Today I was on Facebook. I looked at photos of one my cousins. She smiles the same way I do… And in each photo she looks cool. When I smile that way I look…weird.

Actually, in every photo I then looked at of myself on Facebook I looked odd. And I’ve never seen it until this morning. It’s in my eyes…

Once in college a “friend” told me, “You need to stop pretending life is happy. Just admit life sucks!” I was deeply hurt. She had no idea how strong I constantly had (and have) to be for myself.

I’m a unique person. Seriously. I don’t fit into most archetypes. Or possibly almost any… And…that’s the problem.

Yesterday I said that I wasn’t (and am not) cute. And that’s true… But I was raised by parents who continually reinforced the idea that I should be cute. Uber Scandinavian. Calm. Sooo calm. They taught me how to smile in a way that looks…weird on me.

People do hate me. They do… And I think part of why that is is because I’m constantly lying. I’m a total fake. A fraud. The thing is…it isn’t my fault. And ironically I’m a very honest person. To a fault, possibly.

But I’m not myself. I wasn’t allowed to be. Ever. Somehow I was lied to. By my parents and then by peers who follow a social order my parents and possibly my birth parents were and are brilliant enough to understand well. To use. If my father was born in the late 1800’s I was inculcated into a family because he (or my mom) wanted me to have a “normal life.” If my parents are my own it was because they’re not 100% good people and wanted to control me… Maybe both. Regardless, I’m fake because I was force fed lies. And I’m still a phony because people love to lie to me. It’s ripped brutally at my mental health since childhood.

Yes…I lie about myself because people have always lied to me and then doubled-down on their lies. Over and over and over. And because I’m so unique no one (living) has noticed any of it. I just seem…crazy, or stupid, or evil in some way people can’t figure out. “Why don’t you just admit life sucks?” because why do I always smile like I do? Why do I always seem so…weird.

I think the truth is that I’m not who you think I am. I’m extremely difficult. I’m kind but extraordinarily strong-willed. I’m good not innocent. And the smiles that look genuinely cute and attractive on my cousin make me look insane.

The lies people shove down my throat violently and have since birth make me feel crazy though too…not just look crazy. …Contradictory nonsense… I see someone looking sad and go to comfort them in empathy and then they rip my head off or tell me coldly they’re “fine.” Sometimes when I was little they’d confide in me…but as I’ve aged people have become resentful. Hateful. And it’s not just the changing world around us…

I’m sure people wonder why a pretty woman smiles the way I do. They can place the smile in their head. They get that part… A pretty women might smile that way. It brings up images of my cousin (or someone like her), so to speak. But…I’m not really like that and as people can sense my true nature underneath the smile freaks them out. Why do I look so angry?! Right? The thing is…I’m not angry. That’s just my real personality. *laugh* I’m not a jerk and I’m not masculine. Or stupid… Or not straight. *eye-roll* I’m…extremely difficult. Not disobedient either. Difficult… Not surly…. Genuinely, deeply challenging. Far from stupid… Too far.

“We’ve got to get her saved.” said my father about me when I was 2 years old or so. I was supposedly scaring them with how wild I seemed. At 2. …Saved being becoming “born-again.”

The thing is…if my father was born in the late 1800’s he was profoundly wild. Brilliant. Epically difficult. Handsome, kind, generous…but not an “easy person.” And…if that’s true…how my father who raised me missed how much I was like him baffles me. Was it just the nature vs. nurture argument back then? Was it just how people though nurture meant more than nature? We didn’t know nearly as much about genetics in the 1970’s and 80’s. We didn’t recognize how despite our free wills (or seeming free wills to some) we are quite predetermined in a way as well. “You’re so much like me!” the father who raised me would say over and over and over and over again. But…I’m not.

“You could kill someone. So could I.” the father who raised me told me once in deep seriousness and sincerity when I was a young teenager. I was disturbed by it. I knew I probably could…but I certainly had absolutely no desire to. At all. It was a wellspring within me I subconsciously knew I could tap into should it be necessary but why would I?! Good God. How odd… He troubled me. Why did he feel like killing people? Or what exactly was he trying to tell me?! Highly disturbing…

…Was I just raised by controlling parents who are wildly different than me or was I misshapen by, at least sometimes, well intentioned people? Did they bind my soul and contort my face? Did they blind me? Did they semi accidentally brainwash me into a contrived stupidity that’s beyond baffling for most to discern? I’m unsettling.

Wedding Bell

I am a misunderstood person. And it’d be hilarious if it didn’t hurt people who stupidly misjudge me to sometimes heartbreaking degrees.

But modern people, in general, are so much more idiotic than previously assumed for decades…

“You’re a no nonsense person!” said the father who raised me. He was trying to describe me. Pathetically… The thing is, I don’t like lies. But it’s not that I’m a “no nonsense person” as it’s often meant…

“You’re so cute!” “Aww. You want to be President! So cute! Like, if a guy said that I’d think he was just an asshole but coming from a girl (subtext: like you) it’s kinda cute.”

Why do people think they’ll get away with their weak, utterly disappointing pretensions to decency forever?

I’m a woman and always have been… I’m extremely feminine. I’m cis. I’m a heterosexual. But I’m scary… Not evil, because I choose not to be. But I’m not cute. Really.

It could be genetic. Truly… *laugh* My kids are kinder, stronger and more decent than most kids their age probably. But I’m hopefully wrong. Hopefully they’ll find people to play with who won’t fall apart and make fools of themselves before my kids reach adulthood.

The thing is…I bluff because I’m funny. I’m a carefree, liberated gal. But I don’t necessarily really bluff.

One of the saddest mistakes ever made in regard to misunderstanding me was when I reminded someone of Marilyn Monroe a few years ago. They thought I could actually be her reincarnated… Frankly, I can’t think of a bigger insult to her… And it probably tops the charts, so to speak, as far as insults go for me as well. We’re both seemingly Scandinavian in genetic heritage. I’m not sure there are many other real similarities between us though. “I could see your name being Marilyn.” said the father who raised me when I was in middle school and I told him that I hated the name Karrie. It grated at my soul even then… Around that time, “I almost named you Ingrid. I also thought of Sarah, but everyone was naming their daughter Sarah.” said the mother who raised me and also named me. She also gave me a middle name that was the first name of my oldest female cousin on that side… It suits my cousin so well. So there was nothing left but Karrie. A name with no nicknames… A name I hate for myself.

My first name is legally Karrie. But my name is Lacey…

“There’s only one man you were created for and you need to pray that you end up with him!” said an 80 something year old man at dinner once with my family. The older man was considered rather important at a religious college nearby. He was in my parent’s extended social circle. He was handsome and had aged well. Been a fighter pilot during World War II. Possibly a physician or was it professor? I don’t recall. He’d gotten married and had a family… Had a happy enough life.

But so far…at almost 40 no such luck. At least not with the living. What a set-up if the joke is my existence. But I don’t think God created me just to laugh at me and other human beings.

“I could never cheat.” said my first serious boyfriend. We sat on his bed talking just outside of Washington D. C. as he very proudly interned there at an important libertarian political think tank. “I have to shave everyday and I couldn’t look myself in the mirror if I did. I couldn’t stand to look at myself.” “Are you sure?” I asked sincerely. “No, there’s no one else.” And…I’m pretty sure…he lied…because there was someone else. I don’t think he was really just her friend at that point and then magically developed powerful feelings for her out of nowhere only once we broke-up… No. …They’ve been married for years. Probably have kids. Probably are happy enough…

No, he lied because he could look himself in the mirror if he cheated but he couldn’t handle how scared he was of me. I scared him and he was too egotistical to be honest with himself about that. Instead he pathetically needed to crush my spirit and soul to feel less embarrassed about being the man between the two of us. Some men like him kill out of embarrassment. Thank God he wasn’t that much of a liar. *smile* Poor coddled, entitled, sheltered, spoiled, weak, semi-heartless, sexually dishonest fool. I hope he’s grown since then… Sincerely. It’s possible he still thinks he’s ultimately magically right about everything or would weakly resort to violence to convince whoever he could.

Many of my so-called friends took his side too. “There’s nothing good that can come from her knowing.” said one particularly toxic, jealous and bitter “friend.”

“Why don’t you just do things?” he asked me. “You need to be more confident!” he patronizingly advised me. You know…be a (so-called) feminist and cool stuff like that.

A day before that I saw two likely gay men at the art museum we had toured. They stood together admiring the art, but then noticed me. I had dyed my hair dark, was wearing a chartreuse vintage 60’s handbag and a green jewel toned t-shirt. I looked great… And my then boyfriend of course never bothered to say much about it. But these two men noticed and commented to each other in front of me. It wasn’t an insult they were saying to each other either but an approval.

Men are often greedy with me. Self-protecting and while often obviously aroused generally spiritually impotent. Those alive, at least, seemingly would often rather let me parent or protect them. It’s incredibly lonely.

But what about doing what I want? What I wanted to do was join those two gay men. And I think if I’d just stood there long enough they’d possibly have talked with me. Maybe it would have been fun to actually enjoy the art that day instead of rushing around because my ex was actually bored and just trying to appreciate it to improve himself. Even if they didn’t talk to me…ultimately putting myself in that spot would have altered things for the better. I wouldn’t have given one iota about my then boyfriend becoming my ex the next day. Or the ugly lies he coldly, cruelly fed me while I trusted him as a person. Because then he would have lost me on my own terms and as more of an equal and not as the dirty, filthy, thieving, conniving, heartless cheat he was. But I was loyal because I wanted to be a good person and I wanted to be faithful. And God knows that… He does. *wink*