I will piss on your grave - and other stories of love

So, every time I need to explain something, it has been pointed out to me that I do it in stories. It's how I roll, and the people close to me, we do the same thing. I know love when it comes out in a rant, it's how I find my people. Endless rants and stories that tumble out into a narrative of love and learning.

This week has been hectic. Actually, this month has been hectic, but brewing in the background something pretty sinister has been going on. Some of you have seen the shit fights break out on my Facebook pages. I don't heaps want to delve into it, I'm not into public shaming, but I want to make it very clear I'm pretty over it. It got out of hand the moment the harassment started in private messages. It's one thing to post it on my wall, it's another to start getting weird away from public view.

Some would say the hate is a reason to start changing my actions.

Others... well...

… here's the thing. You may not like me. You may follow my personal pages for reasons I don't entirely understand.

I want to share a story though, one I have taken with me through my whole life, this isn't for the haters, this is for those who go through similar shit to what I do. I will never impress any haters, it's not my job to. It's my job simply to connect to those who want to connect and to listen to them in return. Sometimes we disagree, but that's a side effect. 

I was that "troubled" kid, the one kicked out of home at various times for various reasons, the one that had absolute no fear in telling people to "go fuck yourself" - I was kind of intense and hard to handle... heck I still am. I took no shit.

One of the times I was kicked out of home I ended up at the house of some friends of the family. It's worth noting, if anyone was going to educate me on being a fucking badass it was going to be a lesbian police woman and her wife. She was everything you can picture a lesbian police woman to be. She had seen more than I could imagine. This tiny green haired girl wasn't anything she hadn't seen before. She took every curse word, every weird story, everything I said in her stride.

Why was I at her house? Well, a story I don't tell often is the one where I got pretty heavily bullied on my walk home from school for being – well a lot of different things but the main one was a lesbian. By definition there isn't a fucking thing wrong with being a lesbian (and you are an asshole if you think otherwise), and the truth of the matter was that I wasn't entirely straight but I wasn't a lesbian either. They had been picking on me for months and this story had to come to an end. The poor girls didn't know what they were getting into the moment one of them spat at me and began pulling my hair. I was admittedly tiny, but a freaking scrappy little thing who wasn't afraid of two school girls. I came out of it reasonably okay, but it completely paralysed me emotionally. One of them had a bloody nose and the other ran screaming up the street.

How the FUCK could I justify myself as a good person by the end of that day? Both girls ran away crying telling me I was a fucking monster. I felt like I was growing up into some sort of circus freak. Is this my life? If I choose to walk the path of resistance will I always face this shit? Will I always have to physically defend myself for things I both was and was not all at once?

The police woman was pretty used to picking my ass up from school when things went badly. She bundled me into the car and with the kindest gentlest demeanour she could possibly muster (she was a hard ass) she asked

"Whats up today Greenslade?"

We went home in the car in silence and I remember barricading myself up in the spare bedroom crying my eyes out wondering how the fuck to get through the school year. She quietly knocked on the door and sat on the end of my bed.

"Kid, what's going on?"

There was silence

"Oi, kid you know I can help you"

"I know..."

"Out with it"... and with that, the weight of the world came piling out, filling the room with tales of hair pulling and chewing gum being spat at me. Of being followed home daily and having rocks thrown at my head, the bruises down my back like scales. Of being picked on for looking different, for my mum being a “whore” because she was a single mum who just so happened to date someone (the horror!), I was picked on for my dad leaving to another state (He must hate you! - He loved me very much), I was shredded for all the things they couldn't understand about my life.

I could never be enough to impress those girls.

If only I was different. If only I could be straighter, prettier, less into weird music and odd clothes. But that wasn't my jam. I knew it. I was pissed off about it. Pissed off or the circumstances I was born in.

The woman took a deep breath. She listened to every word. When finally she pulled a tissue out and put it in my hand.

"You have snot bubbles on your face"

We giggled, the waves of emotions changing from a shit storm to calm as I cleaned away tears and snot. It was the first smile I had cracked in days.

"Kid, when people ask you to dance, you fucking dance. do you hear me?"

"You fight back do you hear me?"
“Even your parents”
"You're a tough little shit and you know it. Use it okay? You fought back. You did what the fuck you had to do"

"Okay but..."

"No! listen to me. This bullshit that people hate you for and give you shit for now? They will love you for it one day. They will fight along side you one day, do you understand me? You just have to keep being you and that's going to suck for a really long time. They are gonna say some shit about you and hurt you. But you will find other messy little freaks with weird hair, who got picked on in high school but went on to be super fucking cool and you will fucking love the hell out of them and they will love you okay?"


"You know how I know that?"


"Well, I have a pretty amazing wife don't I?"

"Yeah you do" I laughed. It's true, her wife was one of my favourite people in this world.

She went quiet for a bit.

"Can you hold on for me? I need to see you grown up"


"Okay. Promise?"

"I fucking have to promise, don't I? Or you will kick my ass in heaven"

"Kid we don't believe in heaven, fuck that, I'll piss on your grave instead"

So... I guess nearly 15 years later here I am. Holding on so some woman won't piss on my grave. A messy coloured haired freak with a bunch of other messy coloured haired freaks (And not so coloured haired freaks and people who are by social standards pretty normal) who love her. The best part? Loving all those who support me in return is pretty easy. You all just rant and share stories too. You hear me and I do my best to hear you.

We are doing our best, but the thing that comes with visibility is more of the haters come on in, but the haters are joined by more magical messy humans... more people chanting over and over again

“See me”
“Understand me”
“Get me”

And we do don't we?

Fuck you are excellent. Fuck you are loved and cherished for being ranty angry people full of life and opinions who get angry for all the right reasons. 

I had a human teach me about anger recently. I struggle with it, I hate confrontation even if I am well capable of it. They told me that loving anger is perfect. The kind of anger that stands up for its people because it wants to make the world a better place, that's a pretty beautiful anger. They modeled it to me by standing up for me through some pretty weird shit. I saw it in action and thought it was magical. It reminded me of my sister, political, blunt and full of fire, it reminded me of my best friend and her loves, the fight they put up for each other every day in a world that doesn't see them. 

And fuck I'm angry this week. I think we all are pretty angry in some way aren't we?  

So to my broken bloodied, bruised, fucked up, angry, messy weirdos...

...Thank you for proving a ranty police woman right...

...In honour of her, lets keep holding on.

If we let go, lets agree to lovingly piss on each other's graves...

Someone needs to hold us accountable. We need something to keep us going...