It has been a week since San Francisco Pride. Have I fully recovered? No: my throat is still thrashed, my skin is peeling, and I am now just doing laundry. I am a mess — a happy mess. It was my second SF Pride and sensory overload will always be a barrier for me. There are way too many beautiful queers in the Bay and I was in a constant state of thirst and whiplash. Not that it was a one-way thirst street: I had THIRTEEN Tinder matches in less than FORTY minutes with my settings omitting straight, cis men. The Bay did wonders for my ego. Friday night: UHAUL @ Hawthorn There is something magical about being in a space that is mostly comprised of ethnically diverse queer butches, femmes, and every one in between. Attractive folx, good friends, equally good music, a little bit of liquid courage, and a lottle bit of eye-fucking makes memories and evokes gushy gay feelings that I will hold on to for as long as possible. Pluses: got a phone number from a cutie. Minuses: Jenna say...
My therapist is moving out of state and we had our final session today. It was bittersweet. They are the shit, and under different circumstances, we probably would have been pals. The one year mark of my journey towards mental and physical health is approaching. June 4th is my parents' 36th wedding anniversary and, ironically, the day that my longest relationship imploded. Randomly, I saw my ex and for the first time, I didn't feel like running in the opposite direction. That chapter of my life is finally closed and I can appreciate it for what it was and how it shaped me into the person I am now: someone who no longer requires multiple years to pass in order to be civil with a former partner. Looking back, I have made strides with my personal progress: I love myself more, I sweep my emotions under the metaphorical carpet of non-confrontation a lot less, I do not rely on humor to express my emotions as often as I used to, and I am quite happy being single. There is a list of t...