To My Faithful Followers-
Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of my first public blog post on “Confessions of a Banshee.” Consequently it also marks the one year anniversary of a very bad date. This date was so tragic that it made my list of top three worst dates ever. This is no small feat; my collective romantic history is the chlamydia-riddled progeny of a comic book, a horror story and a Greek tragedy ménage a trois.
My no good, very bad date was with The Guy Who Wanted to Wear My Skin. He joined ranks with The Guy Who Did Not Believe the Holocaust Happened and The Guy Who Sent Me a Dick Pic from the Restaurant Bathroom.
I started to blog because I knew that I was not the only pretty-fucking-awesome-almost-30-year-old that went on tragic dates with idiots, asshats and douchebags. I knew I was not the only gal that had been disappointed by a super nice guy with a super small penis.
I continue to write because I know my heart is not the only one that has been broken. I continue to write because I am not the only social worker that walks a thin line between passion and burnout. I continue to write because I am not the only person who struggles with depression, anxiety, insecurity, my weight and my self-worth. I write because I am not the only local that cares deeply about Colorado.
Over the past year I wrote about my hair color, my thyroid, my heart and my pacemaker. I wrote about kindergarten and football and scotch. I wrote about my father and my grandfather and my therapist. I wrote about vibrators and takeout and self-compassion. I wrote about forgiveness and socks and empathy. I wrote about soulmates and sexually transmitted disease. I wrote about my dog. I wrote about schizophrenia, the suicide hotline, heroin and homelessness. I wrote about marijuana, sunflower fields, rejection, gratitude and death. I wrote about narcissists and milkshakes and lemons. I wrote about the paleo lifestyle, gluten and birth control. I wrote about white privilege and Yom Kippur. I wrote about friendship. I wrote about traffic. I wrote a short story, an adult bedtime tale and my own obituary.
I even fucking wrote about Billy Joel.
I wrote 99 of these damn blogs and published seven columns.
I wrote, and you, you beautiful and brilliant people, read. Thank you.
Thank you for your time, your energy and your kind words. Thank you for sharing your love, for your support, for your unique perspectives and experiences. Thank you for reading, thank you for rocking. Thank you for showing up for me when my blogs show up in your inbox.
I will continue to write as long as you continue to read because I know my vagina is not the only vagina responsible for accidentally getting its attached body stoned.
Okay, so maybe I am still all alone on that one.
Thank you with love and deep gratitude, from the bottom of my heart, for supporting this brash bionic Banshee blogger.