The drive from Seattle Washington to Southern California was gorgeous, but there were some weird vibes.
Brian Laundrie had just murdered his girlfriend Gabby Petitio while doing social media nomad life. I followed Gabby Petitos murder investigation on TikTok while on the road. I overheard van lifers at rest stops say things to each other like “babe please don’t murder me tonight.” My ex Levi was living in fucking a van, so I couldn’t help but think, that could have been us!
In the past my friends and family members urged me to find a partner to travel with me. People have stopped suggesting that since Gabby’s famous news story broke.
I was looking forward to swimming at the beaches in Orange County again. Indiana swimming holes filled with snakes did not have the same appeal.
Of course there was a horrible oil spill right before I arrived in California, so all the beaches were shut down. It was heartbreaking to see all the wildlife wash up on shore. I heard that they could have stopped the oil spill sooner, but it would have cost the company too much money. The way humans treat nature and animals is truly fucked up. We have destroyed our planet and the lives of so many creatures. So many animals are extinct because of us!
My mom’s neighbor got shot in the chest by her boyfriend during quarantine. Her silver Tiffany’s heart necklace caught the bullet which saved her life. The boyfriend got shot and died. I’m not sure if he killed himself or if she did it in self defense, but that story lowkey felt like an ad, because it made me want to buy that necklace. Another neighbor hung himself during the pandemic. His family found him hanging in their garage.
The pandemic took such a toll on the town and people while I was gone. Most of my favorite local spots closed down. Parts of the beach turned into homeless encampments. The ocean was polluted with oil, trash, and dead animals.
I sensed a surge of chaotic negative energy when I arrived back home. My mom looked like she was losing her mind. She came up to me full of rage with a tiny spoon in her hand. She kept asking me what it was and why she found it under the bed in my room. Then she started hysterically yelling and threatened to put me into a rehab facility. I was stone cold sober and had never seen anyone do spoon drugs before. I told her that it wasn’t mine, but she didn’t believe me.
She repeatedly asked me who I thought the spoon belonged to, so I said one of her ex boyfriend’s names. She said that he never did any drugs. I laughed in her face and told her that he looked like drugs.
How the fuck would I know who was in her house while I was gone? Why was she snooping through my room and stuff? Was that spoon really used for heroin or was it just tarnished? The sky was always falling in her messy chaotic house.
My mom worked with abused and neglected children, so she was used to seeing the worst of humanity. Her strict tendencies and hatred for drugs came from a loving place, but it was too much. Her style of parenting gave off an authoritarian dictatorship vibe. She couldn’t handle the fact that I was independent and had different viewpoints from her. My mom and her friends were such basic prudes. They’re all anti drugs, anti alcohol, anti tattoos, anti piercings, anti bi, anti gay, anti trans, anti fun, fucking ableist. They wanted me to go to college, climb the corporate ladder, get married to a man, and have babies. Ew fuck no! I’d literally rather die. The American dream sounds like a total fucking nightmare to me.
I love being alone, because I can’t handle hanging around weak minded people who project their stupid insecurities onto me. Taking my own path and forming my own opinions was seen as dishonoring the family.
Whatever. Strict parents deserve rebellious children.
My mom kept making rude comments about how she thought psychic spiritual people were crazy. She was constantly diagnosing and judging others. I doubt she’s ever taken the time to pause, reflect, and look inward.
Of course she was the one with the real fucked up issues. Since she was so scared of COVID, she didn’t leave her house for years, which made her a crazy fucking bitch!
My mom and I have been through a lot together. We’ve been best friends and worst enemies. Some nights we drank wine and watched tv shows like true besties. Other nights we wanted to rip each other's heads off. When I was little I glorified her.
She was obviously the better parent, since my biological dad was completely absent. Over time I realized that my dad physically abandoned me while my mom emotionally abused and manipulated me.
When I was little I was overly obedient. I eventually realized that I wouldn’t get anything out of that. My friends bonded over parties and events that I wasn’t allowed to go to. There were no rewards for being perfect and there were no real consequences for being imperfect. The rebellious independent path looked much more fun and rewarding. I went from being the golden gifted perfect child to being the black sheep outcasted weirdo real fast.
My thoughts, ideas, and goals were often shot down. I got into hosting and writing because I wanted someone, anyone to listen to me. My parents were both alive, but I identified as a magical orphan. At least I grew up with Harry Potter, so I could kinda romanticize it.
When I performed how I was programmed to, my mom would praise me. If I rebelled by simply just being myself she would withhold love or give me the silent treatment. For the longest time I didn’t know who I was because I had to act the way she wanted me to.
I loved my mom, but I love myself more. I’m the one who’s actually living my life, not her. So, it’s up to me to call the shots. I’m never going to live my life according to other people's limited viewpoints or expectations. If people can’t see my talent or potential that doesn’t mean I don’t have any.
While I was in Huntington Beach I hung out with my old friends from childhood. It was trippy catching up with them after all that time apart. When I told my friends about my adventures they would say things like “THAT’S NOT YOU!!!” As if people aren’t allowed to change. Their brains completely malfunctioned when I told them about the compost outhouse toilets in the Lost Woods.
Most young people thought I should settle down, while most old people wished they got the chance to travel and adventure like me. When people tell me that I’ve changed, now I thank them, and take it as a compliment.
I learned to accept that I have evolved and would continue to do so. Why would I stay the same if I could keep growing? There’s always more room for plot and character developments.
Even though Huntington Beach was an amazing place to grow up I couldn’t imagine living there again long term. It sparked too many memories that I wanted to leave behind. I didn’t want to run into any ex friends, ex family members, or ex employers from the past.
I told my mom that I was done being accused of doing things I didn’t do. She acted confused and then completely denied the whole heroin spoon accusation. She said that I must be mentally ill and told me to stop making things up. Why would I make something like that up? It’s not like I want to have shitty parents. I can’t control how people treat me, but I can control when to leave.
Driving through Mexico could be dangerous, but worst case scenario I would die, and I was already feeling suicidal. Death by cartel or shark attack kinda sounded like a sick end to my story.
People talk about suicide being selfish, because it can hurt the people who loved that person, but we have no idea what other people are going through. It’s insanely selfish, narrow minded, and narcissistic to take someone’s death personally. Dying is part of living. It will happen to all of us eventually.
After some extensive research I decided Puerto Vallarta would be a great fit for me. I started studying Spanish and read travel horror stories in hopes of avoiding scams on the road. Then I set up new car insurance, updated my cell coverage, and booked a place to stay. I was so stoked to get the fuck out of Orange County again to embark on another epic road trip adventure.
People thought that I was crazy for traveling alone, but I wasn’t just going to wait around for other people. If I did that I’d probably be waiting around the rest of my life. Plus I’m not really alone, my cat Lando is always by my side.
I realized that I needed to let go of my past dramas and victim mentality. I was still upset about things that happened with people who were no longer in my life. I leveled up spiritually to a higher level of consciousness. Why did I care so much about the opinions of people who had no consciousness?
Hitting the refresh button felt so good it became addicting. Lando and I hopped back in the car and hit the road without saying goodbye. I couldn’t stand being back in my hometown any longer. Adios bitches!
My friends called me just before we crossed the Mexican border. They had just bought a farm, so they offered to let us stay there, while we figured things out. That’s how I ended up in Georgia.
Who doesn’t love a juicy plot twist?