Shame Cannot Exist In The Light.

One rageful week.

Welcome to Shame Sandwich, where Megan feels equal parts shame and glee in sharing hilarious personal thought rants every Friday. Sometimes on shame, sometimes shame infused, and other times, nothing to do with shame. Enjoy responsibly.

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I find the phrase cock-sucking funny.

Because if you actually suck-suck on a cock I feel like you’d pop a weiners blood vessel, you know? Unless you’re into that. Anyways.

Now that we got THAT out of the way.

Hi. 😂

It’s been a fucking horrible week.

And by horrible I mean mostly horrible but obviously I have a roof over my head, a job that pays the bills and a vehicle that vehicles so I’m “fine”.

Even though I am not fine.

Which of course makes me feel all shamey because there are people who don’t have roofs over their heads, or jobs that pay the bills or vehicles that vehicle.

My horrible week started on Sunday.

Which also happened to be Mother’s Day. Yay!

And then Monday happened.

If Satan and Voldemort had a two-way at a gas station at 3am on Sunday night, Monday’s carnage would be their shittastic offspring. 😭

Let’s just say I’ve been surviving by listening to my playlist Beautiful Rage 😈🤘for hours and hours this week…

• Theory of a Deadman

• Avenge Sevenfold

• Papa Roach

• Halestorm

• The Pretty Reckless

• Hinder

• Nickleback

• Shinedown

• Dorothy

• Disturbed

• In This Moment

• And more. 😈🤘

What caused this carnage of a week?

Two things.

The first, I’m not sure how to even begin to write about. It’s one of those things that I’ve carried in silence for years. One of those topics that causes people to draw a sharp inhale and sharper conclusions after they read my unsettling truth. And to be utterly honest, I’m terrified to share this truth, yet desperate to be seen in my naked honesty.

The shame around this topic feels like ankle weights bolted to my frame, every step I take reminding me of my burden I’ve been desperate to carry in secret.

And yet… I don’t want to carry this in secret anymore. I want to heal, I want to heal.

Now, writing that and actually changing are two different things. Please pray for me. 🥹

(((I did start to open up to my man about this this week… and, I actually cried to him about it (which is noteworthy because I don’t reveal shit like this!!!!!!!!) and he was there for me. 😭 And, I’m still processing the fact I felt safe enough to open up to him, and the fact that he was there for me. Myself is like, what is happeninggggg 🤯)))

The second, well… I’m in therapy/energy healing work. And, it’s been stirring up a LOT of shit. Right no we’re working on the Rules… specifically alllllllllll the Rules I’ve subconsciously nailed to my soul for years. Who I’m supposed to be. Who I have to be. Who I can’t be. What I must hide. What I can never reveal.

And now my two divided wholes are starting to face each other and it’s not unlike like shoving Spaghettios up your vagina. Fucking NASTY. ← that is omg hahaha

Obviously that is all good in the long term and means I’m working through shit that I buried decades ago. But the short term has me feeling raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaage. So much motherfucking rage!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And terror.

Can we talk about terror for a minute?

I’m terrified to face the parts of me that I’ve buried. I know they’re there. They’ve been there for years and years. I can feel their toll on my body with every breath I take.

And sometimes, over the years, I’ve even worked up the courage to kind of face them for brief interludes. Only to slam the door shut moments later.

And I realized this week that I hate myself.

I actually hate myself.

I think I’m unlovable.

Isn’t that an ugly truth?

.

.

.

I’m not supposed to say things like that, I know.

Words are powerful, and yet it’s the fucking truth.

I’d rather tell 1,000 ugly truths than 1 pretty lie.

Because somehow in telling my ugly truths I began to untangle the knots of self-hatred in my soul. And I think it just might lead to self-acceptance and love.

That’s my plea anyway.

.

.

.

AND THEN MY MIND TEXTS ME AND IS LIKE—

“Bitch, how are you not healed yet??? Why are you still bitching about shame and trauma and shit??? You know the answer: just love yourself and let go of the shame you’re carrying, stop worrying about what people think, and be freeeeeeeee! It’s so simple. Just fucking do that”. ← what I think you’re thinking about me right now. 😭

AND THEN I TEXT BACK TO MY BITCH MIND—

“Yo, bitch, fuck off my tits!!!!!!!!! I’ve been through some fairly very traumatic shit, buried it deeeeeeep inside my soul all the while pretending everything was fiiiiiiiiiiiiine for years. Spoiler alert: It was not fine!!!!!!!!!!! And now that I’m finally facing all the shit that I’ve buried, Good Hairy Trantuala Legs I’m vascilating aburptly between thinking I’m worthless scum of the earth and there’s no way I can overcome this shame sandwich lodged somewhere north of my throat hole. So. Once again. Fuck off my tits. If I knew how to fix myself I would have done it already!!!!!!!!!”.

AND THEN MY MIND TEXTS BACK AGAIN AND IS LIKE—

“Lol someone is sounding pretty defeeeeeeensive. 👀”

AND THEN I TEXT BACK—

“Defensive??? I’m literally just explaining my feelings. You clearly have no fucking idea how much agony I’m in. Please, for the love of lemons just leave me the fuck alone. I’m weary, so weary. 😭”

AND THEN MY MIND TEXTS BACK—

“whatevs. fine. for now.”

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Whew, mind texting convos aside….

There’s no point to this rambling and emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted newsletter other than to tell the truth.

And the truth is that I’m going through it right now emotionally + mentally.

The demons of my mind tell me that I am unworthy and unlovable and that if I ever truly showed the most shameful parts of me and my story that I should be hanged.

From the Gallows.

On a Tuesday.

2:11pm.

Naked, obviously.

Not even given the chance to properly shave myself armpits-to-asscrack.

And I believe them. Those cunty mind demons.

Mostly.

The second that I began to fully allow those horrible thoughts and feelings to be fully allowed and held… a teeny little shift happens.

I feel I’m not quite so bound to that thing as I was before.

It’s just HARD to allow those feelings in. It feels like I’ll drown in them.

Every instinct in one half of my divided body is telling me to shove, shove, shove back down.

Yeah.

This week has been intense.

And full of intense feelings and emotions and rage.

I hate myself.

I can’t face this.

DO YOU KNOW HOW SHAMEFUL IT IS FOR ME TO WRITE THOSE WORDS?????

Those are bad words.

Bad.

Bad.

Bad.

The Rules tell me I cannot admit this shit.

The Rules tell me I need to be strong.

The Rules tell me I’m Bad for having these thoughts in the first place.

But.

FUCK IT.

😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

FUCK IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That is what I feel.

As horrible as it is to admit.

And— there is relief in truth.

Even if it’s tainted with feelings of suffocation.

I have to eat the rodent ass all the way through before it will pass through me.

It’s just… awful. 😭😂

And on that lovely note… I’m going to attempt to put a bow on this newsletter. 😅

And remind myself, and anyone else that needs to hear it:

Shame cannot exist in the light.

Shame cannot exist in the light.

Shame cannot exist in the light.

Here’s to exposing the shame to the light.

I hope you have the bestest weekend!!!!!

🫶

-M

p.s. - I hope the opening line of the newsletter made you launch, or at least mind chuckle. 😂

p.p.s. - The urge to soften this newsletter up is stronggggg. I feel so pathetic. And weak. And vulnerable. And exposed. And… I know by exposing this shit, it will fade away. Shame cannot exist in the light.

p.p.p.s - I still haven’t sat down and properly read through and responded to comments from last weeks newsletter. 💔 I truly value each and every comment, and I know my silence is cold. I will absolutely reading and replying soon. It truly brings me joy. ♥️

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From the bottom of my tiny tits, thank you for being here. If this made you feel, it would mean the world if you could tap the lil ‘heart’, leave a comment or share this. 🖤

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