In this highly politicized climate where dangerous ideology threatens democracy and even nomenclature sparks debate, I am reminded of something much more important: me. But not just me specifically, but the deterioration of my last situationship because I dared to be my whole authentic self. You know when you think someone likes you for you, but then you show them a new part of you and it all comes tumbling down? Well, that happened to me. Which is why I’m left typing, retyping, and deleting, “Gulf of America this, Gulf of Mexico that, what about the massive gulf that exists between us ever since I showed you my hyper-realistic doll collection?” into my texts. 

I really thought I could be loved for who I was, but I was a fool because if you can’t handle my hyper-realistic doll collection, you’re not ready for the real me. Because the real me needs you to be okay with the five hours I need everyday to perform a seance with my porcelain dolls made with real human hair. The real me needs you to accept that my first best friend is Samantha, a doll covered in blood stains from a little girl in Great Britain during the Industrial Revolution who died of consumption. The real me loves these dolls, with their beady eyes and pallid skin (and yes, they are covered in a layer of real human skin from the last Russian monarchs), more than I’ll ever love you. I know the constant clamor between the hours of 2 am and 7 am was awkward when we were together. But Margueritte loves to sew. And yeah, sometimes a small sewing needle covered in blood will slide out of my closet or a knife with your name engraved on the blade, but I saw your weird Pokemon collection and didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything when you collected stamps, which I thought was weird because we literally have email, but suddenly when I’m painting my dolls’ ridged toenails it’s “disturbing” and “genuinely horrifying.”

I guess we just weren’t meant to be, but at least my dolls will always love me, especially Gertrude. As of late, her new best friend is this raven that’s been circling the house of someone with a strangely large stamp collection. She really loves science, and recently conducted a cute little experiment where she got a bat to bite the raven. I wonder how that’ll go.