A Few Answers To Questions You Always Wondered About

June 13, 2018 | No Comments » | Topics: Answers

How could you have everything and still kill yourself?

Imagine burning yourself. bad. Third degree burn bad. Nerve endings are fucked. You feel nothing in that spot. It’s numb.

How the hell can that hurt, right? Well, it’s the lighter burns around it; screaming in pain, that there’s a big thing missing. Only it’s depression, that numb spot is a lack of sensation. the areas around it are You feeling bad for not feeling bad.

So those smaller areas go searching for a cure. I tried making money. Succeeded. didn’t work. Bought my dream car. nope. Girlfriends. nope. Painting. music. woodworking. photography. Got good at some, but that feeling of accomplishment? I haven’t had that since I was 8, and got to be the scarecrow in the wizard of Oz in the school play. My dad showed up. he clapped at the end.

Sought therapy. three decades of it. really threw myself at it. nothing.

Tried travel; been all over the place. Standing at Mcmurdo station, checking the last continent off off my list after 15 years of busting around the world. I felt nothing. Hundreds of cities. thousands of stories. every chunk of land I could find. still nothing.

I even left the tech industry. Became a firefighter. Helping others, right? I watched a family WAILING over the loss of a toddler. my station captain was tearing up. my paramedic looking like HE’D caused it.

My thought? “Did I forget to set the chocks on the engine AGAIN?”

I tried marriage. Put on a happy face. kept it on while I tore apart the most amazing person on the planet over the course of 6 years. That made it worse; now my bullshit has hurt others. I apologize to my amazing ex-wife all the time for walking her down that 5 year sentence wearing a white gown.

We even had a kid. Ever heard that whole “best day of my life thing?” I put her birth right up there with watching a cat video on the internet. Nothing. I was holding this tiny lttle prune in my arms, just hoping to god she didn’t wind up with whatever seemingly incurable thing that nobody can fix, and many pass off as a weak mind or spirit.

RX drugs haven’t helped. therapy didn’t help. Buying shit I don’t need doesn’t help. Watching my now 5 year old daughter?

It helps for now. she’s rad. happy. always happy. Even if she never does anything with her life outside of slinging espresso, she’s already got it better than I do. She had her first gymnastics meet the other week; one of those “everyone gets a medal” things. I have a picture of her, on top of a podium, holding a medal and BEAMING. It’s the wallpaper on my laptop, phone, TV, and there’s a print out wedged in my car’s visor. The emotional rush from feeling something? it’s bringing me to tears. I try not to sit and think about it too much though; it’ll just run out, and I’ll be numb to that too.

As years go on, and nothing works, that numb spot takes over; growing. I can see it. these people have simply had that numb spot win the war. Sure, there are moments. They bring a 100% rush of emotion; it’s like morphine tingling around your body…and then it disappears, and back comes that growing rot.

Kate spade and Anthony Bourdain? you can’t tell me they weren’t trying somehow to fix it. Anthony in particular.

Hell, my girlfriend and I were watching his show last night, and I told her that he looked and sounded like a guy not seeking food, but happiness.

Bummed he didn’t find it.

– anotherguyinportland


What’s it like to have ADHD

Imagine you have a stool-top to work on. That is your ‘desk’. You don’t have much space, but you can work with it. Your school is also in a river. It’s not the weirdest thing in the world, but it gets a little annoying. You see, when you have to put something else on the stool to work on it, you usually have to carefully take the last thing off. Maybe stuff it in a pocket, or try to navigate it into your backpack without dropping it, because if you drop it, it will just float away never to be seen again.

You see other people on the river, working on their own little surfaces. They’re a bit far away to make out, so you guess they are working on stool-tops too. A lady swims up to each person on the river – she’s a teacher. She puts something on each person’s little desk, talks to them a little, and then finally comes up to you.

She looks down at you and smiles at you in a friendly way. She takes a piece of paper out of her pocket. She hands it to you to put on your stool. You’ve got a bunch of things on there already. You start taking them off one by one to put in your pockets to make space. She shakes the piece of paper in her hand – the smile fading from her face. The little stool isn’t ready yet. You need to take everything off or else…

She loses patience. She thrusts the piece of paper on the little stool-top, pushing everything off into the river. You look up at her in astonishment, why would she do such a thing? “What were you doing that was so important?” She demands. You try to show her… but it’s all gone now. Lost to the waters. Someone swims up next to you and pushes a little note on your stool – the teacher’s paper is now lost, but at least you can read that… the guy next to you has a really clicky pen. He just wanted you to know that, as the message is just full of a bunch of loud clicks.

The teacher still looks down at you and tries to get you to lead the class. “Read from the top” she demands. The top of .. there’s only this message about clicking from the annoying brat next to you. He keeps clicking that pen. He shoves new messages on your little ‘desk’. You don’t respond and she throws her hands in the air “Oh why can’t you just focus!”

She says that for years. At first she just says it, but eventually you know it – something is wrong with you. Other people can focus with their little working areas, and you are inferior. You are incompetent. You’d spend time thinking about it if you could clear enough space to focus on it – but things keep taking over your little workspace. A bird wants to let you know it chirped. The radio wants to let you know about a new song. For some reason half the things you take out of your pockets for the next month are the melody to that song, not whatever you were looking for at the time.

One day, years later, someone gives you a packet of pills that expand in the water. Each one soaks up the water and grows to the size of a large desk. You now have the time to look around properly and see that everyone else has their own full sized desk. All this time you realise they had this advantage over you and now you’re the same as them!

However… yours dissolve after about 12 hours so you need a new one each day. But for once, you are normal. The teacher comes up to you and plops her sheet on one corner. Someone passes you a message and it rests on another corner. You just have so, much, space for all these little distractions. Now the teacher smiles every time she comes up to you, saying “it’s great you finally learned how to focus!”

Learning how to manage that stool for years has made you a master of handling this large space, but you never forget that without those pills, you will return to being nothing. Drugs do not do the same thing as self-learning.



What It Feels Like To Have Size DDD Breasts

When I travel, my bras set off the metal detectors in airports. The underwire is so much thicker than those in average-size bras. With all the security measures in place now, I frequently get felt up and groped at airports — even in front of my husband — to make sure I’m not hiding anything in there.

When I go running, I have to wear two sports bras. And it’s difficult to golf. When I was learning how to putt, the instructor kept telling me to move my arms. I finally had to tell him, “I have boobs. My arms have to go in front or on the side. They can’t go through them.” He was pretty embarrassed, but I treat it with a sense of humor.

I get stared at all the time. People don’t look at my face. They forget where my eyes are. And it’s painful. I have lower-back pain because I hunch over. I’m five seven, and they’re about the size of cantaloupes. I had a physical therapist tell me that I needed to strengthen my upper back and my chest muscles to help alleviate the pain. Now I have a personal trainer.

I always have to buy clothes to fit my bust, then have them altered. When I bought my wedding dress, I had to buy it two or three sizes bigger. And forget about lingerie: I have to buy unattractive, mainly supportive bras that come in only white, black, or beige. And they’re really expensive; they’re about sixty or seventy dollars a bra. You want to wear the sexy stuff for a guy, but it’s not an option. I can’t wear the pretty stuff, and all my bras have like four hooks in the back.

At one point, I changed jobs to be a manager, and one of my employees complained to my boss that the reason he wasn’t performing well on the job was that he was distracted because my shirts were too tight. My boss then asked me to change how I dressed.

The best part: When I was single, I knew exactly how to attract attention. I had no problem getting drinks in a bar. I had what my friends called my “fuck me” red bodysuit. It accentuated everything. I could walk into a place, “put my boobs on the bar,” and always get a guy to buy me a drink.

– Anonymous



What It Feels Like To Be Beaten by a Mob

I’ve been shot. I’ve been stabbed. I’ve had twelve motorcycles, and not one of them has made it from season to season. I’ve been blown up, too — was lighting a stove. So I survived some stuff. What’s the worst kind of pain? This one’s the worst.

I was out driving, looking for a gas station at night. On my way across Thirty-sixth Street in Milwaukee, fourteen cars came from the alley and stopped. Just blocked my car. I sat there for about five minutes. These guys were just drunk, dancing, out of control. People said I was out looking for drugs. I wasn’t looking for no damn drugs. When I got out to ask, “Could you please move up a little bit?” somebody snatched my damn keys out of my hand. When I turned around, one guy was down on his hands and knees behind me. And because it was dark, I lost my balance and fell over. I remember hearing a bunch of footsteps running toward me.

Then someone just kicked me in the face and kept kicking. When someone kicks you in the face, first it goes dark, then you see bright lights — gets real bright. I was trying to cover my face, but they were kicking me in the back of the head, then they kicked me in both my eyes. My eyeballs were smashed against my head. Messed up my eyes pretty bad. Then someone jumped on me from my car, and I remember them kicking me in the back. After about the third kick like that, you don’t feel nothing. My head was as big as a watermelon when they finished.

I heard the coroner was the first one there, because they said there was a dead body in the street. Anyway, they found out I had a pulse and called the ambulance.

When I woke up in the hospital, I couldn’t see nothing. I couldn’t swallow. I was thirsty. It was two or three days before I could open my eyes. I could only see bright lights. Before I left, they had to scrape this eye out. They pulled all my teeth, because they were all loose. For a while, my eyes would bleed and hurt. I still got double vision. Looking at you right now, it looks like you got a face down here and a face up here. Most of all, though, it hurt my pride. When a person shoots you or stabs you, at least you know they’re scared of you.