Navigating the pothole riddled gravel road of my psyche and mental health (with occasional crashes into the ditch). Spoiler Alert: growing up in rural America isn't anything like the wholesome goodness of Little House on the Prairie.
I'm a middle aged, irritable AF, puppy-mommy, and wife to my wife. I grew up in rural ND on a cattle ranch with a family who put the "Dys" in Dysfunction. Now I live in the big city, and am trying to get through this thing called life while not so gracefully navigating PTSD and and Post Concussion Syndrome.
Let me explain: You see I had no choice. I didn't want the pink ribbon in my hair, nor did I want the strange man to take my picture. I would also like to point out that this was NOT one of the times I tried to cut my own bangs...mom did that job all on her own. Actually, I think the pink ribbons were a ploy...I think she already had an inkling that I was going to be a lesbian, so she figured if she dressed me in frilly outfits with pink, that I would succumb to straight-ness. If my mother were younger and in better health, it would be funny to tell her that the reason I'm a lesbian is because I saw how horrible her life was a result of the many men in her life.
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