Welp. Uhm. Mahfuckin naw.

Aka: That time an alleged ‘soul/earth spirit’ trolled me
Grrr LOFL… Oh help! My tiny tyrannosaurus rex hands are trying so hard to wrap around your neck to choke off your words because they scare me but I can’t so I will make fun of your battles with depression and abuse and rape and, instead, align myself with other bullies! Cheers! Eek!

When I shuttered Femmes Unafraid in March, after discovering that a co-editor was a racist, I was mocked by a ‘writer’ here on the mehdiums.

Well, shit on me would be more like it: busting my tits about my writing, my decision to shutter it immediately upon learning that a co-editor, whom I could not remove because of a glitch in the Medium system, was a flaming racist twatwaffle. So, rather than keep being affiliated with a garbage human being, I deleted a new publication.

Of course I felt bad. I felt bad for the women who trusted me to publish their voices in an aggressively pro-female publication.

I had high hopes. But I had no moral choice but to delete it. I have no regrets.

I have since re-launched it, but that is a story for another day.

Anyhoo, this ‘writer’ (anyonewithaniphoneandroid) posted some really ugly, nasty shit about me, and some of y’all lapped it up.

Like you agreed that it was OK for her/it to say this about me:

“Please Help me- I don’t know how to help myself- my hormones are all over the place and I’m haunted by my demons,

and this

“It IS all about about ME and how I, EYE, I feel. Waaaaah! Now I need to go find myself so I can get over this and rise like a Phoenix. It’s about me right?

and this

“I’m just going to help take down a whole publication- the whole publication- and pull all the posts and, I’m going to write about it after in another one, and when I eff that one up (also), I’ll say I’m sorry and I’ll admit to my short-sightedness, using swear words to show how grown up and in control I am, that my 6th grader impatience, and momentary idiocy, wasn’t real, just a monumental foul up. Then I will be queen (wait Queen and King, girls can be kings and boys can be queens) and all the teachers, me and my therapist will be happy because I’ll pass all my social and civics classes at Medium.

and this

“If anyone contradicts me, or asks me something I’ve never thought about and I don’t know what to say, I will tell them to take a hike in swear words, because hell, girls can use bad language really well too, especially in poetry. Then, I’ll block them (maybe) and tell them that I can spare a follower. YES! that’s a great idea, it’s especially good because it didn’t come from Netflix (right?). And damn, my derrière looks smaller today.”

This is the same person who came after me because she didn’t like a poem I’d written saying it could trigger others so I should just shut up and not publish. I defended the piece —I had tagged it ‘shitty poetry’ as a nod to the fact that I’m not a poet, and its syntax alone probably didn’t qualify it as a poem — because I feel pretty strongly that my right to art and write and create is mine.

My poem was my poem; my truth: that words can be like so much blood on a page, despite her insistence that (and again, her words, not mine) : “Freedom and freedom of expression is valuable, however, being mindful supersedes that freedom.” Yeah. No. Not in my world.

This is me, folks. I have never once lied or changed my name or pretended to be something I’m not. I am Heather. Heather Nann. I own it. I haven’t changed it to HeatherSkyKeeperOceanGoddessKeeperOfWavesAndDousedInPatchouli. My naked truth is mine. Like it or leave it.

As someone who has talked openly and honestly — balls fucking out — about depression, suicide ideation, self-medicating with booze, being raped as a child, growing up in a house where being called a cunt was just another Saturday night, to try to heal myself, only to have those very human experiences and qualities turned around and used to mock me? Stay classy. Or chalk this up to mockery. And/or a “drunk rant” — even though I am sober.

Nah. No. Nope.

Ya trash? Take it out.

And don’t let it “edit” you. Lest you write something that doesn’t meet the low bar of snakebelly expectations. Or earth sky. Or some other flamingly stupid bullshit.

Namaste, Bitches. Namaste.