Dear Angry Anonymous Girl,

Its been a few weeks now since I ran into your post on Craigslist and responded. Ever since I read your words I’ve had the same two lines from a song stuck… stuck… in my head. My brain won’t stop chanting the first two lines of Dairy Queen by, that’s right, the Indigo Girls (it’s always a song that acts as my lesbian default-defense mechanism for that costume changing period in-between the thin and thicker skin maneuver). Anyway, it goes like this:

“I heard that you were drunk and mean down at the Dairy Queen. There’s just enough of you in me for me to have some sympathy.”

You’ve inspired me on so many fronts and as ironic as it sounds I owe you some thanks:

Thank you for inspiring me to write again. Thank you for reminding me to gauge my level of personal awareness, impact, language, output, and intake. Thank you for helping me brave my way through some of the many dark boxes I carry around, all of the time, just like you. Thank you for waking me up and getting me to look into my own rage, insecurities, anger, loneliness, hopelessness, mistrust, fears, hurts, remorse, grievances, and prejudices. Thank you for reminding me that my level of tolerance needed a check in, a tune up. Thank you for encouraging me to celebrate my inner and outer queerness, which you refer to as “a sore thumb”. Thank you for helping all of us freaks check in with each other and find new mediums to support each other. Thank you for helping me brave wearing who I am even louder and prouder, and being even less afraid and more prepared for you, because you are everywhere, in all of us, somewhere. Thank you for softening my brow in general. Thank you for helping me find new and creative ways to let my hurt out because, man, you have got to get it out somehow, right?

I realize that you probably just felt so alone in all of your hurt that you finally boiled over and your explosion was that public post on Craigslist. Probably so that someone, anyone, from anywhere, would hear you.

I heard you. We all heard you. And I’m so sorry you carry all of that around.

Violet loves to say, ‘you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.’ But I like vinegar. It stings a bit but it is refreshing and helps with digestion (i.e. processing). I’m not condoning your choice of outlet, but it was obviously old, fermented hurt and you woke me up.

In my mind you’ve realized that you don’t really mean what you said, maybe some of it, but certainly not all of it.

In my mind you’re standing outside the proverbial window of every freaky queer who had their feelings hurt by you, wearing a trench coat, in the pouring rain, with a boom box lifted over your head, blaring the song “If I Could Turn Back Time” …but that’s just how my mind keeps the sun locked in.

My offer still stands, if you’d ever like to talk.

jesse james