I am SO glad that year is over. This year will be great. It has to be. I’ll make it so!

My inner critic is a harsh bitch who hates me. I’m determined to prove her wrong.

My husband likes to say normal is just what you’re used to, so when people complain about things, a lot of the time, he’s like, “Feels normal to me.” It’s like nose blindness, where you just don’t smell the odor because you’re so used to it, but if you pay attention, it can gag you.

I am not a hateful person. I don’t judge based on physical traits, beliefs, or attractions. I judge based on actions, and if you’re a good person, or trying to be, that’s good enough for me. But I grew up in the South, where racism and intolerance are rampant. You can’t escape from it.

It’s one of those things where I was just habituated to it. People made racial slurs. My grandfather called black people burrheads and shit like that, but a kid can only protest so much. I would say something now and again as an adult to the adults around me, but the people in my life didn’t bother to see past their own prejudices. So I generally turned a deaf ear to it.

But that shit bothers me. I’m tired of it. I don’t want my friends to censor themselves and just not say nasty racial shit. I don’t want to be friends with people who think that way at all.

I’m also not going to censor myself, at least, not here. This place is about therapy and honesty and getting shit out of my brain, and censoring myself isn’t going to help that. I already over-edit everything else I do. So if I use racial slurs in any of my posts, it’s because their use by others bothers me, and I need to get that disgust out.

I’m disgusted by my friends – my ex-friends, I should say. I broke up with them, and am glad and angry at the same time. I need a place for my anger to safely go. Hence, I am here.

There was a period of a couple of years early on in our friendship where they moved. Then they moved back. I will always remember some of the stories they told me about this guy with ocd who lived in their apartment complex. He would stand out in the parking lot testing his car door handles over and over, and they could hear him. Ka-thunk, ka-thunk, ka-thunk. Eventually, he would be satisfied they were locked and would start walking into his home.

My asshole friends would call down to him, “Your car’s not locked, Clifford!” at which point, Clifford (not his real name) would turn around and run back to his car to spend several more minutes frantically checking his car doors over and over.

I mean, what the actual fuck? Who does this?? And they tell me about it and laugh and laugh.

Years later, when I am diagnosed with ocd and tell them, she’s like, no you don’t. Because mine is internal, mostly, and she never listens to any voice but hers, how would she know? I didn’t until my doc pointed it out and I started researching ocd and was like, *THAT IS ME*

And then she wondered why I got mad when she insulted other people. Well, you know, when you pass judgement on others, you affect the way I judge myself. Frankly, I’m a lot better than the picture she paints. And I deserve better friends that aren’t racist, judgey asshats.


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