The scenic route.
My quest for feral-ness. š¤
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. Warning: Often times very sweary. And vulgar. Enjoy responsibly.
Itās 9:10pm on Thursday evening and Iām in a very strange energy right now.
Part of me is feeling more feral than Will Feral ā yes that was incredibly cringe and another part of me is feeling all constricted and jealous and insecure.
What is a feral slash constricted-jealous-insecure bitch to do?
Not book a one-way ticket to Ibiza IS IT I-BBBBBBBITHA OR I-BI-ZA?????????? thatās for damn sure.
Can you imagine how horrible of an idea that would be?
Narrator: Donāt be fooled, sheās seriously fucking considering it.
JK.
Iām sure Ibiza is only a couple of notches down from Vegas.
Fun for a couple of nights and then any shred of dignity is left wherever you left your clothes. Which is conspicuously MIA. Oops.
To be clear: I still would love to go to Ibiza! š
Just notā¦ a one way ticket.
Great warm and mushy cow utters how did I even get on the subject of Ibiza in the first place??? š
What is this newsletter turning into?
Also: A case study of a sliver in time of living inside of my brain.
Thoughts.
Crashing into each other.
Constantly.
Woooooo!
Narrator: It is actually not āWoooooo!ā.
Other Narrator: I mean, it is kinda pretty fun sometimes!
LOL.
Anywho.
What the fuck do I want to talk write about tonight?
.
.
.
Ok.
You know that feeeeeeeeeeeeeeling when youāre really close to somethingā¦ big?
Like, a big towering snow-capped Mount Everest-sized kind of personal breakthrough?
Yeah.
Right now, I can feel myself tiptoeing with neon green toenails towards that big ass breakthrough.
I can sense there is shit I want to say and be and do and feel and experience that is earth-shatteringly ginorumous and yetā¦ it eludes me.
But does it actually elude me orā¦ am I hiding?
OBVIOUSLY YOUāRE FUCKING HIDING YOU WENCH WINCHING HOE BAG!!!! ā my inner critic to me.
Yikes. That was unpleasant. ā me to me.
.
.
.
ā¦ok fine, Iāll spill the fucking tea tequila thatās on my mind.
*gulps*
*gulps again, metaphorically, obviously*
*ponders what a metaphorical gulp actually means*
*wait, am I even using the word metaphorically correctly???*
*Searches the internet for answers*
*breathes a sigh of relief*
*MEGAN!!!! FUCKING FOCUS!!!*
*ok*
*gulp*
*fuck, I think Iāve forgotten what I wanted to say šššš*
*shit*
*remembers!!!!!!*
š
So, as I was saying writingā¦ Iām constantly crashing up against the truth.
The truth of my fear of being feral.
Really, truly, terrifingly feral.
And by feral I simply meanā¦
Wildly myself.
Wholly accepting of myself.
Deliriously accepting of others.
Because I donāt think you can be wholly feral until you unreservedly accept othersā feralness, can you?
Full frontal stop.
Let me reverse and re-read what I just wrote:
Because I donāt think you can be wholly feral until you unreservedly accept othersā feralness, can you?
Hmmm.
As within, so without.
As with you, so with me.
Weāre all mirrors.
Some shattered.
Some vintage.
Some modern.
Some dirty.
Some spotless.
Yet we all hold the reflective keys to our own understanding.
Mirrors.
Fucking mirrors.
Do I cringe in insecurity when I gaze upon your beauty?
Am I shame spiraling when I compare my lowly status to yours?
Is my self-worth non-existent when I see your net-worth next to mine?
Could I possibly loathe myself more after encountering your effortless self-confidence?
.
.
.
Damn.
This shit hits home for me.
As much as I donāt want a single soul + everyone whoās left after that to know thisā¦
Homegirl has a lot of insecurity issues. That present as acceptance seeking.
I. WANT. YOU. TO. ACCEPT. ME.
Or at least a solid 52% of me wants you to accept me.
Le cunting sigh.
Do you have any idea how much I cockblock but actually also solo-BDSM myself with an emphasis on bondage because I canāt fucking move forward at all?????
Whereās a safe word when you need one. š«
What Iām trying to say isā¦
When Iām all insecure over wondering if Iām too much or too loud or too opinionated or too sweary or too small boobed or too tall or too quiet or too reflective or too weird and therefore wonāt be acceptedā¦ I see it has nothing to do with other people at all.
Itās because *I* donāt believe Iām worthy of being too much or too loud or too opinionated or too sweary or too small boobed or too tall or too quiet or too reflective or too weird.
*moment of silence feels appropriate right now*
.
.
.
*sobs*
Iāve hit on a very intimate and shameful truth.
I know I *shouldnāt* care about what people think of me.
I fucking get it get it.
I write about this topic fairly often.
But does that change the fact that I still care?
Nope.
Not one fucking slutty ā unnecessary but leaving it in bit.
What does it actually feel like to not give a flying fuck?
God, that is my fantasy.
And donāt tell me itās not possible.
I donāt fucking want to hear that garbage.
It has to be possible.
Right?
That is what I cling to.
And I believe it to be true in my bone marrow.
It is possible to live a life where you donāt give any fucks.
And Iām going to live that life, too.
Iām just taking my own scenic route to get there.
And Iām so utterly sick of apologizing for being on the scenic route.
Truly.
ā āI should be over this shit.ā
ā āI shouldnāt care what others think of me.ā
ā āI should be positive all the time.ā
Pretty sure Iāve shoulded myself all the way up into the Devilās prostrate!!!!!
Which is not ideal, let me tell you.
But.
Fuck it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
IāM ON THE BLOODY FUCKING SCENIC ROUTE, MOTHERFUCKERS.
My feet trod the Shame Sandwich path.
No detours in sight.
Iām here.
Right now.
And sometimes? Iām going to massively fucking bitch about being on the scenic route.
Maybe that will make you uncomfortable.
Maybe youāll want to shatter your mirror.
Maybe youāll join me.
Idk.
I just know that this is where Iām at right now.
Stuck somewhere between wanting to be fully feral and being decidedly insecure.
And Iām going to keep talking about it.
Because itās the truth.
And the truth will set me free.
Free to be feral.
ā¤ļøāš„
-M
p.s. - It never ceases to amaze me how much writing helps me process my feels (even if this one was all over the scenic path place. š¤ Hereās to learning to accept ourselves, and others, completely. Hereās to feral. š«¶
p.p.s. - my epic friend Maggie Jon (who Iāve personally worked with and can verociously vouche for ā hehe thatās a fun mouthful) is launching an 8-week group program for ADHD minds who are craving support. Itās super reasonably priced and capped at 6 people max, so youāll get plenty of Mighty Maggieās 1:1 guidance! Donāt snooze on this, enrollment closes tonight!! Tell her I sent you. ;)
From the bottom of my tiny tits, thank you for being here. If these words made you feel, it would mean the world if you could tap the lil āheartā, leave a comment or share this. š¤
Want to give me a shame heart attack? Upgrade to Paid, support the Arts, my Writing, and Get Meganās Private Journal Entries SNAIL MAILED TO YOU 1x every March, June, September* & December, by way of Shame Sandwich couriour. š
Becoming feral step #1: Stop apologizing! Weāre all works in progress! Weāll never *stop* being works in progress. I know in my particular case, just when I think Iāve almost got a tiny bit of it figured out, some real-life SHIT happens and I get SLAPPED back to Earth like a crashing meteor. Weāre all Sisyphus, trying to push that boulder up the hill. Weāre all Siddhartha Gautama, trying to attain enlightenment.
I believe the quote goes āBefore enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.ā The point is, we never stop. None of us are finished products. All we can do is the best we can every day - whatever level that daily best may be! - and not make the same mistakes we made yesterday. Thatās it.
From what Iāve read, youāve already come an awfully long way - much farther than most. So donāt be so hard on yourself. Progress usually comes in tiny increments, so tiny we donāt even notice until weāre way down the road and happen to look back. And then we think, āGAWD, what an idiot I used to be!ā, not realizing weāre *STILL* idiots.
'Tis a journey for sure. I think imho age and life experience helps the process. Also happiness inside obvs. Until we make peace with our quirks and hopefully turn them into superpowers, we are always stuck in that comparison mode. All I can tell you is that every decade for me has got easier in this regard. Definitely a journey with windy rounds but keep trecking and you'll get there.