much; borderline personality disorder. I had deep undercurrents of sadness and a sense of mistrust in myself and my ability to suceed at this school. By the final two weeks of school I had cut myself near 100 times on my wrists and legs as a way to deal with my feelings that I couldn’t express. I made it through to the final day just barely, missing classes became a pattern for me which is a no no at my school. I had begun to fall down the rabbit hole each night that I took a razor to my skin and inflicted such pain on myself.

I am lost and weak. I have lost who I am. Yesterday I wrote saying ” An inferno of sadness as engulfed my soul.” In this moment however, I don’t feel that way. I see a light in the corner, a light that I am actively chasing to eventually illuminate my whole room. This is the rest button. I will leave school to undergo intensive psychotherapy and get the help I desperately need but more importantly, want.

I believe I am put on this earth for 2 reasons. 1 is to act and 2, (and what I think is more important,) is to help others. God gave me many gifts, the ability to write, speak and write songs. I am aware I have been helping people by the tens of thousands of views I have on my youtube videos.The daily messages of gratitue of people reaching out to me saying thank you for making my video. I need to get better so I can accomplish both of these things. I want to be a beacon of help to those around me that don’t have the voice I have. I want to break the stigma that mental illness is not a death sentence, without proper help it sure as shit can be, but help is out there. I refuse to be held down by my illness anymore. It is time that I stand  (shakily) on my two feet and walk into the light of recovery. As much as I have to do this for me, I believe I have to do this for others so I can help more in the future.

Thank you to all my classmates for your love and support. Thank you to my teachers who love me endlessly.  firmly believe I have more teachers phone numbers than classmates because of how loved I am. I am blessed.

It’s time to rebuild.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How Tumblr helped me discover my gender and sexual identity AKA, Tumblr made me GAY!

Thursday March 26,2015/Monday March 30


Without Tumblr I don’t think I would be as gay and I mean that in a good way. Actually, I mean that in a GREAT way!

After all, what could be more liberating than being your true self?

Without Tumblr and the freedom to express myself freely on the internet, I don’t know that I would have an outlet to express myself in the way I want. I solidified my transgender identity on Tumblr and I continue to explore my gender identity. In addition to that, I can freely express my sexuality and I am proud of my sexuality- cuz I can face it now, I AM GAY AS HELL! (How I fooled myself or thought otherwise is beyond me!)

The clearest example of me being okay with being gay is the rainbow bracelet I have on my wrist with the words pride on it- a year ago there is no way in hell I would have had the balls to wear this!

I can honestly say that in the past 3 months Tumblr has helped me immensely in terms of exploring my gender identity and where I fall on the transgender spectrum.

You are probably sitting there thinking, what the hell is this person talking about? How can some dumb-ass website where people share pictures of cats and Taylor Swift change someones life in a profound way, let alone allow them express and explore their sexuality AND decide they are TRANS??  Well, the simple and perhaps obvious answer is because of the anonymity! Tumblr has given me ( and millions of other people around the world) the courage to post whatever I like. I have 430 followers on Tumblr and not a single soul on that site do I actually know in real life! Which is funny, because in some aspects, I am more honest and myself on Tumblr than I am in real life- which is the whole point of this entry! I refuse to share my username with people in my life life ( not that anyone has asked anyway) because it is my sacred space despite being available to the masses and the fact that I gain new followers on a daily basis!

I have to give some serious credit to Swedish sex-pot model, Erika Linder. If it were not for her, I

A)I would not be where I am in terms of my understanding of my gender identity,thus I would B) not even be writing this article in the first place!

Erika is an androgynous model, meaning she has the unique gift of being able to fluidly transition from male to female while she models. So sometimes she is hired as a male model (which is when she is THE SEXIEST PERSON IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD!!!) and she is also hired as a female model. Because of her beauty and androgyny, little ole me was sitting around a couple of months ago envious of this beautiful creature I peered at though my computer screen. How could someone so beautiful be neither male or female but be the perfect mix of both?

My whole life I never felt like I fit into the box that society says a woman is supposed to fit in. I have always wondered and yearned to know what it would be like to feel comfortable dressing and looking the way a piece of me has ways felt inside, which is like a boy. It’s funny because lately I have looked back at pictures and old facebook status posts from high school and even farther back and noticed little “red flags” of me grappling with my gender. Little things like me wearing mens pants and declaring its “man pants Monday” when in reality, I wanted everyday to be man pants day! Or when I would wear boy short underwear because they were close to boxers, but still feminine enough that it was considered “normal.” So when I saw Erika Linder, this gorgeous woman with her short hair, her pouty face and expressive eyes flawlessly modeling male clothing, I thought to myself- wow, how great would it be to be androgynous! I should try to do something like that! What really inspired me the most however was Erika’s quote on her twitter that states “I have too much imagination to be just one gender” What a concept!

And so it began. A few days later On January 23, 2015 I went to cost cutters and paid $17 to cut 3 inches off of my hair and chopped it off to the point where my hair fell above my jaw line. I was happy- I looked like a boy in my eyes. Perhaps to the outside world I looked like a lesbian. Or maybe I just looked like a girl with short hair. Either way, I was happy, and that is what matters. A simple thing like cutting my hair was the beginning of what will continue to be a life long journey of self discovery!

After I cut my hair I stopped carrying around a purse, I decreed that purses were not for me and that I hated how feminine they were. Why should I have to carry around this cumbersome bag with me just because I have a vagina? So I switched to a “mens” wallet which in turn drastically changed the clothes that I began to wear. Because I no longer carried a purse, the pants I wore began to change because now I had to put my belongings in my pockets. I did not have to buy any new pants luckily but the way I wear my clothes in different now. My closet is a bit unbalanced between mens clothing and women- surprisingly a lot of the clothes that I have unpacked right now ( a lot of my clothes are in boxes because I moved a couple of moths ago) are mens. In my closet I have it divided between women and mens clothing depending on how I feel on a certain day, it is easy for me to pick an outfit. My mens clothes are darker in hues- dark blues, greens, reds, grey and blacks. And then on the other side I have 2 pink sweatshirts and a few other “girly” clothes.

Now you are probably like, what the fuck does ANY of this have to do with Tumblr? Everything my dear friend, everything! Without the help of the internet, youtube, Tumblr, books and articles I would not feel comfortable with who I am, let alone know HOW to define myself! In the age of the internet I feel I am able to freely express who I am. Whether that is a picture of a beautiful woman or a dog, I can post whatever the hell I want. I don’t have to be ashamed if I see a picture of a chicks ass or bangin’ bod and find that more attractive than a guys six pack abs.

I grew up in a predominantly white, upper-middle class, catholic, republican town where being gay is not talked about. I went to a catholic high school, where if you were gay you were closeted. I knew I wasn’t straight, or had an inkling back in middle school and was seriously questioning my sexuality by freshman year and throughout college. I finally came out to myself as bisexual when I was 18.

In the past few months, the internet has taught me that it is okay to be gay, but even more pertinent, it is okay to be transgender.  Remember how I just said being gay was not really discussed, well neither was being transgender. Let’s face it, a lot of people still don’t know what the term even means- which is fine, our time is coming! You see how I said “our?” I say “our” because I consider myself part of the transgender community– a label that not many people close to me know about and a label I am still getting used to. I heard about transgenderism back in high school and always knew that the label fit me, but pushed it away because it was too painful to face.

Youtube and Tumblr, more specifically demonstrated to me that being trans is okay! It taught me that being trans isn’t gross, abnormal, weird, psycho, nasty, immoral, disgusting or wrong. There are millions of Tumblr users and millions of trans people peppered all over the world. The fact that I am able to simply access and see real peoples stories and accounts of beings trans has been an indispensable resource for me. I am able to type in “ftm”, “trans”, “transgender” and thousands of posts will pop up! Whether it is pictures, videos texts posts, rants, hormone replacement updates- anything– it is all readily accessible and at my fingertips.

I never knew that there was a whole community out there for people that felt like me and they were facing the same questions and struggling with the same shit I am. The same everyday problems that cis people don’t have to think about. Questions like, how do I get my friends and family to call me by my chosen name? How do I bind properly and what is the best company to buy from? How do I even know if I am transgender???

I am happy that I feel I have found my place. I have a long way to go. But from the support of friends and family, and some of my Tumblr followers, I feel like I am on the right path- so thank you! So in the end, I guess this is a big thank you to the internet and a testament that good can come from the digital age that we live in.

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Just call me Ri.

January 31, 9:48 PM

He will never understand. They will never understand. Nobody will ever understand.

I set myself up for fucking failure by asking a stupid question at a dumb time. I cautiously took a deep breath, and let the question explode out of my lips. “So, what do you think about me changing my name?” Huff. Eye roll. “For acting you know. I want something more original…” silence. A few minutes pass. “ I mean, not legally or anything. Just like, a nickname that has nothing to do with my birth name?” After my first question he tuned me out. Allie is on some stupid whim and wants to change her name. blah, blah, blah. 

I can’t remember a time in recent history that I have felt so crushed and denied as a person. I feel like I was just thrown away into the trash and ignored while I took a tiny step into baring my soul. I understand that he does not know what I am going though. The confusion, anger, sadness and curiosity that I am feeling. For the past 2 weeks I have been voraciously reading, checking out books, scouring Tumblr and Youtube for people like me. For people that feel the same way I do. For people that are confused as fuck as to what their gender is…I spent over 3 hours today making 7 lists about gender. I forced myself to begin to map out what it means (or rather what society says ) to “be” a man, or “be” a woman. I listed what characteristics and stereotypes are associated with each gender, in hopes that I will be able to define myself more clearly to see where I measure up within these norms.

There has not been a day since 2 weeks ago that I have been not been obsessed about gender. I am scared. I am scared of these labels that are big and seem so final. Petrified of what lies ahead for me. Nervous that in order for me to be happy or feel whole is to change my name, the way I dress, the way I walk, and the way I talk. If he dismisses me for bringing up the idea that I might want to be called a different name— a name that I didn’t even disclose to him,how could be possibly understand that deep down—way down, a part of me identifies as male?

This is uncharted territory. I don’t know how much more freaking research I can do into these topics until I can just say; accept it kid! Accept that you are different and deal with it. You are transgender. Sure you don’t want to have surgery but face it; you are queer in every sense of the word. I am longing to just talk to someone who gets it. I don’t want to explain, I don’t want to defend— I just want to talk, and be me. He will never understand. They, will never understand.

So for now on, Just call me, Rilen. Or Ri for short.

Non-Binary Bliss!

January 28,2015

Well, these past 2 weeks have been a whirlwind.

I ditched the purse and went with a wallet, I chopped my hair off into a more androgynous style and I ordered my first binder today!!

Never in my life have I felt so confused, conflicted and confident. After I cut my hair, I felt beautiful, sexy and confident. I like that while my hair is still somewhat feminine, I have found ways to style it to be more androgynous and that is when I feel my best. I am obsessed with hats- thank you Wal-Mart for selling winter hat beanies for only $2! I proudly sport a hat with my new short hair cut which frames my round face accented by my millions of freckles.
I did have a bit of of a talk with one of my friends about this whole gender confusion thing. I ended up crying eventually because I didn’t necessarily feel that they understood how confused and out of place I feel.

I think I can officially identify as being gender fluid. I always thought this label loosely fit me. But within these past 2 weeks I feel like it DEFINETLY fits me. These past 2 weeks I have felt masculine 90% of the time and I LOVE it! I have finally chilled out and just realized and gave myself permission to just be. I still have some discovering to do in terms of my gender identity but I feel like these past weeks have been in hyperdrive and I have to remind myself that maybe I won’t figure it out tomorrow or the next day…Maybe it won’t just fall into my lap. Perhaps I won’t wake up next week and be able to declare, yes I am trans and I need to start thinking about transitioning and what that would mean for my future. I have to remind myself to calm down and wait and hope that things will fall into place, eventually. Right now I think I just need to keep doing what I am doing. I need to keep feeling what I am feeling instead of pushing it away and thinking that how I feel is “Wrong” or “unnatural” or just simply deny that this could be where my life is headed.

I am jazzed that I bought my first binder today! I just ordered it about an hour ago and I am SUUUUPER GIDDY! I want to jump around and shout- which isn’t exactly a possibility because of my knee, but whatever–the intention is there. I am excited and curious to see where this takes me! Perhaps this will open new doors of discovery for me and I will delve deeper into my gender expression and what feels comfortable for me. The only thing that really blows about this is I don’t feel I can talk to anyone about this because they won’t understand. I tried talking to my friend the other night when I had a mini breakdown, and like I said, I don’t think they really understood how I felt. I kept saying that something doesn’t feel right and something is off but they kept telling me to stop putting myself into a box and stop feeling the need to “define” myself. Yes, labels are what others use to define us. But I have found that, at least for me, I need to have some sort of label for myself. I don’t give a shit what anyone else wants to label me as, whether thats being confused, trans, gay, gross, immoral or whatever! I want to know what I am so I can feel comfortable with me.

Peace and Love!

No more purse: A Gender Social Experiment

January 23,2015

So I’ve decided to do a social experiment of sorts. In the past few weeks I have been getting really sick of being a girl. I hate having a period, I hate heels and skirts, makeup, my boobs, doing my hair and shopping, pretty much all things society says women “should” like. Even though we may not like to admit it or acknowledge it, gender roles are real and expected.

So besides hating all of these things, most of all, I have been FED UP with carrying a purse. Now, my purse may be a bit bigger than some other ladies because I prefer to use a shoulder purse so I have little pockets for my phone and different zippers to hold anything from gum, lotion, hand sanitizer, a portable phone charger, toothbrush and of course my lanyard with my keys. That is a lot of shit to carry around! (See the picture of all of the stuff crammed into my gigantic purse? Totally unnecessary.)

It makes me angry that women don’t really have the opportunities to NOT carry some type of purse. I mean what are we supposed to do when we have our periods and shit? Carry tampons and pads in our back pockets? Now, whether or not most women carry as much shit as I do that is a different issue because maybe they have smaller purses. And at this points it’s not about size- I don’t want to carry anything. I would like to know why the hell are all women’s pants so freaking tight and don’t even have practical pockets? When it comes to my American Eagle jeans, I have a hard enough time trying to fit my iPhone into a pocket let alone my keys and a wallet. I think it’s unfair that men have large pockets to keep their shit in and women aren’t as fortunate to do so.

I have taken an interest in the tomboy lifestyle and want to immerse myself in it! I hate being a girl, so why not try to be a boy for a bit- delve into my more masculine side?  (Random side note: I find myself wondering what tomboys do if they don’t wears men’s clothing- where do they stash their shit…?)

So, though my angst ridden anger, I decided to buy a small little wallet similar to a mens wallet and ditch the purse for a bit. It’s an experiment to see how difficult it is to just carry the essentials: phone, keys and wallet. If I can manage to do this over the next few days then adios purses forever! Its time to define myself in the way I want to, and not allow society to influence how I dress.

Purse Edit after wallet EDIT