I Refuse to be the Token Fat Chick to your Basic Bitch

I have perpetuated the same toxic friendship pattern since middle school, but in my adulthood this cycle has become debilitating. In my 20's, I came out as bisexual and for my straight gal pals, being in a same sex relationship and chubby made me an easy target for toxic friendships. Looking back, I now see that it was mainly due to two things: 1) I was still insatiably trying to become friends with "the cool girls" and therefore eager to please and 2) I was non-threatening to these straight girls. I wasn't going to steal their boyfriends, I was the Rebel Wilson and Melissa McCarthy to their Anna Kendrick and Sandra Bullock. I was "the funny one", provided comic relief from the chaos of their lives. Because I was in serious and long term relationships, I think I was viewed as a non-sexual being. Less than human. A side kick. Especially since my sex life typically involved other women, my straight gal pals didn't want to include me in loose talk. There is a formula to these women that I have uncovered and I apologize in advance if this describes you. This is not a judgment, I promise, merely an observation. 

The formula looks like this:

1. Straight Cis Female

2. Around my age, but maybe 5-7 years younger

3. Serial dater, but falls in love with every man they date no matter how little they know him or how much time they have spent with him

4. Has had a few long term relationships, but routinely cheats on them all in the name of finding love

5. BUT is constantly worried she is being cheated on and checking his emails and texts are commonplace, even accepted as "this is what it's like to date me"

6. Is above average on the attractiveness scale and puts a lot of time into looks; spending money they don't have on blow outs, make up, clothes, but can barely pay rent or buy groceries...

7. Which leads to their beau of the moment being a semi-sugar daddy, picking up the rent because she spent $150 on a mani/pedi (further justifying the cheating "You know I don't LOVE Tom, but he's paying my car insurance right now so I can't break up with him yet, plus I'm pretty sure Derek is the one...")

8. She tolerates (and I use that word loosely) my lack of style, even though she secretly wishes she had the confidence to go to a bar in flannel pj pants and a ripped tank top

9. She attempts to "make me over" at first casually suggesting "Wouldn't it be fun if we straightened your hair?!" to less subtle "That shirt is fucking hideous!" (justifying the last statement as "The Cosmo talking!")

10. She uses me as her wing woman in bars because she believes I am too gay, too chubby, or too fucking hideous to attract attention for myself

11. And last, but absolutely not the least, she uses me as her own personal therapist. I am who she calls for every drama, from small to catastrophic (which are one in the same to her). She insists on my feedback for every decision she makes. She consults with me on matters of career choice, boyfriend, mom drama. And this-THIS-is where she gets me. That teenage girl who still lives inside me, the one who wore Enya tee shirts in middle school and mismatched socks on purpose, is thrilled at the idea of one of the beautiful people giving me attention. One of the beautiful people calling for my advice. I seem important to her. I get nicknames and labeled "best friend." I spend vacations with her and have the sleepovers in my 20's I always wanted as a kid. I get to escape my life through her drama. It's like watching a live version of Scandal, I seemingly get all the benefits without any of the risks. 

This woman is not as superficial as she may sound. She is typically college educated with career aspirations, BUT her main goal *right now* is to find a man and have kids. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that goal. I am all about choice and following your heart and if your dream is to be married and have a family-go for it. No shade, honest. What this post is addressing is the way these women have treated me and I'm going to guess many of you. Treated like we are commodities. Like we have nothing better in our lives than to help them navigate their every decision. And this is where the revelation comes in, usually about 6 months to 1 year into the friendship: This woman could not give two fucking shits about my life. These thoughts start occurring to me: She never asks how I'm doing and when she does, there's no follow up the next time we talk. She spends HOURS on the phone talking about her relationship, but when I get to talk about mine, she has to hang up within 10 minutes. She asks me for my advice an awful lot but doesn't seem to heed any of it. She continues to ask me to join her for things she knows I'm not interested in (hot yoga, getting our hair styled, clothes shopping) but won't even consider doing things I enjoy. We used to talk all the time, now she only texts when she's having boy drama. Where is this friendship going? Why do I feel worse after being around her instead of better?

Why indeed.

Friendships should be re-energizing and empowering, not depleting and exhausting. You should feel lifted up being around your "best friends" not feeling fat or unworthy. You shouldn't feel honored to be graced with a phone call from her, you should feel like you are on an equal playing field.

Now, this is where I acknowledge my role and responsibility in the friendship dynamic. I perpetuated this pattern because I began the friendship feeling less than and I put that energy out there. I didn't set boundaries or assert myself, because I felt "lucky" to even have one of the beautiful people paying attention to me. Because my self-esteem was so low, I didn't feel I deserved to be treated as an equal in a friendship. I also form bonds fairly quickly with people and most times these friendships are spawned from a working relationship. If you spend 8+ hours a day with someone, you tend to have a connection with her. You "get" each other's daily struggles and plights. You bond over the inconsistencies of your work environment, the annoying and boring staff meetings. But, once that work relationship ceases to exist, there is little common ground to keep the friendship going. I end up realizing fairly quickly how little I had in common with this individual. Aside from work, what did we have? Not a whole lot. 

It's a hard pill to swallow coming to terms with your "best friend" essentially being a stranger, someone who doesn't really understand or know you. It's hard realizing the amount of time, effort, and energy you put into the friendship wasn't reciprocated and you begin to question your own judgment and ask yourself How did I get myself into this? And once you have these insights, it's never as easy as ending the friendship. Female friendships and their complex dynamic have been written about ad nauseum. It's expected, almost, to keep up the image of a friendship even when you're heart's not in it anymore. And social media keeps up appearances far longer than the friend feelings. So how do we make peace with the assumption that girl friends are supposed to exist indefinitely even when the friend feelings have faded? How does one confront the end of friend feelings and break up with a friend in a kind and honest way?

The Anatomy of a Holiday As Told By a Highly Sensitive & Anxious Empath

"You ruin every holiday and special day, Melissa."

This is a sentiment I have heard repeatedly since I was a child and something I have, unfortunately, decided to take into adulthood and namely into every relationship. "The Holidays"-that time between Halloween and New Year's Day-are my favorite time of year. I have always loved spooky things and scary movies, my birthday is the day after Halloween. Thanksgiving has always been an opportunity for my binge eating disorder to shine full force without having to hide and Christmas-well shit, Christmas is just magical. I hated school as a child and looking back I can clearly see it was due to my raging anxiety disorder and people pleasing that didn't work on 3rd graders who thought I was teacher's pet (I was) and trying too hard to be their friend (I was). So, having more than a week off was a bonus to the already magical time of year. And even as a child I made New Year's resolutions. I was 8-years-old and vowed "to lose weight and be a better friend." Not much has changed in 30 years...

It's not an accident this post comes the week of Thanksgiving, because I am burdened with dread that I will ruin the day. To be clear, I'm not planning to, I never do. It's not premeditated. It's not for attention (despite what some family members and ex-lovers think), it is a direct result of my own pressure and outrageous expectations, people pleasing, over-stimulation, and over-peopling. I want to be perfect-the perfect girlfriend, the perfect host, the perfect example of "The Holidays." It makes sense that most of my favorite holiday movies center around everything going wrong (National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation; Home for the Holidays), because they make me feel less alone.

The overwhelm of the upcoming week is creating a pressure cooker in my mind, shoulders, and chest. My breathing shallows and I realize I have been hunching my back for hours. I'm exhausted and shutting down emotionally. I'm in isolation mode which doesn't make for a gracious hostess. So I will likely overcompensate on the day in the hopes no one can see I'm a shell of a human and just trying to "get through." Then the guilt about all of this self-focus comes into play like a professional athlete who never gets the ball. The guilt will be my demise as it renders me useless and incompetent. The guilt will cause me to second guess simple tasks, leaving my partner to either pick up my slack or explain to me how to measure flour, with the patience of a goddamn saint. There's even the guilt of me writing this, acknowledging how self-absorbed my mental illness makes me. The irony of having mental illness and being a therapist is I am constantly aware of what my mental illness is doing to me and the people around me. It's a hell I can rarely escape, save for sleeping and binge eating.

I have been working on being less self-focused, attempting to unburden myself from hanging onto disappointment and resentment that perpetuates a victim mentality that is ugly and characteristic of people in my life I don't respect. But my mental illness demands constant vigilance and awareness or I risk having a savage meltdown, complete with tears and hyperventilating. Thus proving the theory right: Melissa ruins every special day.

My questions: how do I acknowledge and care for my mental illness without letting it dictate my life and the lives around me? How do I know when I need a break or when I'm being rude and anti-social? How do I know when I've pushed myself too far before it's too late? And most importantly, how do I survive the holidays without "ruining them" but while also being authentic and honest and real?

For now, all I have to say is:

Three Sentence Stories

These are TRUE stories from my life I have reduced to three lines. Names have not been mentioned to protect...those in need of protection. No ill will is meant, just a fun peek into some random experiences in my life. I was inspired by the infamous two-lined horror stories my co-workers and I read on break. Nothing but love.

1. As I was walking to work one morning, a woman called to me from her porch and asked if I could give her some money. I called back, "Sorry! I'm poor, too, that's why I'm walking to work." The woman answered, "Damn. Good point. Have a good day."

2. I pulled up to a car wash one night to get quarters from the change machine to do laundry. A woman approached my car and proceeded to tell me what she described as a "very sad story" about her and her children being hungry and did I have any money to spare? When I said I spent my last $10 on quarters for laundry and had nothing to spare, she then asked if I had (or if I knew anyone who had) Percocets...I drove away.

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3. After having lost 10 lbs on my new anti-anxiety medication, I decided to walk downtown and treat myself to ice cream. It was a beautiful summer day as I walked, enjoying my ice cream, with my headphones on yet no music playing because my iPod had died. A man at a bus stop shouted to me (probably thinking I couldn't hear), "Hey! Better watch those pounds eating that ice cream!" to which EVERYONE at the bus stop laughed...I was 20 lbs. lighter than I am now.

4. I once fell in and out of love in one evening when a friend of mine and I decided to go clubbing and he brought his absolutely beautiful best friend with him. Our bodies immediately connected on the dance floor, both of us instinctively moving to the music in perfect harmony, as Rihanna's "Please Don't Stop The Music" played-a song that flawlessly described our meeting. We ended the evening with an intense kiss and I never saw him again. (This happened on the same day as #3)

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5. I once offered to give back some of my Christmas gifts to a significant other to make up for the fact that she didn't get everything on her Christmas list from me. My gifts from her were paid for with my credit card. She did not hesitant to take back some of my gifts.

6. In one night, I consumed 15 (I'm not exaggerating, this might actually be a conservative estimate) white Russians after being inspired by The Big Lebowski. The parts I remember after the drinking include participating in a human pyramid in a bar, getting kicked out of said bar, cartwheeling (unsuccessfully) down the street and landing on my ass SEVERAL times. The last thing I remember is a friend finding me blacked out next to the toilet, him undressing me and putting me in the shower while slapping my face and screaming not to fall back to sleep...the next morning he told me never to do that again.

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7. One night, one of my best friends and I went to New York City to see OneRepublic play at Bowery Ballroom right before their hit single "Stop and Stare" went mainstream. We got extremely drunk and decided to hang out with the opening band, who wanted to eat Chinese food in Chinatown. After ordering a shit ton of food and leaving the band with the bill, we drunkenly attempted to find our way back to Grand Central by foot and subway (literally the beginning of a Law & Order episode), but made it back to New Haven by 5am when I had an all day Saturday graduate class at 8am.

8. One day, another best friend and I decided to spend the day in New York City-she meeting a guy friend she had become interested in, I there for moral support and to keep the guy friend's male bestie company. The four of us had such an amazing day together we didn't want it to end, so the guys paid for us to get hotel rooms-my friend and her love interest in one room, male bestie and I in another. We went out to dinner and ended the night as the only white people in a reggae bar, afterwards we took a cab back to the hotel where I have a clear memory of me singing every word to "Dick in a Box." (The male bestie did not take advantage of me, even though I awoke with regret that we hadn't hooked up...see #9)

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9. A few weeks later, the previously mentioned male bestie was passing through town and needed a place to crash. Without hesitation, I offered him my humble New Haven apartment and he showed up a little past midnight. I chattered nervously for an hour straight until he grabbed me and kissed me...and that was the first time I had sex with a man.

10. In 2007, I wanted to participate in the New York City Gay Pride Parade and when I couldn't find anyone to go with me, I decided at the last minute to go by myself. I spent my last $30 on a round trip train ticket to NYC and assumed I could show up the morning of and march in the parade, but found out I had to be registered with an organization. I, then, found a group of people not dressed in uniforms and stood with them until someone handed me a sign and I had been marching with the organization for 10 minutes before I realized I was with the New York City Council and Mayor Bloomberg was an arm's reach away from me. (I got to ride the subway for free all day because of my participation in the parade.)

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~Melissa

I Need Noise...

I am an "aholic". An addict. A Junkie. I have often mused (as un-funny as it is) if I ever tried heroin, I would be dead in a week. My compulsions are epic and beautiful and amazing. Also terrible and frightening and isolating. I've abused and over-used alcohol, food, sex, people, TV, love, sleep, and exercise. But I'm MOST addicted to beginnings and endings. I love starting over-the fresh, new page of a new day, month, year, job, move, relationship. I love the promise of tomorrow and the adrenaline rush list making, goal setting, and vision boards trigger. But, I also love endings.

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I love cleaning house and cutting ties. I love trimming the fat from my emotional diet and creating a minimalist state for me to exist in. I love deleting old contacts from my phone and ripping old pages out of my journals. I love to feel cleansed, purged. This obsession has created in me a binge-purge cycle in my emotional life. I get really into something (or someONE) and I'm all about it. I proselytize and attempt to convert any and everyone I meet to agree with me on this amazing new find. I distract myself with this binge for as long as it takes before reality sets in and the purge compulsion surfaces.

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Some striking examples in my life are my 7 month stint in a cult when I was 18, many of my relationships, some friendships, diet and exercise fads, songs, TV shows, and most recently the search for a place to call home.

The common thread is the need to be doing, evolving, achieving, and progressing at all times. Which is not, in its purest form, a bad thing. But, I fear, I often get involved in these projects to distract me from the thing that most needs purging: the obsessive, overthinking, highly sensitive thought patterns I have called normal my entire life.

The static that is buzzing at all hours of the day, despite exhaustion and need for mental rest. The humming in the back of my brain akin to an electronic device left on all night. I believe that is why I am shamelessly obsessed with the song "Blood in the Cut" by K. Flay, because the lyrics "take my car and paint it black/take my arm, break it in half/say something, do it soon/it's too quiet in this room/I need noise" speak to a deep and (let's call a spade a spade) troubling part of my psyche.

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As I recently texted a friend, I have beginnings and endings down pat, it's the middle-the maintenance-that is difficult. Her response was apt: "Maintenance is boring." And it is. That is probably why I have been spectacular at beginning and ending relationships-maintaining a fun, exciting, sincere, and serious relationship with one person seems daunting and unattainable. Especially with all the distractions we have now. TV, movies, texting, every form of social media known to personkind, including dating apps where a dissatisfied partner could potentially spend less than 15 minutes creating an online profile and start talking to a newer and (hopefully) better person. There is even a fellow blogger devoted to revealing what cheating partners are up to on Cheating Husband Apps. 

As a married friend and I have discussed, our generation (1981 babies) and younger seem enamored with the illusion and appearance of happy relationships via social media, movies, TV, etc. I can relate-I am often STILL moved to major life decisions based on movies and songs. It's not an easy thing to admit, but being a 90's kid where cable TV was available and romantic comedies ran on a loop every weekend, it makes sense that is how I established my core values in relationships.

My go-to movies are divided into two categories: teen romances and the "damsel in distress." I'm still a sucker for both. As much as it pains me, as a feminist, to admit this: I love and loved the classic story of a woman being swept off her feet by some beautiful, charming, and (of course) sensitive man and "rescued." My body is recoiling at me even writing these words, but truth is truth. I'm less gullible now, but in my formative years? Holy fucking shit. 💖

I thought that's how life and love worked. You suffered, you met some incredible human being, they fixed every problem in your life (down to wardrobe), and you lived happily ever after. No discussion on what happens in the absence of conflict, how one maintains a relationship through the everyday monotony of life. So, in my naive mind, conflict that tested love was essential in relationships. Therefore, in the absence of said conflict, I felt the need to create some to prove to myself and my partner just how much we could overcome. And boy did I!

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Luckily, I have outgrown creating drama, but the craving for it still pervades. The absence of it suggesting there is *something missing* when really it's just life being life. Most of it is uneventful bullshit we have to muck through to get to the fun stuff, which (hopefully) does not get thwarted by someone else's drama addiction.

So, instead of longing for a person or relationship to fix this merry-go-round I have been on for 20+ years, I am creating my own happiness, fun, and excitement and hoping to find someone who thinks outside the box enough to want to jump on, instead of expecting me to jump off.

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~Melissa

*Title credit song "Blood In The Cut" by K. Flay in 2016 (Because I'm STILL obsessed with it!)

Guess I'm Contagious It'd Be Safest If You Ran

Relationships. Fuck me. I can't, in good conscience, go into 2017 without addressing them. I am an unlikely (and not at all proud) heart breaker. I have collected quite a few hearts over the years and I hate myself for it. There's not much else that haunts me the way my relationship history does. I oscillate between deep, unrelenting shame and indifference-the latter I'm certain is only there as a reprieve from the former. But, like an abuser is often a victim of abuse, this heart breaker is a highly sensitive empath whose heart was broken one too many times and has resigned to her fate.

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At least that was my thought in 2016 and now I'm like FUCK THAT. Maybe my relationship style is unique, but I want to fall in love and I plan to. As many times as it takes. I want to find someone I connect with on every level and know them intimately, beyond bed sheets and candles. A kind of harmony I have yet to experience fully. I've come awful close and then one (or both) of us feels rejected or hurt (life) and builds walls. I'm usually so aggressive I end up banging on said walls, only making them harder to perforate. I'm like a goddamn Miley Cyrus.

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Then, I graduate to passive aggression, sometimes within the course of the relationship, sometimes it's just my MO out of the gate. Passive aggression is bad. It's one step up from giving up. At least, that's been my experience. If you catch me being passive aggressive...

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No good. I'm starting to mentally shut down when that happens. I'm now just appeasing you and quietly planning the inevitable: leaving. Because I seem to be addicted to changing myself, relationships become unfortunate collateral damage. Some relationships, unbeknownst to me, are only transitory and those are the hardest on me. Because I have usually been "working on myself" and feel healthy in ways I hadn't before, I feel confident in starting a relationship. But, very soon in I find myself restless, dissatisfied, and itching to leave-through zero fault of my counterpart. In fact, this person may be "perfect" and have done everything right. It's just timing. And it fucking sucks. These break-ups are the most inexplicable. Leaving both (definitely me) reeling and confused. I thought I was better than this. I thought I was a grown up now. I thought this is what I wanted! my mind would scream. That may be true, but it doesn't mean it was right.

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I am a master self-saboteur because I have been gutted and demolished by relationships-romantic and otherwise. My high sensitivity makes it hard to bear the thought of that happening again. Therefore, at the smallest sign of a problem I freak out. Inwardly and quietly...at first. It doesn't take long for my inner world to seep out of my mouth and alert friends and partners of my insecurities. And NOTHING is hotter or sexier than insecurity...

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Once I start to feel insecure, it's hard to reign it in and the very things I fear (my partner falling out of love with me, finding someone else, and cheating on me) happen. And it's happened enough to where I almost expect it...eventually. Which is why I have considered (and still do from time to time) polyamory. But another blog for another time...

So, to avoid the unsexy insecurities and seemingly inevitable broken heart, I jump ship. I find a reason to leave and I do. And, truth be told, at first it's empowering. Probably because I have felt so disempowered in relationships, either from my loads of baggage I'm bringing in, the way I'm treated in the relationship, or a beautiful disaster called all the above. As time wears on, I feel regret, disgust, loss, grief; sometimes months or years after the fact, since I have become a ninja at suppressing my feelings.

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Alas, this is my record, my history, my narrative. It's ugly and beautiful, all at once. Same goes for relationships and, for that matter, life. I've seen the ugly, caused a lot of it myself, but I've seen the beautiful as well. And fuck if the beautiful isn't worth all the ugly.

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~Melissa

*Title credit song "Blood In The Cut" by K. Flay in 2016 (Because I'm obsessed with it!)

It's Too Quiet In This Room...

So, I spent today just as planned. I bought and prepared all my healthy food for the week (even though the lying liars at Whole Foods were NOT open at 9:00!). I put my laptop away and set my timer when playing online games. I went for a walk in the rain. I started reading a new book. Even though 2017 started as planned and I am in good spirits, there is a sadness. A sadness at another year ending. It makes me think about mortality, endings, regrets. It's inevitable to go down that road, the difference is instead of fighting it I am embracing these feelings and labeling them as appropriate. Rarely in my life have I allowed myself to believe my feelings are appropriate. Nice job, Melissa.

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2016 was far better, for me, than 2015. I achieved what I set out to: regroup, build my self-confidence, and gain a better understanding of my self-worth. I met some amazing people many of whom I suspect will be lifelong friends. I've also unintentionally hurt some people and those are some of the regrets I woefully carry with me into 2017. Because that's how life works. You leave as much of the past as you can, but baggage is what it is. You can't realistically leave everything behind, unless you want to forfeit the beautiful memories, too. I want all of them-even the painful ones.

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I'm also ready to take 2017 by the balls and tell him to follow my lead. I'm on fire-the Alicia Keys way not red, hot, burning ouchies way. I am motivated, focused, determined, and downright fucking zen, man. I don't know where this pizzazz is coming from but I'm not arguing. I'm not going to do what I have done in the past in a New Year's post and bullet point all the things I learned in 2016 and all the things I plan to do in 2017. You'll find out soon enough and there aren't enough surprises left in this world. I'm holding onto this for a bit. But suffice it to say, it's epic. This year will be no different than any other year unless I (or you) make it different. That is a fact. Wtf, my new Fitbit talks to me?! Gives me directives?? I love this! It just "told" me to walk 244 steps in the next 10 min. Amazing...

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But I digress...

I am embracing my weird and letting my freak flag fly. Some of you must be thinking how much more "freak" do I have to wave, but I hold back more than people think. I feel myself becoming hyper and I quiet myself. I feel myself become emotional and I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from crying. I feel myself start to worry and outwardly portray someone who is cool, calm, and collected. I have pride in those moments when I am genuinely cool, calm, and collected; sensitive; or spazzy, but I don't want to fabricate these feelings any longer and, more importantly, I don't want to dull them either. I have felt the light in my eyes go out and it's a horrifying feeling. To feel yourself becoming numb, succumbing to the dissatisfaction as a normal part of living is the antithesis of living. So, to that light in my eye that wavers and considers going out completely, I say:

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I'm intrigued and hopeful as 2017 commences. We shall see what this sexy beast has in store for us. I, for one, am ready. Are you?

~Melissa

*Title credit song: "Blood In The Cut" by K. Flay in 2016

NYC Pride Flashback circa 2007

Happy Pride Weekend!

I know June is LGBTQIA+ Pride Month for most of the country, but being a Northeasterner at heart, the last weekend in June has always been reserved for "The Pride Event": New York City Pride Parade.

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Being out since 2004, I had always imagined myself walking in the NYC Pride Parade. My fantasy revolved around images I had accumulated from movies, books, and music videos. You know the ones-stereotypical depictions of butch lesbians on motorcycles and scantily clad gay men waving rainbow flags-I wanted to be in the thick of it!

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Unfortunately, I could not manage to scoop up any willing participants on this excursion, so come Sunday morning I headed to the New Haven train station by my lonesome. Destination: Grand Central. I am definitely someone who can "pass" and my attire reflected that as well. En route to NYC, I looked like a typical college student heading to The City for the day. I was equipped with a bagel and coffee, very little money (in fact JUST enough for my round trip train ticket and a $5 meal in New York), and a spunky attitude!

Being cognizant of the mayhem that would soon ensue, I arrived VERY early. So early, in fact, the volunteers were still setting up the event. That is when I first noticed the traffic barricades blocking off the sidewalk...and when it dawned on me that most people don't assume they can just show up to one of the largest pride events in the world and expect to just simply MARCH with the parade. But, then again, I'm not most people. 

I casually usurped the barricades and starting walking up 7th Ave, in the street. It took approximately 27 seconds before a very militant lesbian approached me with a clipboard and asked if I needed help. In my youthful arrogance I simply responded I was there to march in the parade. She scoffed and asked if I was registered with a group. I slowly took a sip of coffee and explained I was not registered with a group. She all but laughed at me and said I could not march if I was not registered, before marching away herself. I smiled and affirmed: I am marching in this parade.

  
I peered across 7th Ave and saw a group of 20-somethings in a vibrant and excited huddle. Unlike most of the other groups that were forming, these individuals were not dressed alike and, therefore, made it easier for me to sneak in and pretend I was with them. In a matter of minutes, a woman shouted, "Who wants to carry a sign?!" 

I thought, Here's my chance! If I'm carrying a sign, I can't be told I can't march!

"I do!" I exclaimed and hurried over. I cannot for the life of me remember what my sign said and unfortunately it did not survive the many moves I've had since 2007. But, that sign was my ticket to my very gay fantasy, so I held on for dear life. 

At precisely noon, we kicked off from 36th and 7th towards The Village and the excitement pulsed immediately. I had no idea who I was marching with, but I was overwhelmed by the proud energy pounding from the onlookers and marchers alike. 

We hadn't walked very far, when we stopped and I heard a man speak from one row ahead of me. In a dizzying moment of realization, the pieces start to connect and I realized who, exactly, I was marching with. I was marching with the New York City Council and quite literally one person separated me and Mayor Bloomberg!

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These are pictures from NYC Pride 2007. I was one of the many people holding signs announcing important political and legal dates in gay history. 

 

My head was spinning. It was surreal to know I was actually participating in this event and I had done it with nearly no preparation. As the march continued, my casual attire became more "Gay-a-fied" as I collected rainbow Mardi Gras beads, buttons, stickers, and flags. By the time we ended at Christopher Street, I was covered in rainbow goodness from head to toe-never mind my sign. Having spent hours marching in the heat, I was in need of a subway pronto. I stopped and asked a cop where I could find the nearest subway station and was informed that all participants of the parade got to ride for free!

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I lived off that Pride high for weeks after, telling anyone who would listen about my adventure! The train ride back to CT was entertaining to say the least as I garnered looks from everyone from elderly couples to children to other queer 20-somethings who smiled with solidarity.

So while I was not able to participate in today's Pride events, my flashback holds special significance for not only the queer in me, but the activist in me.

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 ~Melissa