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I haven't had a thought in six months. I'm not exaggerating. Every day, I wake up and guess. I hate how being 23 is just walking around, mad at something my mom did in 2003. Like, "Why didn't she understand that when I cried about getting my hair brushed, I was really crying about how I didn't feel understood? Maybe if she had listened to me, I would have confidence in my abilities as an adult, and I'd understand that I'm allowed to take up space." But I was six and hadn't brushed my hair in two weeks, and if I had had it my way, I wouldn't have brushed my hair until I was 16. Kids are gross, and moms are right.

I'm an adult, and I'm still gross. Being an adult and being gross is different. I shower regularly, but I haven't gotten my teeth cleaned in a year, but that's because all of my money has gone toward moving five times--twice cross-country--and therapy, so now when I have an extra $120 bucks, I'm like, "Time to get a tattoo!"

I don't think people exist until they're 26. Every person I know that's 26 and older have some concept of who they are and what they want for themselves. But I pay taxes, I think, so legally, I'm adult passing. Mentally, I think I'm somewhere between a raisin and cabbage patch doll.

I blame coffee. I haven't been able to drink coffee because of my acid reflux. No one TOLD ME that getting older meant more health problems if I didn't take care of myself when I was younger. (Actually, everyone told me.) But that isn't what I heard!! I'm mad because I did take good care of myself when I was younger. My parents were health conscious and only let us eat sweets in moderation. We weren't allowed to drink soft drinks or eat pop tarts. My mom was a fitness trainer, so we exercised, took dance lessons, the whole nine.

So, I'm going to blame genetics because I blame genetics when I don't want to take responsibility for something. One time, my genetics made me late for swim practice every night for two years and miss my mom's 50th birthday. But, oh, ho, ho, it wasn't MY FAULT, because I have my life together. I have my life together. Everyone told me I have to have my life together since I was four, that I have to make my bed, change my underwear, always wear matching socks, and wear make-up to a job interview because a guy can get hired with cystic acne, no problem, but a woman must look presentable.

"If you don't look put together, no one will hire you, Grace," "If you don't ask questions, no one will know you're an idiot."

"If you don't brush your hair, no one will love you."

Thank God, then. Thank fucking God no one will love me because if lying to myself about who I am and what I value is what I have to do to be loved, I don't want it. And I'm not talking about brushing my hair. I'm talking about being bi-sexual. I felt the need to clarify because the metaphor was vague.

I grew up in a Conservative, Christian community. I had to hide how I felt to preserve relationships with family members or church members because they didn't want to handle conflict since they didn't know how to face themselves. If I was angry, I wasn't allowed to express that. Not because the anger was wrong, but because the person I was mad at--for valid reasons--was a good person, which meant I couldn't hold their ignorance accountable because their heart was in the right place.

My FAVORITE thing I was told was, "After all the sacrifices this person has made for you, this is how you feel? They love you. They'd give their life for you."

...

Okay, cool. They're an idiot. Why would they die for me but not listen to me? That's a ridiculous thing to say. Listening to someone is a whole lot easier than DYING FOR THEM. It's much less painful. I stumped my toe once, and I was like, "Wow, this sucks. I'd never take a bullet for anyone."

But I get it. Actually, I don't, because I've written this WHOLE POST--no! I've written books, journaled, moved across the country TWICE, trying to wrap my head around why the FUCK people in the Bible Belt are so far up their ass they won't take thirty minutes to step out of their fucking comfort zone and try and see the world from a perspective that isn't their own. Still, no one can hold them accountable because they are good people.

I have never met a good person in my life because good people don't exist. Because if someone can be good, that means love is earned, and if love is earned, that means there is an explanation as to why we love people who hurt us. I can list the qualities I love in someone in an attempt to explain to myself why I love them. I can list reasons I don't love someone when they hurt me. But all that does is destroy my peace.

A few weeks ago, I realized I didn't love my parents. I had this idea they were supposed to teach me how to love myself and accept myself for who I am and because they didn't do that, I resented them, which meant I hated them.

But I have a fantastic friend named James who told me something I won't forget. He said something along the lines of, "You don't kick a puppy because it pees inside. The puppy doesn't know any better." (I changed the quote up a little bit to add my own flavor.)

My pain is my choice. My hate is my choice, and my heart doesn't hurt because I hate anyone. I love my family, and that's why it hurts when they don't understand me. That isn't their job anymore though. My feelings weren't validated when I was a kid, and that sucks. That will take time to heal from, but it isn't their job to validate me because I'm an adult, whether I pay taxes or not. And to need approval from someone means they are more valuable than me, which isn't true. (I saw a woman say this in a video on Instagram, which I would reference if I remembered what show the clip was from.)

As a kid, I was a puppy who got kicked for peeing inside, and I kept kicking myself because I pissed on the floor at least eight times a day. But the more I kept kicking myself, the more I resented who I was, which reflected how I viewed the people around me. I didn't learn until college what religion and society taught me about being a presentable woman does not get me anything. Anything I've achieved in life wasn't achieved because I was perfect; it's because I was honest. When I experienced true love, it didn't spin the story and convince me I was crazy for asking questions or having a human reaction to someone who hurt me. It let me feel my feelings. And if I messed up, it held accountable instead of being shamed into the "right" decision.

So, now, at this moment, sitting outside of Brooklyn Whiskers in New York, for the first time in my life, I believe I understand what it means to accept myself, which is something I never felt safe doing before now. Because I was taught that who I was was wrong and that I wasn't good enough as myself to achieve anything. I spent 23 years believing the narrative that I needed saving, but that isn't true. I am already saved, and I don't fully understand who I am. But now, I get it. I don't have to wait until I'm a fully evolved person to love myself. I get to be human.

And as daddy Stephen Colbert once said in an interview with Anderson Cooper, "I want to be the most human I can be." The THEME music for The Late Show with Stephen Colbert is called Humanism. And it is played by Jon Batiste & Stay Human. STAY HUMAN IS THE NAME OF THE IN-HOUSE BAND ON THE LATE SHOW. Basically, Stephen Colbert, please fucking hire me already. I've applied to three jobs on your show this summer. I'm beginning to think y'all have my emails flagged. This isn't funny anymore. I would make a great asset to your team. I'm so human it hurts, literally. I have Scoliosis and moderate to sever lower-back pain. We can look over my CV after I finish this post.

Laugh or Cry.com is the name of this website because I believe the greatest gift I can give--that we can give each other is our honesty. I started this site because I needed an outlet for writing, but I knew it wouldn't always be silly, and I knew it wouldn't always be serious. It had to be both because I have to be honest. When I lie to myself, it feels like I'm slitting my throat with a butter knife and using my blood as strawberry jelly, then shoving the toast right into my open wound.

I can't lie to preserve relationships with family members or friends that never existed. If there is no trust, there is no relationship, but that doesn't mean there isn't love. I don't hate my parents--or any other family member. I never did, but I don't trust all of them, and you can't hold good people accountable. To be more specific, you can't have conversations with people who think it is their job save you--to teach you--to tell you how to think, what to feel, and to convince you you are wrong about your own experience. Accountability is born out of relationship and relationships are built on mutual respect. It took me too long to figure out that it isn't my fault if someone doesn't respect me. It is a reflection of how they respect themselves.

But now that I am learning to love myself, I am learning to create boundaries, which I didn't know were a THING until a year ago. I'm still figuring out what boundaries look like and how to love someone I don't feel connected to because they don't listen or try to understand me.

However, when was the last time I listened? I think I checked out when I was fourteen, and I fell into a deep but high functioning depression because I still had to appear as if I had my life together. I did a terrible job pretending because I was late for swim practice every night for two years and missed my mom's birthday. No one ever believed I had my life together, not even me, but I didn't know any better. Now I do. And to be the most human I can be means holding myself accountable and listening, which I don't have to do; I get to do.

When I admitted I didn't love my parents, I felt peace because I let go of this ideal, loving Christian I was told I had to be to earn Heaven or earn God's love. Saying it out loud meant letting it go, which allowed me to make space for real love. It was never about my parents. It was about my relationship with myself.

Up until recently, I was scared of being honest because I didn't want to be hated. When I thought back on all the stupid things I'd done, I was like, "Yikes... Who could love me after all the ignorant things I've said?" Then, when I started forgiving myself, and I was like, "Oh, now I get it. If I forgive myself, I'll grow as a person. Okay, this is cute. Forgiveness is my color... and also red." What I know now is that when it felt like someone hated me in the past, they didn't hate me. They hated what I made them see in themselves that they hadn't healed from yet. When I am honest, I don't feel like I'm shoving toast into the hole I slit in my throat. I feel like I'm breathing for the first time.