Stand Still

I am in love with Lincoln. 
I know that this is a new relationship. I know it was only supposed to be a summer fling. But he’s perfect for me. And I am in love with him. 

Undoubtedly. I love him, I love him, I love him. 

But I’m not going to tell him. Oh god no. If I tell him, I risk scaring him off, rejection, looking creepy… The list really goes on. But I’m sure everyone knows this fear. 
This is when love gets stupid. Why does the person who care the least win? Why are we supposed to act like we aren’t totally obsessed with someone, when we totally are? 
I want Lincoln to obsess over me. I want him to text me whenever he can. I want him to get all mooshy gooshy. I want him to talk to his friends about me. To crave my presence. To not be able to keep his hands of me.

 I want him head over heals for me, like I am for him. 
I just can’t tell if he is or not.
So I wait it out. I drop hints. I tell Lincoln that “I like him 11.” I’ll either build up the courage to tell him I’m madly in love with him, or he will say it first and then I’ll know the answer to all of my questions. 



I would go to kiss Lincoln and he would turn his face up, so his nose would run up my nose and make my nostrils exposed. Then he made the loudest and cutest piggy noise I’ve ever heard. 

Naturally, i cracked up laughing. He picked me up, flipped me over and squeezed me. He said, “Lau your laugh is so adorable.” Then he did it all over again. 

He probably did this like 10 times throughout the night. After one time he said, “I’d do anything to hear that giggle all day long.”


Pauses in the kisses 

I got off work early and I was so pissed that I had to go home because I knew my mom was hammered, my meth head brother was there, and there would be no where to hide. 

I called Lincoln, “hey what are you doing tonight? Do you want to get ice cream? Actually I’m not hungry at all. And I don’t really like ice cream. But I thought I needed an excuse to ask you to hang out…… Yeah sure! I’d love to come over!” 

I vaguely told him I was grouchy because parents and families are annoying. Those were my exact words. 

Lincoln and I just decided to be more than just a few sporadic dates. We agreed not to see other people and just see where this goes. So I didn’t want to get into all the details and scare him off just yet. 

But we’re testing out the water and I’m fucking obsessed with him. Like read my blog please. I don’t like texting. I text Lincoln all the time. I don’t like clingy relationships, I want to see him and be near him everyday. I’m not sentimental at all, but I wanted to tell him about my shitty life and have him kiss my forehead and be sweet to me and then tell me about his shitty life. 


With my ex boyfriends I was evil to them. Like always teasing them and punching them and just being mean. And I tease Lincoln, But instead of punching his arm afterwords, I kiss his shoulder. And snuggle him and compliment him. 

Ew why Lau. I’m not an affectionate person but I just cannot keep my lips off of this hunk. 

I know I know. It’s new. It’s puppy love. I’m very aware of how all of this works. I’ve had my fair share of puppy love encounters. 

But something is different. I want more with Lincoln. And I hate to admit that! Because with boys you either marry him and live happily ever after, or you get your heart broken. And I’m not planning a wedding anytime soon so….. 

But I want to know his life and I want to tell him mine. And I have zero desire to date other boys because I honestly don’t think I’ll find another connection like this one. 

Today, we cuddled and watch weird 70’s movies. And after the movie was over of course we made out for awhile. But between the kisses, Lincoln held my face still close to his and just looked at me. It sounds so fucking creepy now that I’m typing it out, but it made my heart happy. It made me feel secure, and pretty. It made me feel loved. 

I can feel myself falling in love with him. I know if I continue to see him I definitely will. I already like him a heck of a lot more than Nick, my last boyfriend. Now I need to decide whether to jump ship, or hope he catches me when I fall. 

Until then I’ll just ride the waves. 



It’s easier to giggle along with everyone else when my mom is once again drunk in front of my friends, than it is to explain that her drinking is a problem.

It’s easier to put my headphones in and sit in the basement when my dad is screaming at my mom about how she shouldn’t drink this much, than it is to tell him it’s pointless; she won’t remember in the morning.

It’s easier to just pay attention to her fits and temper tantrums, than it is to reason with her.

It’s easier for me to let her continue to drink after she’s had too many, than it is to hide her alcohol and have her get angry.

It’s easier for my dad to buy her more alcohol, than it is to let her drive drunk to get it on her own.

It’s easier to hide in my room and blog, than it is to find somewhere to stay this last minute.

It’s easier to lock the door and pretend I’m asleep, than it is to talk to her.

It’s easier to just push her down when she starts swinging at me, than it is to be gentle with her.

It’s easier for my sister to flee the country for the third time, than it is for her to stay near our mother.

It’s easier in college, away from my family, than it is at home seeing her everyday.

It’s easier to ignore the issue, than it is to address it.

It’s easier to say, “I love you too,” than it is to explain that I don’t.

I love my mom; she raised me. I grew up fine. I know there are a lot of people out there who have it a million times worse than I do.

I don’t love my mom’s drunken alter ego.

I hate my mom’s drunken alter ego. Since I was a teenager, her drunk-self has become almost her permanent state.

I will move in with my crazy religious grandma. I will go back to school and never come back home. I will never call my mom after 4pm. I will tell her she needs AA.

I will make all of these promises to myself and I will never follow through with them… Because she is my mom. She is who raised me. She is still the boss. I am still just the silly little kid. And it’s easier to keep it that way.

When you have anxiety, a fear of heights, and you’re squished between two rude men on a plane

So I have self diagnosed anxiety. I vomit before tests, I pass out during extremely nerve wrecking experiences, I cry without reason, and shake uncontrollably. 

I haven’t talked to my doctor about this for a few reasons:
1) I don’t want to sound like a wuss. I don’t think people who have doctor diagnosed anxiety are wusses at all! It freaking sucks and I know it’s a serious problem. My family would just say I’m bitching and complaining, and that “everyone gets nervous occasionally.” I wanted to make it very clear that there’s no disrespect to fellow anxious people! 
2) what is my doctor even going to do? Prescribe me a drug that alters my personality, give me breathing techniques, tell me to use extreme anti-perspiration deodorant?  
3) my doctor is my doctor, my moms doctor, my dads doctor, my siblings doctor, my grandmas doctor. He’s a FAMILY physician. He knows about my entire life from birth to my first experience drinking. Do I really want this doctor, who is more like a family friend, to know that I had an anxiety attack before losing my virginity? That’s just fucking awkward.
So I’m flying to Colorado, to visit Chandler (of course). A good friend, Adler, is coming too! We’re all very excited, it’s going to be so much fun, blah blah blah blah blah whatever. I dont care about that now. 
Adler and I board and quickly realize there’s no way for us to sit together. Instant sweat…… I ask a man if he would scoot over one seat so we could both sit in the isles kind of near each other. I just want to be able to see Adler. “Oh no I am NOT sitting in the middle!” Like who the fuck are you and why are you so special? You’re flying alone. I understand that your a lard ass and “don’t want to be squished” but all the seats are exactly the same. I promise I won’t touch you and I’m willing to bet the gentleman by the window won’t either. 
I roll my eyes, hold my tongue, and sit in the middle seat. 
The plane starts moving. We’re backing away from the gate… I’m guessing. But I can’t see because window man refuses to open the window. I asked him if he would open it and he told me he didn’t like to watch. Why did you want the window seat if you’re not even going to look out of it??? 
So this plane is making moves and I can’t tell if we’re going forward or backwards, if we’re close to the runway or waiting in line. I start to hyperventilate quietly in my seat. 
All I can think is “don’t pass out. Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out!” 
I turn on my fan, clinch my fists, and start counting my breaths. I can feel my heartbeat. Fast. Very fast. 
I want music. I’m a musician I can listen to one song over and over again for hours and analyze it. I get so easily wrapped up in music. It’s the perfect plan. But… My phone is in my purse, and I’m scared to unclinch my fists… 
The thought of moving brings the hyperventilation back. I can’t think. I can’t move. 
Finally I build up courage and move fast. I shove my hands into my purse, digging and cramming until I can feel my phone. It was the longest 4 seconds of my life. 
I start to calm down. James Hersey is good for analyzing. Very acoustic, a lot of elements for me to focus on. 
Fuck. The flight attendants are coming with snacks. Pretzels will help settle my stomach, but that means I have to open my mouth and speak. I don’t want my voice to shake. I’m scared if I open my mouth the tears that have been welding in my eyes this entire time will fall. 
I decide to nod a lot and hope they don’t as specific questions. I end up with both pretzels and peanuts. Snacks are a good distraction. 
I can barely open the bags. I’m making waves my water with how badly I’m shaking. 
I need more distractions…. I open my “notes” in my phone. Fuck it. I’ll write. Blogging has been a great emotional outlet for me so far; why wouldn’t it help with my anxiety? 

So here I am. Sucking the sugar off of my honey roasted peanuts, typing a very detailed post, and taking breaks to breathe. 

This is hard to do with trembling fingers. I’m going back to James and steady breathes. A closed window, surprise landing will be super fun for me. Hopefully I don’t pee my pants. 

Holding my pee until I’m on solid land though,


I think my mom is an alcoholic

Actually, I KNOW she is. but I’m just now figuring it out.

When i was younger my mom drank wine all day long, like how other mothers would drink soda. She was just thirsty and it was just a drink. Sometimes she would drink too much wine, and get very very mad at my sister and I, for no apparent reason. She would push us around a little. Not enough to leave bruises or really hurt us. but i knew it wasn’t my moms fault. it was the wine.

When i got older (maybe i understood more, or noticed more, or maybe i was just with my friends more) I noticed that my friends’ parents didn’t drink any alcohol! and if they did it was at a party, or on the weekends, or with dinner. They never got mad for no reason, they never pushed their kids down, or pulled their hair.

I remember having multiple conversations with my dad. He told me that he was going to divorce her and i was so happy. looking back, that’s sick. No 8 year old should be happy about hearing that.

but my parents are still together and my mom still drinks.

He told her she had to get a job. If she got a job, then she couldn’t drink during the day, right? WRONG. She just starts drinking the second she gets off work, 2pm…. There’s a 5 O’Clock rule, isn’t there?

All though out middle school, i knew my mom drank more than other parents. But i didn’t think it was too abnormal! I thought it was just a matter of preference.

When i got to high school i noticed more about her. Mostly the people around her. People make jokes, “Oh Alicia is drunk again. haha classic,” My neighbor told me that she knows better than to call my house past 5pm, because she knew my mom wouldn’t remember anything past that time. My high school boyfriend’s mom (AT’s mom) sat me down alone one day, held my hands and said “It must be so hard living in a home with that kind of environment. If you ever need to move in, or even just get away you’re always welcome here.”

It was embarrassing, and annoying. Dealing with a drunk person is not fun. Dealing with a drunk person every day of your life is hell.

So i went to college and didn’t have to deal with it. It was really great! I knew to call my mom the second she got off work! and if i needed to call late i always called my dad’s cell. If i came home on the weekends, i always made plans for the evening, or told my parents i had a TON of homework and asked them not to bother me. I was handling it well (little did i know those aren’t things you should have to be doing when you come HOME)

Now it’s summer. and i’m back. I already wrote a generic post about why you should stay in your college town for summer. This in an extra reason for me.

At college i gained experience with alcohol. I learned for myself it’s not okay (and i’m not sure how it’s even possible) to drink an entire box of wine every day of the week, and a handle of VO on the weekends. but i’m grown up, i’m here for the summer. it’s just something i have to deal with (hide from).

Tonight my attitude changed.

Today i had an AWFUL day at work. So i’m kind of on edge. My dad is asleep and my mom is noticeably drunk(er than usual). she’s smoking a cig in the garage and i notice there’s a shot of VO poured for herself on the table. I quickly toss it in the sink and convince her that she must have already taken it (yes. she is that drunk). I put the liquor under the cabinet (where it is normally stored) hoping for the “Out of sight, out of mind” theory to work.

I hop in the shower and before i know it there’s loud banging on my door. “Where is it?! what did you do with it. Where’s my whisky? You’re going to hell.” this goes on for about 15 to 20 minutes. The entire duration of my shower i don’t say anything and hope she gets tired and goes to bed. (she didn’t)

I opened the door to leave the bathroom when she basically pushes me over to barge in. Still screaming and begging for her alcohol. I told her “No mom I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have your alcohol.”

I go in my room to get dressed. she starts banging on my bedroom door. “You’re a liar. I know you stole it.”

I’m used to this. I turn off my lights and pretend to sleep for a while.

I hear her laugh. “Well i found your alcohol (as if i was hiding it. lol) and i sure do like this wine of yours.” *glug glug glug* as i can hear her chugging it.

Side note. I’ve had that bottle of wine since the winter time. I have much more self control than my mother. I felt like i was contradicting myself by complaining about an alcoholic mother while having a stash of alcohol. but i swear i DO NOT get like this. I drink responsibly and rarely. I also don’t beat up people when i drink.

I open the door, walk upstairs, and pull out the whisky in front of her. I look her in the eyes and say “You’re pathetic. Keep my wine; you need it more than i do.” Walk down stairs and get ready for bed.

Back she comes. Banging on my door. I open it. “Fuck you. Fuck your alcohol.”

“okay mom. goodnight.”

“don’t tell me goodnight, you can’t tell me when to go to bed. fuck you. You’re going to hell.”

“okay mom. I’m going to bed, Talk to you tomorrow.”

She throws three of my full beer cans at me. Luckily she’s drunk and has awful aim so she only hits me with one. She swings at me with a wine bottle, but i grab it out of her hands before it hits me. She did not like that. She snatched a fist full of my hair and started pulling me to the ground.

I pushed her into the pool table about the same time my dad woke up. My mom runs to him, pointing at her scratched arm from my push and says, “She wont leave me alone Larry! she pushed me!”

Like bitch, you just ran from MY room. Who isn’t leaving who alone? But my dad is not an idiot, he’s dealt with this before. He asks me what really happened; my mom throwing a fit with every word i say. “Well I only pulled your hair because you pushed me.”  yes, i pushed you off of me while you were slinging glass bottles around.

My dad says “That’s it. we’re not buying whisky anymore.” for the 100,000th time. He dumps the remaining quarter of a handle down the sink (Yes. she drank 3/4 of a handle of whisky in one day) for the 100,000th time.

naturally, my mom starts smacking and punching him. He pushes her off of him and she runs into the dogs water and spills it everywhere. Starts screaming about the mess he made and how it’s all his fault and how he abused her.

At this point i decided that she was my dads problem now. My sister comes home and i fill her in on my night. For the next three or four hours we sat outside and chatted about all the different ways mom fucked us up.

If you knew my sister at all, or our relationship, you would know this is VERY strange. we never talk about feelings or problems. That’s not how our family works. There’s things that my mom did to my sister that i learned about tonight that sicken me. I’m sure that goes both ways.

Tomorrow morning, before she starts drinking, I’m going to tell her to quit. If she can’t quit, go to AA. If she refuses, I’m moving out and not speaking to her until she quits.

I don’t want to be here anymore.



I heard something the other day and I thought it was absolutely beautiful. I figured I’d share it / write it down so I can re read it again later. 
“She’s amazing. She guessed my favorite color on her first try. 

Between you and me, I didn’t have a favorite color until it came out of her mouth. But ever since she said it, I can’t look at yellow the same.” 
Fucking boyfriend goals.