There's the first love. This usually happens in high school, freshman year, when hormones are raging and you think the most popular guy/girl in school is the person of your dreams. You spend a couple months together, and you think you're in love, until the excitement of new romance fades and there's nothing more between you. You find your next love within a week, but in the back of your heart, you know the first is always the most special.
There's the kind of love that comes and goes in an instant. Maybe, for
one night, you meet your soul mate at the far end of the bar. You have a
couple laughs, you down a couple drinks, and you go across the street
to the motel for one night where you are The One to someone. When you
wake up, you leave them without so much as a note.
There's the first real love. The one that causes your heart to melt, the sound of their voice has the same effect as your favourite song, and you never think the feeling will end. Until it does. The pain is almost unbearable, the stinging and burning that rises and falls like waves inside your stomach seems to never fade. You wake up every day thinking they're still there, only to cry a little bit when you realize that you're alone. But, as time goes on, your heart stitches itself back up and you slowly heal. This scar is bigger, and cuts deeper than the rest, just to remind you of what had passed.
Then, there's the last real love. It's content, it's comfortable, and there is history. The passion fades over time, but the flutter when you see their sleeping face next to you still springs to life in the morning. There's routine, and you know everything there is to know. You have the feeling of their fingers interlocked with yours memorized, and their voice is still your favourite sound. Maybe you still dance whenever your song comes on the radio, and their smile still makes your world a better place. This kind of love makes all the rest obsolete.
The scars are very real, and some never fade. Sometimes, they still sting when you think of the old memories, but the purpose of the heart is not to forget, but to remind you that there has been worse, but now you have reached the best part of your life.
Tuesday, 21 April 2015
Saturday, 18 April 2015
Body Positivity and Health. Are they the same?
There have been lots of conversations around Snapchat and Instagram lately about what body positivity and fat acceptance have to do with health. In my opinion, they do not exactly go hand-in-hand, but there is a connection, even a very small one, between the sides that I feel place me in the middle.
What I Am
I feel as if I am body positive. I believe that every body is beautiful in its own way, that every one has the right to do what they want with their body without being subjected to criticism and that beauty does not come with a number limit. I am having body positive issues when it comes to myself, but I never feel any hatred towards anyone who professes to love themselves in any way they see fit. I believe that men and women can both be body positive, as gender roles should never play a part in body positivity. Men have just as many body issues as women do, and I think that is overlooked quite a bit.
I am pro health. Healthy living, eating, exercise, fitness, etc. I believe that people should strive to keep their bodies in tip-top shape on the inside in order to live a long, lusciously beautiful life with friends and family.
What I Am Not
I am not part of the fat acceptance movement. While I do believe that people should never be hated on for their weight, their size, the number on the scale, I don't believe that being fat should mean being obese for the rest of one's life. Having extra fat on one's body is okay as long as it's not an excessive amount. I am a morbidly obese woman. I am coming close to 400 pounds and I am trying to get that in check toot-fucking-sweet because it is not fun living life in this body. I can barely walk up a flight of stairs, and when I do get there, I am panting and sweating like I just ran a marathon. I know that many people like to be big. They accept and love their bodies and I honestly applaud them because of the struggles I am facing. I don't judge and I don't discriminate. It's just not how I want to live my life.
I am not a fat hater. This seems to be tied to the fact that I am not a fat acceptor. I am fat, I'm not going to shame myself, so no, I'm not a fat hater. I just don't think being obese is the way I'm supposed to be.
Let's talk about Health and Body Positivity
Body positivity and health are not in tandem with each other. They should never cross. I think the reason why they get put together has to do with the fact that many plus size woman are part of the body positive movement. Plus size people outnumber thin people in the movement 10 to 1, so the debate on whether health should be included with body positivity is an ongoing one.
That being said, I believe that being 300, 400, 500 pounds is not healthy. Even if a doctor says that there is nothing physically wrong, such as a thyroid disorder or diabetes, I don't think being that heavy is healthy. If you can not walk a couple blocks in normal, spring weather without sweating or being out of breath, you are not healthy. If you can not walk up a small flight of stairs without breathing heavily at the top, then you are not healthy. If you can not do simple tasks without a part of your body hurting, you are not healthy. I don't care who you are, what your weight is, this applies to everyone of any size. Getting back aches and trouble breathing by doing simple tasks around your house is not the symbol of health and any doctor who says different needs to have their license revoked.
I'm going to get real with everyone. My legs are the smallest part of my body, second only to my arms. Walking up hills and stairs is especially hard because of how small my legs are and how much weight they have to carry. I figure my legs carry at least 300 of my 400 pounds around all day, and it wears them out. I get home from shopping and I can barely walk the next day. My thighs shake from exertion after walking up the 15 steps to my dentist's office. Does all of this sound healthy to you?
I firmly believe that a person can be fat and healthy. I have seen it, I used to be smaller and in much better shape so I lived it. I was a fat girl but I was healthier than most fat girls my size. I firmly do not believe that a person can be obese and healthy. There is no way. As an obese woman, I can say that it is impossible. I'm not judging anyone by saying these words, either. I am obese and I will never shame myself, but people... We need to stop the madness. Stop associating body positivity with health. They are two completely different things. Fat acceptance and health are two different things. They should never be brought together and be represented as one.
What I Am
I feel as if I am body positive. I believe that every body is beautiful in its own way, that every one has the right to do what they want with their body without being subjected to criticism and that beauty does not come with a number limit. I am having body positive issues when it comes to myself, but I never feel any hatred towards anyone who professes to love themselves in any way they see fit. I believe that men and women can both be body positive, as gender roles should never play a part in body positivity. Men have just as many body issues as women do, and I think that is overlooked quite a bit.
I am pro health. Healthy living, eating, exercise, fitness, etc. I believe that people should strive to keep their bodies in tip-top shape on the inside in order to live a long, lusciously beautiful life with friends and family.
What I Am Not
I am not part of the fat acceptance movement. While I do believe that people should never be hated on for their weight, their size, the number on the scale, I don't believe that being fat should mean being obese for the rest of one's life. Having extra fat on one's body is okay as long as it's not an excessive amount. I am a morbidly obese woman. I am coming close to 400 pounds and I am trying to get that in check toot-fucking-sweet because it is not fun living life in this body. I can barely walk up a flight of stairs, and when I do get there, I am panting and sweating like I just ran a marathon. I know that many people like to be big. They accept and love their bodies and I honestly applaud them because of the struggles I am facing. I don't judge and I don't discriminate. It's just not how I want to live my life.
I am not a fat hater. This seems to be tied to the fact that I am not a fat acceptor. I am fat, I'm not going to shame myself, so no, I'm not a fat hater. I just don't think being obese is the way I'm supposed to be.
Let's talk about Health and Body Positivity
Body positivity and health are not in tandem with each other. They should never cross. I think the reason why they get put together has to do with the fact that many plus size woman are part of the body positive movement. Plus size people outnumber thin people in the movement 10 to 1, so the debate on whether health should be included with body positivity is an ongoing one.
That being said, I believe that being 300, 400, 500 pounds is not healthy. Even if a doctor says that there is nothing physically wrong, such as a thyroid disorder or diabetes, I don't think being that heavy is healthy. If you can not walk a couple blocks in normal, spring weather without sweating or being out of breath, you are not healthy. If you can not walk up a small flight of stairs without breathing heavily at the top, then you are not healthy. If you can not do simple tasks without a part of your body hurting, you are not healthy. I don't care who you are, what your weight is, this applies to everyone of any size. Getting back aches and trouble breathing by doing simple tasks around your house is not the symbol of health and any doctor who says different needs to have their license revoked.
I'm going to get real with everyone. My legs are the smallest part of my body, second only to my arms. Walking up hills and stairs is especially hard because of how small my legs are and how much weight they have to carry. I figure my legs carry at least 300 of my 400 pounds around all day, and it wears them out. I get home from shopping and I can barely walk the next day. My thighs shake from exertion after walking up the 15 steps to my dentist's office. Does all of this sound healthy to you?
I firmly believe that a person can be fat and healthy. I have seen it, I used to be smaller and in much better shape so I lived it. I was a fat girl but I was healthier than most fat girls my size. I firmly do not believe that a person can be obese and healthy. There is no way. As an obese woman, I can say that it is impossible. I'm not judging anyone by saying these words, either. I am obese and I will never shame myself, but people... We need to stop the madness. Stop associating body positivity with health. They are two completely different things. Fat acceptance and health are two different things. They should never be brought together and be represented as one.
Friday, 17 April 2015
A Letter To A Friend
How do you tell someone you care about that they're wasting their life? How do you tell someone who has been around for years that the person they're choosing to spend their life with is using them? Is there any easy way or is it like a band-aid; tear it off and hope to not rip the skin underneath?
All I ever wanted for you is happiness. You deserve someone who loves you and who accepts you for everything you are. You deserve someone who doesn't want to change you, but upgrade you from boy to man. However, I feel like I can't tell you these things in person because it ends up in a fight.
I know that I am not the easiest person to talk to. I get angry, I believe I am always right and I think, because I'm the oldest, that I know what's best for everyone. I know that I can be incorrect in some ways, but what I say and do comes from a place of genuine care and concern.
I believe that you are wasting your time. I know that you disagree, or maybe you're with her because no one likes her; an attempt to rebel against everyone who says you shouldn't be with her? No one really knows the real reason as to why you are wasting your time other than you. There's just too many red flags for me, as your friend, to stay mum about this.
You have changed so much in the past few months, and I know you say it's because of things like work or a certain someone who used to work with you, but it's not and you know it's not.You've been changing slowly ever since getting into this relationship with her, it's not hard to miss. The excuses need to stop, so I'm going to outline the reasons as to why she doesn't deserve you.
You told me, as you drove me home one night after us not speaking, that you did not trust her. You said to me, point blank, "I don't see a future with her because I don't trust her." She won't allow you into her life and it's scary for me to watch you give your all to someone who doesn't care enough to allow you to spend time alone with her in her own apartment. Someone who doesn't respect you enough to tell you the truth. Someone who, I believe, isn't even really attracted to you as a person, but thinks your car and job are not only attractive, but convenient for her. Let's face it, where else in this city is going to find someone who will shower her with affection, take her out, spoil her and only ask for some kisses and cuddles in return? Something is very wrong when none of your friends, except for maybe a couple, want to be around her; when your own mother says that there is something about her that she doesn't quite find right. But who knows, maybe I'm wrong. I haven't met her. I just have some word of mouth to go off of. However, some of the negative words came from your mouth. How else are we, your friends, supposed to react when this girl's own boyfriend says that he can't trust her?
On the same car ride, I asked you a very simple question: "Besides physical contact, what does she do for you?" You not only hesitated, you couldn't answer the question. So I am asking that again, now. What does this girl do for you that puts her ahead of all of the other women in the world who would be more than happy to date you? What does she give you, other than physical affection, that draws you in because, in my experience with asking you this, she gives you absolutely nothing. In my experience with talking to you about this girl, she provides nothing of substance to your life and it's sad how you're okay with that.
I care about you, and as I said when you got back together with her, as long as you don't talk to me about her or bring her around me, feel free to date anyone you want. It may sound harsh, especially since me and you were, at one point, very close, but it is for your benefit more than mine. When someone uses one of my friends, and I know that's what is happening, I have no filter and I will resolve to calling her out. I don't want to do that. I promised I wouldn't.
You deserve so much better, and I can't help but to get worried when I see you settling for someone who uses you for things like your car and money. You're such a good person, and you're getting dealt such a shitty hand when it comes to women. I just hope you, eventually, realize your worth and stop associating yourself with trash.
All I ever wanted for you is happiness. You deserve someone who loves you and who accepts you for everything you are. You deserve someone who doesn't want to change you, but upgrade you from boy to man. However, I feel like I can't tell you these things in person because it ends up in a fight.
I know that I am not the easiest person to talk to. I get angry, I believe I am always right and I think, because I'm the oldest, that I know what's best for everyone. I know that I can be incorrect in some ways, but what I say and do comes from a place of genuine care and concern.
I believe that you are wasting your time. I know that you disagree, or maybe you're with her because no one likes her; an attempt to rebel against everyone who says you shouldn't be with her? No one really knows the real reason as to why you are wasting your time other than you. There's just too many red flags for me, as your friend, to stay mum about this.
You have changed so much in the past few months, and I know you say it's because of things like work or a certain someone who used to work with you, but it's not and you know it's not.You've been changing slowly ever since getting into this relationship with her, it's not hard to miss. The excuses need to stop, so I'm going to outline the reasons as to why she doesn't deserve you.
- She lies about the worst things
- She refuses to allow you into her apartment
- She's still married
- She's sexually selfish (this is from your own mouth)
- She has a violent past
- She has no desire to meet and interact with your friends and family
- She plays games and lies about stalkers in order to get out of spending time with you
- She uses her old relationships as leverage to get you jealous
You told me, as you drove me home one night after us not speaking, that you did not trust her. You said to me, point blank, "I don't see a future with her because I don't trust her." She won't allow you into her life and it's scary for me to watch you give your all to someone who doesn't care enough to allow you to spend time alone with her in her own apartment. Someone who doesn't respect you enough to tell you the truth. Someone who, I believe, isn't even really attracted to you as a person, but thinks your car and job are not only attractive, but convenient for her. Let's face it, where else in this city is going to find someone who will shower her with affection, take her out, spoil her and only ask for some kisses and cuddles in return? Something is very wrong when none of your friends, except for maybe a couple, want to be around her; when your own mother says that there is something about her that she doesn't quite find right. But who knows, maybe I'm wrong. I haven't met her. I just have some word of mouth to go off of. However, some of the negative words came from your mouth. How else are we, your friends, supposed to react when this girl's own boyfriend says that he can't trust her?
On the same car ride, I asked you a very simple question: "Besides physical contact, what does she do for you?" You not only hesitated, you couldn't answer the question. So I am asking that again, now. What does this girl do for you that puts her ahead of all of the other women in the world who would be more than happy to date you? What does she give you, other than physical affection, that draws you in because, in my experience with asking you this, she gives you absolutely nothing. In my experience with talking to you about this girl, she provides nothing of substance to your life and it's sad how you're okay with that.
I care about you, and as I said when you got back together with her, as long as you don't talk to me about her or bring her around me, feel free to date anyone you want. It may sound harsh, especially since me and you were, at one point, very close, but it is for your benefit more than mine. When someone uses one of my friends, and I know that's what is happening, I have no filter and I will resolve to calling her out. I don't want to do that. I promised I wouldn't.
You deserve so much better, and I can't help but to get worried when I see you settling for someone who uses you for things like your car and money. You're such a good person, and you're getting dealt such a shitty hand when it comes to women. I just hope you, eventually, realize your worth and stop associating yourself with trash.
Pet Peeves
Everyone has pet peeves. I'm opening up this little section to talk about a few of mine.
Passive-Aggressive Behaviour
I am a person who thinks that the world would be a better place if people just voiced what they wanted and/or expected out of the people in their lives. An example of this could easily be explained with what happened on a show I am watching as I write this.
I'm watching "Married at First Sight" with my sister, and a newly married couple are on a horse and sleigh ride when the wife starts crying. She says it's because she's never been so happy; the scenery and the emotion were allowing her to cry openly in front of her husband for the first time and she thought this was a huge thing. She was beside her husband and he was holding her hand; all she wanted was for him to pull her closer to him and he didn't, so she was instantly hurt. However, she didn't voice what she wanted from him. She decided to hold in her want for affection and stay mad until later in the night rather than just move closer to him. Maybe it's because I'm dating someone who needs verbal communication rather than non-vocal clues, but I feel like if she would have just voiced what she wanted instead of holding it in, she wouldn't have been so upset. She built herself this bridge of self-pity just so she could suicide dive to the bottom.
Note to human race: Stop being so stupid!
New Parents, Mothers especially.
I am not sorry for what I am about to post because as a child-less person, I know what other child-less people are thinking. We are thinking: "Shut the hell up already!"
Now, I love kids. I never want any of my own, but I love my friends' children. That being said... I don't give a crap what they're doing day-to-day. I do want to hear their first words. I do want to see them taking their first steps. I do NOT want to hear about all the cute outfits he/she gets every day. I do NOT want to see him/her roll from his/her back to his/her stomach all by his/herself 60 thousand times. And I certainly do NOT care if his/her bowel movements are regular. There are some things you need to keep to yourself. We get it, your child is adorable. However there is only so many times we can say "Awwwww. He/She is so cute/adorable/charming/ETC."
Whenever my friends have babies and turn into the "New Mother," I always wonder what happened to my friend. An example of this is a friend I've had for YEARS. She had her first child and all of sudden, she stopped having a brain. I would be on Skype with her, and all she could talk about was her daughter. All she could talk about what her life as a new mother, which seemed kind of boring, to be honest. Why does life stop when children are born? It's annoying! Just because you've given birth, you suddenly can't have your own thoughts or opinions? All of a sudden your IQ has dropped 30 points? I guess the smell of poopy diapers has psychological effects.
Note to human race: Children are supposed to add to your life, not consume it!
Eating with Mouth Open and Talking and Eating at the same time
This one is probably the biggest one out of all of these. I was just easing everyone in with the first two. This is gonna be a rant.
I don't know who raised those who chew with their mouths open, but for those of you who insist on having full-blown conversations while your breakfast/lunch/dinner/fucking snack is rolling around in your mouths: I wanna smack your mother!
Who in the hell taught people that this behaviour is okay? You can't put the fork down in between mouthfuls, finish chewing and then speak before picking the fork back up? REALLY?! It's disgusting, it's rude and it makes you look like you were raised in a damn barn. If it's not okay for a child to do it, it isn't okay for an adult to do it. And doing it on social media is even worse. You are showing the world that you have zero manners. You are showing the people who watch your videos that food is more important than upholding a standard. Smacking your lips when you eat can actually, literally cause you to get smacked in the wrong circumstance. Has anyone ever heard of "Misophonia?" It's a psychological disorder. It's when certain sounds cause negative/violent effects to the listener. One of the trigger sounds is loud eating noises. You smacking your lips and heavily breathing while eating can cause you to get your face smacked. Don't want that? Learn some manners!
Note to human race: Move out of your barn and into society!
People who do not replace the toilet paper when they finish the roll
There is a special kind of hell for people like you. It's one thing to forget once. It's a complete other to be completely fucking lazy about it and use excuses like "If I change it all the time, you won't learn anything." It's common fucking courtesy! You share a bathroom with people, you fucking use the rest of the toilet paper, you REPLACE THE FUCKING ROLL!
Note to human race: Fuck You.
Before anyone gets their panties/boxers in a knot, I just want to make sure everyone knows that I'm just letting off some steam. Pet peeves are very real, and not everyone will agree with what I've written here (especially the new moms thing, I know). I just hope that no one gets angry and has a laugh at this. I laughed while writing. Except for the last one... The last one is serious.
Passive-Aggressive Behaviour
I am a person who thinks that the world would be a better place if people just voiced what they wanted and/or expected out of the people in their lives. An example of this could easily be explained with what happened on a show I am watching as I write this.
I'm watching "Married at First Sight" with my sister, and a newly married couple are on a horse and sleigh ride when the wife starts crying. She says it's because she's never been so happy; the scenery and the emotion were allowing her to cry openly in front of her husband for the first time and she thought this was a huge thing. She was beside her husband and he was holding her hand; all she wanted was for him to pull her closer to him and he didn't, so she was instantly hurt. However, she didn't voice what she wanted from him. She decided to hold in her want for affection and stay mad until later in the night rather than just move closer to him. Maybe it's because I'm dating someone who needs verbal communication rather than non-vocal clues, but I feel like if she would have just voiced what she wanted instead of holding it in, she wouldn't have been so upset. She built herself this bridge of self-pity just so she could suicide dive to the bottom.
Note to human race: Stop being so stupid!
New Parents, Mothers especially.
I am not sorry for what I am about to post because as a child-less person, I know what other child-less people are thinking. We are thinking: "Shut the hell up already!"
Now, I love kids. I never want any of my own, but I love my friends' children. That being said... I don't give a crap what they're doing day-to-day. I do want to hear their first words. I do want to see them taking their first steps. I do NOT want to hear about all the cute outfits he/she gets every day. I do NOT want to see him/her roll from his/her back to his/her stomach all by his/herself 60 thousand times. And I certainly do NOT care if his/her bowel movements are regular. There are some things you need to keep to yourself. We get it, your child is adorable. However there is only so many times we can say "Awwwww. He/She is so cute/adorable/charming/ETC."
Whenever my friends have babies and turn into the "New Mother," I always wonder what happened to my friend. An example of this is a friend I've had for YEARS. She had her first child and all of sudden, she stopped having a brain. I would be on Skype with her, and all she could talk about was her daughter. All she could talk about what her life as a new mother, which seemed kind of boring, to be honest. Why does life stop when children are born? It's annoying! Just because you've given birth, you suddenly can't have your own thoughts or opinions? All of a sudden your IQ has dropped 30 points? I guess the smell of poopy diapers has psychological effects.
Note to human race: Children are supposed to add to your life, not consume it!
Eating with Mouth Open and Talking and Eating at the same time
This one is probably the biggest one out of all of these. I was just easing everyone in with the first two. This is gonna be a rant.
I don't know who raised those who chew with their mouths open, but for those of you who insist on having full-blown conversations while your breakfast/lunch/dinner/fucking snack is rolling around in your mouths: I wanna smack your mother!
Who in the hell taught people that this behaviour is okay? You can't put the fork down in between mouthfuls, finish chewing and then speak before picking the fork back up? REALLY?! It's disgusting, it's rude and it makes you look like you were raised in a damn barn. If it's not okay for a child to do it, it isn't okay for an adult to do it. And doing it on social media is even worse. You are showing the world that you have zero manners. You are showing the people who watch your videos that food is more important than upholding a standard. Smacking your lips when you eat can actually, literally cause you to get smacked in the wrong circumstance. Has anyone ever heard of "Misophonia?" It's a psychological disorder. It's when certain sounds cause negative/violent effects to the listener. One of the trigger sounds is loud eating noises. You smacking your lips and heavily breathing while eating can cause you to get your face smacked. Don't want that? Learn some manners!
Note to human race: Move out of your barn and into society!
People who do not replace the toilet paper when they finish the roll
There is a special kind of hell for people like you. It's one thing to forget once. It's a complete other to be completely fucking lazy about it and use excuses like "If I change it all the time, you won't learn anything." It's common fucking courtesy! You share a bathroom with people, you fucking use the rest of the toilet paper, you REPLACE THE FUCKING ROLL!
Note to human race: Fuck You.
Before anyone gets their panties/boxers in a knot, I just want to make sure everyone knows that I'm just letting off some steam. Pet peeves are very real, and not everyone will agree with what I've written here (especially the new moms thing, I know). I just hope that no one gets angry and has a laugh at this. I laughed while writing. Except for the last one... The last one is serious.
Wednesday, 15 April 2015
Happiness...
Have you ever liked something that you knew you really shouldn’t due to
the depravity of the action? Like being choked during sex to the brink
of death just to see if you’ll make it back or allowing someone to run a
knife along your throat; trusting them to not slice open a valuable
artery? I have. Once.
It was 3 years ago. I was walking home from work, my feet aching to be put up after being on them all day when I was grabbed into a parked car. I remember not even trying to scream for help, but looking around the completely blacked out car in hopes to see something; anything. My attacker seemed to be anticipating a struggle, and was noticeably disappointed when I just sat there, wiggling my toes in my shoes and sighing contently. Fear had not set in, and that surprised not only myself, but the man with his rather large, gloved hand wrapped around my elbow.
Frustrated, he yanked me toward him and held a knife to my throat. I could see his eyes peeking through his hair, which hung down across his forehead in an almost adolescent fashion. His eyes; a deep blue, wide with anger, frustration and shock stared into mine in an attempt to intimidate. I simply looked at him. No noise escaped my lips. No plead for survival, no tear dripping from the corners of my eyes. My eyes, staring back at him, showed nothing but acceptance.
He pressed down, letting a little trickle of blood escape my flesh and I remember smiling. Glee sprang to my brain and this was just what I needed to end the day. I smiled widely at him, making his breath become more ragged and his hand shakier on the blade.
“Why are you watching me like that?! I’m going to kill you, bitch!” He screamed. Frustration at the boiling point, unable to process the reaction I was giving him. This made me chuckle, the blade cutting deeper into my throat.
“What would you have me do?” I asked, a grin across my lips as the small trickle of blood pooled at the base of my throat. “Scream for help? Beg you to spare my life? Offer my money, my purse; anything but my cell phone because it’s all I have?” He looked down at me, his mouth open in astonishment.
“You can take my purse, sir. You can have my money, the keys to my apartment; hell the address is on my license, you’re welcome to it. Just do me one favour. One small favour before you take everything and leave me here with just my blood.”
“What?” He asked, almost in a whisper. His hand, still trembling with the blade.
“Cut me deeper.” I leaned towards him, grabbing his wrist and holding it so the knife cut me so deep, I could feel every piece of flesh in my neck snap under the pressure. Blood gurgled out of my mouth, it splashed against the young man’s arm and face as I smiled a wide, bloody tooth grin. I made him watch; I held him there until my hand, wrapped around his wrist, turned limp. Life left my body and I ended with a smile on my face. A smile of bliss.
It was 3 years ago. I was walking home from work, my feet aching to be put up after being on them all day when I was grabbed into a parked car. I remember not even trying to scream for help, but looking around the completely blacked out car in hopes to see something; anything. My attacker seemed to be anticipating a struggle, and was noticeably disappointed when I just sat there, wiggling my toes in my shoes and sighing contently. Fear had not set in, and that surprised not only myself, but the man with his rather large, gloved hand wrapped around my elbow.
Frustrated, he yanked me toward him and held a knife to my throat. I could see his eyes peeking through his hair, which hung down across his forehead in an almost adolescent fashion. His eyes; a deep blue, wide with anger, frustration and shock stared into mine in an attempt to intimidate. I simply looked at him. No noise escaped my lips. No plead for survival, no tear dripping from the corners of my eyes. My eyes, staring back at him, showed nothing but acceptance.
He pressed down, letting a little trickle of blood escape my flesh and I remember smiling. Glee sprang to my brain and this was just what I needed to end the day. I smiled widely at him, making his breath become more ragged and his hand shakier on the blade.
“Why are you watching me like that?! I’m going to kill you, bitch!” He screamed. Frustration at the boiling point, unable to process the reaction I was giving him. This made me chuckle, the blade cutting deeper into my throat.
“What would you have me do?” I asked, a grin across my lips as the small trickle of blood pooled at the base of my throat. “Scream for help? Beg you to spare my life? Offer my money, my purse; anything but my cell phone because it’s all I have?” He looked down at me, his mouth open in astonishment.
“You can take my purse, sir. You can have my money, the keys to my apartment; hell the address is on my license, you’re welcome to it. Just do me one favour. One small favour before you take everything and leave me here with just my blood.”
“What?” He asked, almost in a whisper. His hand, still trembling with the blade.
“Cut me deeper.” I leaned towards him, grabbing his wrist and holding it so the knife cut me so deep, I could feel every piece of flesh in my neck snap under the pressure. Blood gurgled out of my mouth, it splashed against the young man’s arm and face as I smiled a wide, bloody tooth grin. I made him watch; I held him there until my hand, wrapped around his wrist, turned limp. Life left my body and I ended with a smile on my face. A smile of bliss.
Dead Inside
How could I possibly express how I feel to someone who doesn't
understand feelings? I could look at her, straight into her eyes and she
would never understand me because how could she? She has never felt
anything like this. She has never been ridiculed, bullied, beat down. She
has never had to fight a day inher life for anything; the blank look is
expected. I see her standing there, blurring over slowly as my eyes fill
with tears and she just.... Stands there... Like a statue in the middle
of a crowded park. No emotion, no feeling, no sense of any remourse
because she is better than me.. Her eyes are dead because she can not see
me.
I scream for her, tell her how much she hurts me, yell at the top of my lungs that I will never forgive her for the things she has put me through and.... Still nothing. Always nothing. There will never be anything behind the coldness... My screaming is for nothing. It results in nothing but a raw throat, loss of voice and rashes from the stains my tears leave upon my cheeks.
I see all of these on her but there's a difference between feeling and seeing. She has the same rashes upon her red cheeks. Her mouth opens and releases the same screams as mine does but the eyes in the mirror are dead. I guess the reflection does not lie... And I really am just trying to feel anything real. I guess I am just dead inside.
I scream for her, tell her how much she hurts me, yell at the top of my lungs that I will never forgive her for the things she has put me through and.... Still nothing. Always nothing. There will never be anything behind the coldness... My screaming is for nothing. It results in nothing but a raw throat, loss of voice and rashes from the stains my tears leave upon my cheeks.
I see all of these on her but there's a difference between feeling and seeing. She has the same rashes upon her red cheeks. Her mouth opens and releases the same screams as mine does but the eyes in the mirror are dead. I guess the reflection does not lie... And I really am just trying to feel anything real. I guess I am just dead inside.
Return...
A single spotlight shone in the middle of a darkened room. A
luxurious, black leather wing back was placed in the centre; it's soft
surface gleaming under the brightness from the ceiling. The large, empty
space filled with people. Everyone invited stood like statues, painted
in black and white, against the four walls, waiting for whoever was to
sit in the spotlight.
Several moments passed when suddenly the heavy, metal doors on the farthest wall swung open. The metallic scraping echoed off the empty walls as the doors slammed shut. The room was silent again with the exception of the breathing coming from the guests. The bodies surrounding the spotlight waited in anticipation for who or what entered the room. A faint outline could be seen, but the details were blacked out by the darkness of the room.
She moved. She walked slowly toward the spotlight. Black, latex heels clinked and clacked with each step.The silhouette became clearer in the dark as she moved closer to the spotlight. Long, straight black hair swung behind her, hitting off her back as her pale skin glowed in the growing light. Her full, voluptuous body, dressed in a black corset and skin-tight leather shorts, was just visible in the dark. She stopped at the edge of the spotlight and waited, letting the anticipation grow around her. Thick thighs the colour of milk stepped inside the white light. The brightness bouncing off her heels and sparkling brightly. She looked around at everyone who had come to see her. Her brown eyes studied each face behind thick, black framed glasses. She turned around, swinging her hair over her shoulder and sat down in the chair. She sunk in, swinging one leg over the other and resting her arms along the armrests.
“Well,” her voice rang out,echoing in the vast space. “I'm back.”
Several moments passed when suddenly the heavy, metal doors on the farthest wall swung open. The metallic scraping echoed off the empty walls as the doors slammed shut. The room was silent again with the exception of the breathing coming from the guests. The bodies surrounding the spotlight waited in anticipation for who or what entered the room. A faint outline could be seen, but the details were blacked out by the darkness of the room.
She moved. She walked slowly toward the spotlight. Black, latex heels clinked and clacked with each step.The silhouette became clearer in the dark as she moved closer to the spotlight. Long, straight black hair swung behind her, hitting off her back as her pale skin glowed in the growing light. Her full, voluptuous body, dressed in a black corset and skin-tight leather shorts, was just visible in the dark. She stopped at the edge of the spotlight and waited, letting the anticipation grow around her. Thick thighs the colour of milk stepped inside the white light. The brightness bouncing off her heels and sparkling brightly. She looked around at everyone who had come to see her. Her brown eyes studied each face behind thick, black framed glasses. She turned around, swinging her hair over her shoulder and sat down in the chair. She sunk in, swinging one leg over the other and resting her arms along the armrests.
“Well,” her voice rang out,echoing in the vast space. “I'm back.”
The Morgue
"Of course they left me. Why am I even surprised?" Claire thought as she stumbled across the wet pavement. The warm, summer night made her even more frustrated than she ever thought she'd be. Her dress was now feeling too short, too tight and was bothering her, her feet burned in her one size too small red stilettos and all she wanted to do was rip the clip that was holding up her straight black hair out, whip it across the street and watch it get run over. Tonight had not been a good night. Walking the two miles home was the only way to clear her head, which was now soaked in the assortment of cocktails she had downed in a matter of a couple hours. The older, dirty guy across the bar who made all those comments towards her was now a dull vibration in her brain, thanks to the cosmopolitans. Walking along the street at 2am was not her idea of a good ending though.
At least it's not raining she thought to herself, as she heard "Du Hast" resonating from her purse and echoing off the windows of the local store fronts. She stopped dead in her tracks on the corner of the street to dig through in the light of the street lamp, rustling around and finding everything but the iPhone. As she continued to dig, she was suddenly splashed by a passing car running through an oil and rain water filled puddle. Jumping back, she felt the heel of her right stiletto catch on a crack in the crooked sidewalk and snap, causing her to fall back, landing flat on her rear in a puddle in front of the local chinese restaurant.
"Shit!" she exclaimed under her breath as she got up and looked at her stiletto, which was completely destroyed. Frustration built up inside of her as she felt tears spring to life in her eyes. Pulling herself together quickly as to not draw more attention to herself, she began to hobble down the deserted city street. She heard her phone ring again, and dug around as she continued to walk along.
"Hello?" she said, sounded exhausted and exasperated as she blew a string of hair out of her face.
"Heyyyyy girl," Tonya slurred from the other end. "I'm so sorry but me and Rach met these guys and they wanted rides home. We were going to come back for you but we are wayyyyyy too drunk to drive."
"Don't worry about it," Claire said, regretting it instantly. She should have told her where to go, but she was too tired to care anymore. After a few minutes, Tonya had passed out on the phone and Claire returned her cell back to her purse. She was suddenly aware of her surroundings as her drunk brain began to sober quicker than she would have liked, and looked around. The china town district was easy to navigate through. Restaurant on the left, butcher shop beside that, and an assortment of the local convience stores full of nicknacks and doo-dads. She knew this area very well. The bus stop was 10 blocks away if she was to continue down the same street, but soon realized she could take the shortcut she had taken as a child and teenager, and cut through the old military cemetary. Crossing the street and walking up the steps to the front gate, she could see the blinking light from inside the bus shelter. It was only a 5 minute walk, and as it began to rain, she risked the mud, dirt and soggy grass and walked in between the gravestones as her one stiletto heel sank in the earth with each step she took.
Claire stopped at a mausoleum half way across the cemetery, looking across to see the comforting light of the bus stop blinking at her as she took off her stilettos. She was fed up of this night and just wanted it to end. As she continued to walk, now slightly more comfortable as her burning feet touched the cold, wet grass, she heard a scraping noise from behind her. Before she had time to turn around, she was grabbed by a cold, clammy hand and pulled back into the mausoleum. She tried to scream out but her voice caught in her throat as she watched the mausoleum door scrape closed, encasing her in complete blackness. In the darkness, she could hear another door open, and hands grabbing her waist and hoisting her over the shoulder of a man as he made his way down a flight of stairs. Too shocked and confused to fight, she stayed quiet until she was dropped on a cold, smooth floor. Her ears were suddenly flooded with the sound of pumping, cyber goth music as she tried to adjust her eyes to the blackness that covered them.
"Hello?" she said loudly, then instantly cringed at how cliche she sounded. Suddenly the music stopped. The silence rang in her ears as she stood up and tried to feel in front of her for anything that she could grasp onto. That's when she heard a familiar sound; clicking of stilettos, slowly creeping closer to her.
"Well what do we have here? You look just a mess," a soft, feminine voice echoed through what seemed like a vast empty space. "Welcome to The Morgue." Suddenly a spotlight flashed on, and Claire was blinded as her eyes, now adjusted to the darkness, throbbed in her skull.
"Ok, I know this is going to sound about as stupid as any horror movie script, but where am I?" Claire wrapped her arms around her waist and shivered as the coldness of the room chilled her to the bone. "And why can't I see anything?"
"Manson! Dim the lights a bit, you're blinding our guest," the mystery woman called out to someone, somewhere in the vast, empty space. The lights dimmed and Claire slowly opened her eyes. All she could see was herself in a pool of light. The woman giggled as she inched closer, making her black, PVC stilettos visible in the light. Claire watched as the woman stepped closer, revealing her very pale skin, black and white striped, latex mini dress and dark makeup,
"Welcome, again Claire. I'm Macabre, but please, everyone calls me Dame. And this," Dame clicked her heel on the now visible black and white checkered floor and all the lights went on, filling the wide room with dim light. "is The Morgue."
Claire looked around, not able to say anything. Everything in the room was something out of a gothic night club. The DJ booth was high on the wall behind her, with no visible way of access, and behind Dame along the opposite wall, were 3 cages, each with a name and a girl inside. The girls were all pale, almost ghost like, as they danced seductively to the music, which had started again as the lights went up. She read the names to herself, as Dame watched her intently with a small grin, her black hair shining all the way down her back in the lights of club.
"Allow me to introduce you to everyone," Dame said over the music as she touched Claire's wet back and guided her to the cages. Her stilettos clicked loudly on the floor as the crowd of people, all dressed in latex with dark makeup and almost dead-like pale skin, parted for Dame to pass by. She pointed to all the cages, naming them off one by one by what Claire hoped were nicknames; Silicone, Nari, Ghoulish, or, as Dame called them, The Gore Gore Girls. Each girl looked over and smiled, waved or nodded as Dame called their names, but stayed in the character of the job they were assigned to do: entertain Dame's many guests.
Stepping in front of Claire, Dame eyed her attire with a worried look. "You're positively soaked. Monstrum grabbed you just in time. We must get you out of this... outfit. Come with me,"
Claire was guided to a doorway on the right side of the club. Opening the black, silk curtains, Claire stepped inside with Dame behind her. She realized where the club got it's name instantly. Inside the slightly smaller room, morgue doors covered the sleek black walls in rows, each with a corresponding number. In the far corner was an autopsy table with an attaching sink, and lined with tools and knives. The sour smell of death filled Claire's nose as she felt Dame's hand reach up and pull the small clip out of her hair, and feeling it unravel down her back.
"You know what? I was on my way to a bus stop to go home. I can change there. There's no need to change now. I can just be on my way. I hope you enjoy your night, but I really must be going," Claire said anxiously. She did not want to be a part of this. All she wanted to do was go back to the cemetery, down to the bus stop and eventually get under her covers in her own bedroom.
"Nonsense!" Dame exclaimed with a smile. "You need out of this dress before you catch your... Death of cold." Claire backed farther away from Dame and continued to try to excuse herself. Before she knew it, she was handed a short, red dress by a tall, rather attractive man, along with a pair of white, latex stilettos, and was accompanied to a small screen by Dame and instructed to change.
As the music continued in the other room, she could hear Dame speaking with the man who handed her the dress and shoes, finding out that this was Monstrum. It was he who grabbed her from the cemetary, and he was Dame's confidant. Claire stepped out after a few minutes, slightly surprised at how well the dress fit her, and wondering how Monstrum knew her dress size. Her mind darted back to when she first heard Dame's voice, and remembered she had known what her name was. Who were these people and what did they want with her?
"That looks lovely on you. You look a bit more alive than I'm used to, but I'm sure that will change by the end of the night. Shall we?" Dame opened the curtain that led back to the club. Claire suddenly felt like she had no control and walked through the curtain. Every one of Dame's guests eyed Claire like she was the next meal, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around her waist to shield herself again. Dame motioned for her to join her on a sofa as she sat in between Monstrum, and a curvy girl with long black hair and black rimmed glasses. Her name was Needlz. The couch sank under Dame's tiny frame, the black and white cushions seemed to blend in with her dress as she crossed her legs and lit a cigarette with the ease and grace of a queen. Introduced to the two people, Claire found out that Needlz was Dame's best friend and she, along with Monstrum, helped run the club. She didn't say anything to her, and just nodded as her name was mentioned. Monstrum said a simple "Hello" but nothing more as Dame chattered on, talking with guests as they passed her.
"Would you like a drink? The Gore Gore Girls have cracked open the liquor so the party is really starting," Dame asked with a smile as Silicone and Nari came up in front of them. Before Claire could protest, she was handed a drink by Silicone, who skipped off drunkenly with Nari, their big platforms clunking as they ran back towards the dance floor, as Dame sipped her drink. Claire was confused by the hospitality of these strangers and took a sip of her drink, which was her favourite cocktail. She finished it quickly, and instantly felt herself overcome with fatigue. Fear crept over her, sending chills up her spine as she gripped the soft, leather sofa.
"I'm sorry," Claire slurred. Fear overcame her as she heard herself speak. The world was spinning around her, and she felt like she was beginning to pass out as she tried to stand up. "I would really, really like to go home now. Please, Dame. I'm tired and I need to sleep. I want to go home."
Claire blacked out then. Falling back onto the sofa and her glass falling onto the floor and smashing over the black and white tiles. Dame smiled at the sight of this and stood up, leaning over Claire to brush the hair out of her eyes. Monstrum picked up Claire, and hoisted her over his shoulder as he and Needlz followed Dame across the dance floor back to the small room where Claire changed out of her dress. Monstrum placed Claire on the autopsy table with a kind of gentleness that was not placed upon her at first. Dame stood at the head of the table as Needlz pulled on latex gloves and picked up a scalpel. She grazed Claire's jugular vein with professional precision and grazed the scalpel again along her femoral artery, and the embalming process began.
As Dame watched her new member slowly bleed out under Needlz's care, she invited her guests, Gore Gore Girls and her DJ, Manson to observe her handy work. As she watched Claire be sewn up, and her skin turn a milky white colour under the lights, She smiled ear to ear and picked out a Morgue drawer just for her.
"Number 8962. What does everyone think?" Dame asked as she turned towards her guests. They all nodded and agreed with her as Monstrum once again picked up Claire, this time cradling her like a child. Dame opened the door and slid out the slab that was hidden inside, and he placed Claire on it gingerly. Dame looked over Claire, examining her positioning and smiled, very pleased with her choice of members. Claire looked more beautiful in Dame's eyes than she had when she was pulled in from the the cemetery. Her black hair splayed out along the slab and her expression seemed more peaceful than Dame had ever seen anyone's before her. She motioned for Monstrum to push the slab back into the freezing drawer and grasped the handle of the door.
"Welcome home, Claire," Dame said with a broad grin and shut the Morgue door, locking her newest member inside until the next party was held.
~Crissy D
Saturday, 11 April 2015
Why Friends Are Necessary
Growing up, I never really had any friends. I had one that I grew up with. Me and her are still friends and have been for going on 17 years, but we're not best friends anymore. She's more like family now, since I don't really remember a time she wasn't in my life. She was all I had, and when we started drifting apart about 5 years ago, I was left with no one but my boyfriend. Until I went back to school.
I started Red Hill in February of 2010. I was 23, almost 24, and needed to get my high school diploma. Since I was expelled as a teenager for fighting (that may go in another post, just to prove how bad ass I am), I had zero credits. I started at the very beginning. I went through the first 16 credits thanks to a program held at the school, then started Adult Day School in September of 2011.
Adult day school was different. I was scared, anxious and I reverted back to my old ways instantly. I sat at the very back of the class, my hood over my head and refused to have any contact with anyone. Until a very short girl came over and sat in front of me. Her name was Kaydie.
She was spunky, and younger than me by 5 years, but she was nice and asked if I wanted to go outside for break. No one had ever asked me to do so, so I shook my head no and looked back down at the notebook in front of me, thinking she'd just go away. She didn't. She stayed and started talking to me; asking me my name, random questions and prodding me until I finally agreed to go outside with her. Once outside, she stood there with me as a group came over, she knew them all, and introduced me. I just kind of stood there awkwardly while they all had a conversation. No clue what to do. When I was finally able to go back inside, I headed straight for the back, ahead of her, and tried to get my work done so I could leave. But she followed me, and sat down with me again. She was so chatty, it intimidated me. She never seemed to run out of things to say, while I sat there and searched for words in between her taking breaths. She was funny and witty, and she seemed to want to have a conversation with me, for reasons I didn't yet know.
I went to class every day and she came back every day to sit and talk with me. Eventually, we were hanging out all day, even after school; going to the mall, riding the bus together even though I was within walking distance. I even started waiting for her at her bus stop every morning. We had each others' numbers and we would text constantly. For the first time in years, I had someone other than my boyfriend who wanted to talk to me, and it was motivating.
After a few weeks of getting closer, I stopped hiding who I was when we went outside for breaks. Me and Kaydie were obnoxious, laughing loud enough for teachers to come out and tell us to be quiet, sharing inside jokes that made everyone else confused while we almost fell on the ground, in tears with laughter. I had never been like that, and it was scary to think that I didn't care what people thought of me anymore.
When Kaydie graduated a year before me, it was lonely at the school, but by this time, me and her had already become so close, we hung out almost daily. She came by the school to pick me up, I would spend nights at her house and we'd share out inner most secrets. The first time I ever went to a New Years Eve party was at her house, and we sobbed all over each other as the alcohol consumed our souls. Through her, I met other people I could be myself around, without being ashamed of how I looked or felt about myself. Kaydie opened up a part of my life that I wouldn't have had without her.
I can honestly say that I have a best friend. I never thought I'd be able to say that because all of the people I become close with leave me in some way. Other than my boyfriend and my sister, Kaydie has been the one consistent person in my life. She never makes me doubt her friendship, and that is something that I could never thank her enough for. People have let me down before, and I know that people are going to continue to let me down, but if I have my best friend with me to battle through the hard times, I think I'll be a better person at the end.
I started Red Hill in February of 2010. I was 23, almost 24, and needed to get my high school diploma. Since I was expelled as a teenager for fighting (that may go in another post, just to prove how bad ass I am), I had zero credits. I started at the very beginning. I went through the first 16 credits thanks to a program held at the school, then started Adult Day School in September of 2011.
Adult day school was different. I was scared, anxious and I reverted back to my old ways instantly. I sat at the very back of the class, my hood over my head and refused to have any contact with anyone. Until a very short girl came over and sat in front of me. Her name was Kaydie.
She was spunky, and younger than me by 5 years, but she was nice and asked if I wanted to go outside for break. No one had ever asked me to do so, so I shook my head no and looked back down at the notebook in front of me, thinking she'd just go away. She didn't. She stayed and started talking to me; asking me my name, random questions and prodding me until I finally agreed to go outside with her. Once outside, she stood there with me as a group came over, she knew them all, and introduced me. I just kind of stood there awkwardly while they all had a conversation. No clue what to do. When I was finally able to go back inside, I headed straight for the back, ahead of her, and tried to get my work done so I could leave. But she followed me, and sat down with me again. She was so chatty, it intimidated me. She never seemed to run out of things to say, while I sat there and searched for words in between her taking breaths. She was funny and witty, and she seemed to want to have a conversation with me, for reasons I didn't yet know.
I went to class every day and she came back every day to sit and talk with me. Eventually, we were hanging out all day, even after school; going to the mall, riding the bus together even though I was within walking distance. I even started waiting for her at her bus stop every morning. We had each others' numbers and we would text constantly. For the first time in years, I had someone other than my boyfriend who wanted to talk to me, and it was motivating.
After a few weeks of getting closer, I stopped hiding who I was when we went outside for breaks. Me and Kaydie were obnoxious, laughing loud enough for teachers to come out and tell us to be quiet, sharing inside jokes that made everyone else confused while we almost fell on the ground, in tears with laughter. I had never been like that, and it was scary to think that I didn't care what people thought of me anymore.
When Kaydie graduated a year before me, it was lonely at the school, but by this time, me and her had already become so close, we hung out almost daily. She came by the school to pick me up, I would spend nights at her house and we'd share out inner most secrets. The first time I ever went to a New Years Eve party was at her house, and we sobbed all over each other as the alcohol consumed our souls. Through her, I met other people I could be myself around, without being ashamed of how I looked or felt about myself. Kaydie opened up a part of my life that I wouldn't have had without her.
I can honestly say that I have a best friend. I never thought I'd be able to say that because all of the people I become close with leave me in some way. Other than my boyfriend and my sister, Kaydie has been the one consistent person in my life. She never makes me doubt her friendship, and that is something that I could never thank her enough for. People have let me down before, and I know that people are going to continue to let me down, but if I have my best friend with me to battle through the hard times, I think I'll be a better person at the end.
Me vs. My Age
I have to start this off by saying that I am so glad that I have a thicker skin in person than I do online. While chatting online, I feel like I can say and do whatever I want in regards to how I defend myself against people who talk down to me. In person, I'm naturally shy so it takes a lot for me to show my emotions, even when I'm ready to explode into tears or a fit of rage.
As many know, I am spending my time volunteering to earn some experience and some community service hours before I apply for college. On Monday's, I'm a receptionist at a youth drop off, and on Wednesdays and Fridays, I spend my time at a food bank, where I'm supposed to be doing reception but, people don't think I can handle using a computer. This is where the title of this blog comes in.
This past Wednesday, I was at the food bank, holding down the Welcome Area when my co-volunteer, Melissa, was asked to help out in the food bank downstairs. She had to leave the computer, where she was putting in Data for tax returns, and asked me if I could take over that between answering the phone/greeting guests. I said it was no problem, and she handed me the file she was working on. I have been trained in Excel, so it was a breeze for me and I started flying through it faster than Melissa had ever done it before. After three minutes however, I was told to stop.
My boss, who is usually very nice to me, came over to my desk and said she didn't want me to do the data entry. I asked why, showing her that it was going well and that I was almost done, and she just said, "I want someone more experienced to do this." I asked her what she meant and she said "Melissa is older than you. She has more experience working with the program. I've already told her to come back." Before I could say anything else, my boss was taking the file and the computer and putting them in a different spot for Melissa, who was making her way back up the stairs, very unamused.
I just sat there, dumbfounded. I'm not young exactly, but I'm not old. I'm the youngest one there at 28, with Melissa 10-12 years older than me. Melissa apologized as she went into the room and sat there with her files. After a few minutes, and a few phone calls, my boss' boss comes by and hands me a stack of papers. She looks at me, with the biggest smile on her face, and asks if I'm capable of folding pamphlets instead of using the computer. At this point, I've had enough, but because I find it hard to mouth off in public, I just grit my teeth and folded her pamphlets without complaint.
My age has never been an issue before. I've been looked down upon for my weight, my lack of experience, and my lack of education, but never for my age. This was very new and hit me in a way that I never anticipated. I was looked down on, made to feel stupid, because of the fact that I am at least 10 years younger than anyone else there. I was flipping back and forth over whether I was staying or leaving at the end of this month when Melissa and Rob, my supervisor, leave, and I think I have made the decision that leaving is the best thing for me.
I may be young, but I will not be looked at like I'm stupid because of my age. No one knows my story but me. No one knows what I'm trained in and what my capabilities are until I am given a chance. I refuse to be someone's pamphlet folding bitch.
As many know, I am spending my time volunteering to earn some experience and some community service hours before I apply for college. On Monday's, I'm a receptionist at a youth drop off, and on Wednesdays and Fridays, I spend my time at a food bank, where I'm supposed to be doing reception but, people don't think I can handle using a computer. This is where the title of this blog comes in.
This past Wednesday, I was at the food bank, holding down the Welcome Area when my co-volunteer, Melissa, was asked to help out in the food bank downstairs. She had to leave the computer, where she was putting in Data for tax returns, and asked me if I could take over that between answering the phone/greeting guests. I said it was no problem, and she handed me the file she was working on. I have been trained in Excel, so it was a breeze for me and I started flying through it faster than Melissa had ever done it before. After three minutes however, I was told to stop.
My boss, who is usually very nice to me, came over to my desk and said she didn't want me to do the data entry. I asked why, showing her that it was going well and that I was almost done, and she just said, "I want someone more experienced to do this." I asked her what she meant and she said "Melissa is older than you. She has more experience working with the program. I've already told her to come back." Before I could say anything else, my boss was taking the file and the computer and putting them in a different spot for Melissa, who was making her way back up the stairs, very unamused.
I just sat there, dumbfounded. I'm not young exactly, but I'm not old. I'm the youngest one there at 28, with Melissa 10-12 years older than me. Melissa apologized as she went into the room and sat there with her files. After a few minutes, and a few phone calls, my boss' boss comes by and hands me a stack of papers. She looks at me, with the biggest smile on her face, and asks if I'm capable of folding pamphlets instead of using the computer. At this point, I've had enough, but because I find it hard to mouth off in public, I just grit my teeth and folded her pamphlets without complaint.
My age has never been an issue before. I've been looked down upon for my weight, my lack of experience, and my lack of education, but never for my age. This was very new and hit me in a way that I never anticipated. I was looked down on, made to feel stupid, because of the fact that I am at least 10 years younger than anyone else there. I was flipping back and forth over whether I was staying or leaving at the end of this month when Melissa and Rob, my supervisor, leave, and I think I have made the decision that leaving is the best thing for me.
I may be young, but I will not be looked at like I'm stupid because of my age. No one knows my story but me. No one knows what I'm trained in and what my capabilities are until I am given a chance. I refuse to be someone's pamphlet folding bitch.
Tuesday, 7 April 2015
Betty Jane
On September 17th, 2013, I lost my grandmother. I've been holding in certain emotions for the past two years, and every day it gets harder and harder to put on a brave face because, let's face it... I can't always be a robot.
My grandmother was the most amazing woman I, and many others, have ever met. She was a funny, proper German-English woman who loved high heels, plunging necklines and red lipstick. She always had a smile on her face, a bounce in her step and a loving nature that could reach inside of anyone's soul and hold them together. She used to sing me to sleep, make paper dolls with me in her kitchen and do my makeup before going out because she loved to see me in her red lipstick. She sang "Paper Doll" by Frank Sinatra, in her own way, to me when I was sick or sad, and ran her fingers over my head until I fell asleep on nights I was homesick.
My best memory of my grandmother was from when I was a teenager. I was graduating from the 8th grade, and I was going to be wearing a navy blue dress. She came over the day of, as I was getting ready and presented me with a blue heart necklace; a replica of the one from Titanic. It was ugly. And I hated it. I refused to wear it, even though it "matched the dress perfectly." We fought for hours over this damn necklace, to the point where she tried to sneak up behind me and put it on while I wasn't looking. In the end, I won. She hated me for a moment for my stubbornness, but loved me enough to let it go.
I regret a few things concerning my relationship with my grandmother. One of those things is the time I took for granted when I was in my early teens. My grandmother had, in my immature brain, broken a promise to me, my sister, my mother and my grandfather, by marrying another man.We all hated her new husband. He was abusive towards her, emotionally and mentally, he wouldn't dare lay a finger on her or he'd have the wrath of the entire family on him. She came over one day, and she handed each of us a cheque or $100. I was immediately skeptical, but thanked her and kissed her goodbye as she left. The next day, she called and said she had married him. We were not invited, we had no idea she had even agreed to marry him. She did it behind our backs and at the time, I couldn't understand why. I mailed her cheque back to her and reused to talk to her. Because of my stubbornness, I lost three years with my grandmother.
She divorced her husband a few years later, after we had made up, and met another man named Bill. I didn't like him at first. I was on edge and wanted nothing to do with him because he was just another guy coming to do what her second husband did: take my grandmother away. It took about a year, when I was 24, to come to terms with the fact that her new boyfriend wasn't as bad as I thought. He took me to the vet when my cat was sick. He drove my disabled mother to her appointments and he was there with my grandmother while she had her falling spells and had to go to the hospital. How could I hate a man who loved her so much?
I visited my grandmother the day before she died. She wasn't conscious. She didn't know I was there but I kissed her forehead and told her I loved her. Being there when she stopped breathing was too much and I spent the day drinking and crying with my sister, who was just as heartbroken as me. My mother and father went to the hospital, said goodbye and watched her leave this world.
At her funeral, I made a scene. The pastor who was performing her eulogy knew nothing about her, her life or her life with my grandfather. He called her "Betty-Anne," and my grandfather "Buzz," instead of "Bus," which was his nickname. Little things they may have been but they set me off because the man could have at least done some more research and allowed us to have that one moment of remembrance without fucking up their names! I corrected him in a very loud voice and left the chapel, crying and in need of escape. I called my best friend, who called our mutual friend, and he came and picked me up. I couldn't be in that funeral home anymore and I cried in his car all the way home.
On Christmas Eve of 2014, the second Christmas without her, me and my sister went to get our first tattoo's. Mine, was for her. For the best memory I have of her. Two blue hearts are now permanently on my wrist. One for her, and one for me. I look at it and get emotional sometimes, but I wouldn't want it in any other place. My grandmother may not have been perfect, but she was the only one I knew growing up. She helped shape who I am, and I wouldn't trade in any amount of time I've had with her in the world. Her memory lives on, and I'll always have paper dolls and Frank Sinatra.
My grandmother was the most amazing woman I, and many others, have ever met. She was a funny, proper German-English woman who loved high heels, plunging necklines and red lipstick. She always had a smile on her face, a bounce in her step and a loving nature that could reach inside of anyone's soul and hold them together. She used to sing me to sleep, make paper dolls with me in her kitchen and do my makeup before going out because she loved to see me in her red lipstick. She sang "Paper Doll" by Frank Sinatra, in her own way, to me when I was sick or sad, and ran her fingers over my head until I fell asleep on nights I was homesick.
My best memory of my grandmother was from when I was a teenager. I was graduating from the 8th grade, and I was going to be wearing a navy blue dress. She came over the day of, as I was getting ready and presented me with a blue heart necklace; a replica of the one from Titanic. It was ugly. And I hated it. I refused to wear it, even though it "matched the dress perfectly." We fought for hours over this damn necklace, to the point where she tried to sneak up behind me and put it on while I wasn't looking. In the end, I won. She hated me for a moment for my stubbornness, but loved me enough to let it go.
I regret a few things concerning my relationship with my grandmother. One of those things is the time I took for granted when I was in my early teens. My grandmother had, in my immature brain, broken a promise to me, my sister, my mother and my grandfather, by marrying another man.We all hated her new husband. He was abusive towards her, emotionally and mentally, he wouldn't dare lay a finger on her or he'd have the wrath of the entire family on him. She came over one day, and she handed each of us a cheque or $100. I was immediately skeptical, but thanked her and kissed her goodbye as she left. The next day, she called and said she had married him. We were not invited, we had no idea she had even agreed to marry him. She did it behind our backs and at the time, I couldn't understand why. I mailed her cheque back to her and reused to talk to her. Because of my stubbornness, I lost three years with my grandmother.
She divorced her husband a few years later, after we had made up, and met another man named Bill. I didn't like him at first. I was on edge and wanted nothing to do with him because he was just another guy coming to do what her second husband did: take my grandmother away. It took about a year, when I was 24, to come to terms with the fact that her new boyfriend wasn't as bad as I thought. He took me to the vet when my cat was sick. He drove my disabled mother to her appointments and he was there with my grandmother while she had her falling spells and had to go to the hospital. How could I hate a man who loved her so much?
I visited my grandmother the day before she died. She wasn't conscious. She didn't know I was there but I kissed her forehead and told her I loved her. Being there when she stopped breathing was too much and I spent the day drinking and crying with my sister, who was just as heartbroken as me. My mother and father went to the hospital, said goodbye and watched her leave this world.
At her funeral, I made a scene. The pastor who was performing her eulogy knew nothing about her, her life or her life with my grandfather. He called her "Betty-Anne," and my grandfather "Buzz," instead of "Bus," which was his nickname. Little things they may have been but they set me off because the man could have at least done some more research and allowed us to have that one moment of remembrance without fucking up their names! I corrected him in a very loud voice and left the chapel, crying and in need of escape. I called my best friend, who called our mutual friend, and he came and picked me up. I couldn't be in that funeral home anymore and I cried in his car all the way home.
On Christmas Eve of 2014, the second Christmas without her, me and my sister went to get our first tattoo's. Mine, was for her. For the best memory I have of her. Two blue hearts are now permanently on my wrist. One for her, and one for me. I look at it and get emotional sometimes, but I wouldn't want it in any other place. My grandmother may not have been perfect, but she was the only one I knew growing up. She helped shape who I am, and I wouldn't trade in any amount of time I've had with her in the world. Her memory lives on, and I'll always have paper dolls and Frank Sinatra.
Monday, 6 April 2015
What the Hell is going on?!
These past few days of going through Instagram and seeing the trolls taking over the hashtags I used to use, such as #pizzasisters4lyfe, #effyourbeautystandards and #honoryourcurves, and it's making me physically sick. Not just how people are completely bullying others based solely on how they look, but by the response of the people who are a part of the body positive community.
I agree, we should not allow people to make fun of us, to belittle us and to put us down just because we have some extra weight. I agree, that something needs to be done. But what doesn't need to be done is complete and utter disregard for the integrity that we as a community have been striving to promote. We are supposed to promote self-love and love for our fellow humans, but we're not, are we? Are we really promoting this? By telling people that we're better than they are, is that promoting love?
If we're so much better than the people who promote hate, why are we feeding into them? Why aren't we just going on with our lives, being loved by others and ourselves, going to work, the gym, playing with our kids and going shopping? Why are we commenting on the hateful posts and giving them more ammunition? It's all it is, really. The people commenting on their posts and "defending" yourselves, you are making it worse! They want you to comment. They want you to be angry and to call them out because this is entertaining for them. They all banded together on their hate-train and rolled right in because they knew that they could get a rise out of you and for what? Entertainment.
If you really want to do something, leave the haters alone. Let them dry out, get bored and eventually they will go away. If they want to post photos showing the effects of obesity, let them. Are they physically tagging you and pointing you out? You're giving them too much power. If you're really better than they are, prove it.
I agree, we should not allow people to make fun of us, to belittle us and to put us down just because we have some extra weight. I agree, that something needs to be done. But what doesn't need to be done is complete and utter disregard for the integrity that we as a community have been striving to promote. We are supposed to promote self-love and love for our fellow humans, but we're not, are we? Are we really promoting this? By telling people that we're better than they are, is that promoting love?
If we're so much better than the people who promote hate, why are we feeding into them? Why aren't we just going on with our lives, being loved by others and ourselves, going to work, the gym, playing with our kids and going shopping? Why are we commenting on the hateful posts and giving them more ammunition? It's all it is, really. The people commenting on their posts and "defending" yourselves, you are making it worse! They want you to comment. They want you to be angry and to call them out because this is entertaining for them. They all banded together on their hate-train and rolled right in because they knew that they could get a rise out of you and for what? Entertainment.
If you really want to do something, leave the haters alone. Let them dry out, get bored and eventually they will go away. If they want to post photos showing the effects of obesity, let them. Are they physically tagging you and pointing you out? You're giving them too much power. If you're really better than they are, prove it.
Sunday, 5 April 2015
Am I Really Body Positive?
I keep thinking about this today, simply because of the reaction I got to a photo I posted on Instagram. I have been trying to accept myself for how I am for a while now. Body positivity towards others comes easy, but looking at myself in the mirror is something that is still hard to do because I don't feel like I'm at my best; health and appearance wise.
I have people behind me that are hoping I succeed and gain a healthier life through exercise, healthy eating and weight loss. On the other hand, there are people who are now calling me a hypocrite or a "fat hater," because I don't want to be obese my entire life. I'm no longer "body positive" because I am choosing to go against "fat acceptance," in order to lose half of the weight on my body. I'm sorry, excuse the fuck out of me.
I'm going to be blunt. I am 28 years old, 400lbs and completely unhappy. I have an awesome boyfriend who loves me, even though I am as big as I am, amazing friends and the best sister anyone can ask for. But I can not look in the mirror every day and see beauty. I can't look at myself and see someone who exudes health and confidence because, let's face it, I'm neither blind or fucking stupid. I've been large my entire life because I grew up with parents who, even though they loved me, didn't teach me proper eating habits from the start. There is a photo of me from when I was two years old and there's a huge plate of food in front of me, including two hot dogs. As I grew older, my parents, especially my mother, shoved the "you're healthy," lie into my head. How is it healthy to be twelve and 224lbs? Someone answer me that. I was bullied at school, I was bullied in my neighbourhood, so I built my wall. It was easier to be the quiet, fat girl in the class than to draw attention to myself. I loved to write, but never did out of fear of people finding it,reading it and showing it off to other people. I loved to sing, but didn't rejoin the choir after the fourth grade because the bullying was so bad, I did not want to stand in front of anyone and open my mouth. Art and music were my two passions and I left them behind in order to keep all attention off of myself, in hopes people would leave me alone. Is that healthy?
This whole "fat acceptance" thing is fine for some. I'm not judging, I'm not badgering, I'm not going to put it down because it's something that helps so many people overcome their struggles. But I am not part of the fat acceptance movement. How can I accept something that has torn me down for so long? On the other side of the coin, I'm not part of the "fat hate," movement. How can I hate something that made me the person I am today? I personally believe that being fat has made me mentally strong. My maturity level has always been higher than my peers because, being silent has made me observant. Being fat has made my intuition stronger, has made me able to read people and to see behind the masks that they wear every day. So, if I'm not "fat hating," and I'm not "fat accepting," what am I?
People, can we all just be? Do we have to have labels, titles, expectations and hatred? Can we just be human?
I have people behind me that are hoping I succeed and gain a healthier life through exercise, healthy eating and weight loss. On the other hand, there are people who are now calling me a hypocrite or a "fat hater," because I don't want to be obese my entire life. I'm no longer "body positive" because I am choosing to go against "fat acceptance," in order to lose half of the weight on my body. I'm sorry, excuse the fuck out of me.
I'm going to be blunt. I am 28 years old, 400lbs and completely unhappy. I have an awesome boyfriend who loves me, even though I am as big as I am, amazing friends and the best sister anyone can ask for. But I can not look in the mirror every day and see beauty. I can't look at myself and see someone who exudes health and confidence because, let's face it, I'm neither blind or fucking stupid. I've been large my entire life because I grew up with parents who, even though they loved me, didn't teach me proper eating habits from the start. There is a photo of me from when I was two years old and there's a huge plate of food in front of me, including two hot dogs. As I grew older, my parents, especially my mother, shoved the "you're healthy," lie into my head. How is it healthy to be twelve and 224lbs? Someone answer me that. I was bullied at school, I was bullied in my neighbourhood, so I built my wall. It was easier to be the quiet, fat girl in the class than to draw attention to myself. I loved to write, but never did out of fear of people finding it,reading it and showing it off to other people. I loved to sing, but didn't rejoin the choir after the fourth grade because the bullying was so bad, I did not want to stand in front of anyone and open my mouth. Art and music were my two passions and I left them behind in order to keep all attention off of myself, in hopes people would leave me alone. Is that healthy?
This whole "fat acceptance" thing is fine for some. I'm not judging, I'm not badgering, I'm not going to put it down because it's something that helps so many people overcome their struggles. But I am not part of the fat acceptance movement. How can I accept something that has torn me down for so long? On the other side of the coin, I'm not part of the "fat hate," movement. How can I hate something that made me the person I am today? I personally believe that being fat has made me mentally strong. My maturity level has always been higher than my peers because, being silent has made me observant. Being fat has made my intuition stronger, has made me able to read people and to see behind the masks that they wear every day. So, if I'm not "fat hating," and I'm not "fat accepting," what am I?
People, can we all just be? Do we have to have labels, titles, expectations and hatred? Can we just be human?
Saturday, 4 April 2015
How to Fake Your Own Death (Short Story Beginning)
People say that when you're about to
die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. Images of past
birthdays, Christmases, Thanksgiving dinners; family, friends and the
old street where you learned how to ride a bike. The day you had your
first kiss, lost your virginity, the feeling of heartbreak. The warm
sun on a winter's morning and the first bite of fall on the last day
of summer. These things are what normal people think of just before
the last beat of their heart. Normal people wouldn't be lying in a
pool of blood hoping that it's not in their hair, but I've never been
what people would call “normal.”
My “name” is Ariana Guile
(pronounced “geel” for future reference) and I am about to die. I
think. Well, I should say “I hope,” because honestly, I have
quite had it with this life. I'm ready for the next one. Ready for
the adventure of starting over and moving on with a new life. Death
is the perfect out. No, I'm not suicidal. I'm simply faking my own
death.
Trust me, it wasn't easy to pull this
off, but I've been planning for three years. I've saved three years
worth of wages from my shitty job as a Wal-Mart cashier, paid for a
counterfeit passport that looks more authentic than my real one, and
have all the bleach I believe my dark hair can take without falling
out. I am ready.
The ambulance is getting close, I can
hear it as I lay on the street, the blood packet underneath my shirt
has drained completely, staining the street around me and my yellow
blouse. I know that Jake and Tom are inside the ambulance, fresh out
of paramedic school. They only know of my plan because I need their
help. Once they stop being useful, I'm sure I'll forget them and the
$1000 I'm paying them. It will be money well-spent once I'm “dead.”
The ambulance stops about 10 feet from
me, at least that's what I can sense through the crowd that has
gathered around my seemingly lifeless body. Everyone is chattering so
loudly, it's hard to keep still. The elders in the group seem to be
more concerned about my appearance than they are about my life.
“Such a lovely top. That blood will
never come out,” I hear one of them whisper to their friend.
“What a pretty young lady,” an
elderly man says to himself. “I wonder if she was tight.”
Conclusion: Old people are shallow and
gross.
Can We Talk About The Children?
Before I start, I would like everyone to know that I am not singling anyone out. I am not pointing fingers or trying to make parents of today feel bad. I am simply asking a very valid question: What is happening with this generation?
I am in my late twenties, so I was born in the 80's and grew up as a 90's kid. I was a child during the best time in life; when going outside was not an option, but a necessity. When, if you mouthed off, you got a mouthful of soap, and TV time was the hour between dinner and bath time. We, today's young parents, did not sit around all day after school and on weekends numbing our brains with video games, hour upon hour of TV, and walking around with our noses tucked neatly away behind mobile devices. We had to go outside, learn how to interact with the kids in our neighbourhoods and we loved it. We were out every day until Mom/Dad/Parental Guardian called for us to get our butts inside before dinner got cold. If this was our lives, why are we subjecting children of today to anything less?
I go out and I see teenagers sitting in groups, not interacting, but with their faces glued to the screen of the latest touch screen technology. They don't say one word to each other, unless it's to show the one closest to them a funny meme or quick witted quote. But this isn't the worst part. Let me tell you a quick story:
I take care of my parents because of their mental disabilities. One day, my mother was due at the doctor's office, and I, of course, went along. As we were waiting in the seating area for her name to be called, a mother with a child, she couldn't have been more than three years old, came in. Without a second though, the mother gave her child her iPhone to "play with." The little girl, whose hands were so small, it took two to hold the phone, went to the tiny table in front of me, sat on the floor, placed the phone on the table and proceeded to not only correctly unlock the phone, but to maneuver through apps faster than I've ever seen any adult do. I was stunned, and her mother saw how shocked I was and proceeded to laugh and say, very proudly, "she works that thing better than I do." Most people would have found this endearing. I found it frustrating.
We now live in a society where kids don't know how to properly interact with people face-to-face, but they have hundreds of friends on Facebook. We have kids who have devices worth hundreds of dollars and the only thing they use it for is to take nude photos. Taking photos with friends while having fun has been replaced with the proverbial duck-lipped "selfie," and parents are either at their wit's end or simply do not care.
I know people are probably wondering why I even have an opinion. I don't have children, I am active on social media and I'm just one person with a laptop, able to post what comes to mind whenever I please. I feel like, as a person who does not have children, I have the ability to see things from the outside, making my viewpoint clearer than others'.
Why does a 12-14 year old need an iPhone? Why do teens need Facebook, Instagram and other social media accounts? Why is it okay for young girls and boys to take photos of their bodies in inappropriate positions and inappropriate clothing? These are all valid questions that don't have answers either because parents have given up, have no idea what to do, or are completely oblivious.
I guess, I just believe that kids today need the same type of childhood that we had when we were young. All of the children are stuck inside, their eyes glued to some sort of technology and why? Because it's easier? We need these kids to grow up and be the next leaders of the world. How is that to happen when their brains are slowly turning to mush? I suppose, in twenty years, we'll know the effects. Until then, good luck new parents. Technology may just be more damaging than you think.
I am in my late twenties, so I was born in the 80's and grew up as a 90's kid. I was a child during the best time in life; when going outside was not an option, but a necessity. When, if you mouthed off, you got a mouthful of soap, and TV time was the hour between dinner and bath time. We, today's young parents, did not sit around all day after school and on weekends numbing our brains with video games, hour upon hour of TV, and walking around with our noses tucked neatly away behind mobile devices. We had to go outside, learn how to interact with the kids in our neighbourhoods and we loved it. We were out every day until Mom/Dad/Parental Guardian called for us to get our butts inside before dinner got cold. If this was our lives, why are we subjecting children of today to anything less?
I go out and I see teenagers sitting in groups, not interacting, but with their faces glued to the screen of the latest touch screen technology. They don't say one word to each other, unless it's to show the one closest to them a funny meme or quick witted quote. But this isn't the worst part. Let me tell you a quick story:
I take care of my parents because of their mental disabilities. One day, my mother was due at the doctor's office, and I, of course, went along. As we were waiting in the seating area for her name to be called, a mother with a child, she couldn't have been more than three years old, came in. Without a second though, the mother gave her child her iPhone to "play with." The little girl, whose hands were so small, it took two to hold the phone, went to the tiny table in front of me, sat on the floor, placed the phone on the table and proceeded to not only correctly unlock the phone, but to maneuver through apps faster than I've ever seen any adult do. I was stunned, and her mother saw how shocked I was and proceeded to laugh and say, very proudly, "she works that thing better than I do." Most people would have found this endearing. I found it frustrating.
We now live in a society where kids don't know how to properly interact with people face-to-face, but they have hundreds of friends on Facebook. We have kids who have devices worth hundreds of dollars and the only thing they use it for is to take nude photos. Taking photos with friends while having fun has been replaced with the proverbial duck-lipped "selfie," and parents are either at their wit's end or simply do not care.
I know people are probably wondering why I even have an opinion. I don't have children, I am active on social media and I'm just one person with a laptop, able to post what comes to mind whenever I please. I feel like, as a person who does not have children, I have the ability to see things from the outside, making my viewpoint clearer than others'.
Why does a 12-14 year old need an iPhone? Why do teens need Facebook, Instagram and other social media accounts? Why is it okay for young girls and boys to take photos of their bodies in inappropriate positions and inappropriate clothing? These are all valid questions that don't have answers either because parents have given up, have no idea what to do, or are completely oblivious.
I guess, I just believe that kids today need the same type of childhood that we had when we were young. All of the children are stuck inside, their eyes glued to some sort of technology and why? Because it's easier? We need these kids to grow up and be the next leaders of the world. How is that to happen when their brains are slowly turning to mush? I suppose, in twenty years, we'll know the effects. Until then, good luck new parents. Technology may just be more damaging than you think.
Friday, 3 April 2015
Pools of Blue
The look in his eyes made it that much harder. If he would only look
away for a moment and let me have my say. The only thing hurting me was
that he was hurt. The pools of blue that used to dance with such life
now just looked dead, sorrowful and dark. That was my fault.
It was hard for me to look him in the eye and tell him; to show no remourse, no feeling at all. Practice makes perfect, but nothing could stop me from catching the tear that rolled down his cheek with my thumb. A little contact, the floodgates opened, there was no going back.
This will never get easier. I realized the day he turned away from me for the last time that a piece of my heart was walking away with him. I let him have that piece, no questions asked.
It was hard for me to look him in the eye and tell him; to show no remourse, no feeling at all. Practice makes perfect, but nothing could stop me from catching the tear that rolled down his cheek with my thumb. A little contact, the floodgates opened, there was no going back.
This will never get easier. I realized the day he turned away from me for the last time that a piece of my heart was walking away with him. I let him have that piece, no questions asked.
Loving Someone with Autism
As many of the people who follow me on Instagram or Snapchat knows, I have been in a relationship for the past 6 years. What most don't know is that my boyfriend has Aspergers.
Aspergers is a form of Autism that mainly restricts a person's social interaction and non-verbal communication, and involves repetitive patterns of behaviour, rituals and interests.
From the moment I met Robbie, I knew his brain wasn't the same as the average person's. He loved things deeply and could go on and on for hours on end if I let him, one thing out of routine caused major anxiety and he was very quiet around new people. He also did not understand facial expressions or subtle hints. Like, if I was sad, I had to tell him up front, "Baby, I'm sad," in order for him to recognize that I wasn't in a happy spot. It made things difficult at first, but as we moved on in our relationship, it became easier to understand his routine and why he had one, rather than fight him to try to change it.
He was officially diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome as an adult. This, as expected, was not easy and I was completely useless in helping him in a physical way because of how far away we are distance wise. All I knew is that I didn't love him any less. It made me love him more than I ever thought possible.
For the past six years, I have had to learn to love someone through all of their mental issues. I have mental issues, I have severe anxiety that leaves me house-bound some days. I have episodes of sub-psychotic rage where I can't calm myself down, I have some severe trust issues because of my past and he accepts all of me. Who would I be now if I didn't accept him and love the craziness of his brain?
He has taught me patience, which was not easy, I'll tell you. However, he makes loving him very easy. He never raises his voice, he never makes me feel scared and he still looks at me as if I am the only woman on the planet. His eyes still trail up and down my entire body before looking into my eyes with a look of pure gratitude and love, which is all I could have ever asked for.
Loving a man or woman with Autism of any kind is never easy, but I've been shown that it is so worth it. This man, who just found out what was wrong with him after 30 years of unknown symptoms, loves me in a way that I couldn't ever have received from anyone else, and that makes me luckier than most.
Aspergers is a form of Autism that mainly restricts a person's social interaction and non-verbal communication, and involves repetitive patterns of behaviour, rituals and interests.
From the moment I met Robbie, I knew his brain wasn't the same as the average person's. He loved things deeply and could go on and on for hours on end if I let him, one thing out of routine caused major anxiety and he was very quiet around new people. He also did not understand facial expressions or subtle hints. Like, if I was sad, I had to tell him up front, "Baby, I'm sad," in order for him to recognize that I wasn't in a happy spot. It made things difficult at first, but as we moved on in our relationship, it became easier to understand his routine and why he had one, rather than fight him to try to change it.
He was officially diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome as an adult. This, as expected, was not easy and I was completely useless in helping him in a physical way because of how far away we are distance wise. All I knew is that I didn't love him any less. It made me love him more than I ever thought possible.
For the past six years, I have had to learn to love someone through all of their mental issues. I have mental issues, I have severe anxiety that leaves me house-bound some days. I have episodes of sub-psychotic rage where I can't calm myself down, I have some severe trust issues because of my past and he accepts all of me. Who would I be now if I didn't accept him and love the craziness of his brain?
He has taught me patience, which was not easy, I'll tell you. However, he makes loving him very easy. He never raises his voice, he never makes me feel scared and he still looks at me as if I am the only woman on the planet. His eyes still trail up and down my entire body before looking into my eyes with a look of pure gratitude and love, which is all I could have ever asked for.
Loving a man or woman with Autism of any kind is never easy, but I've been shown that it is so worth it. This man, who just found out what was wrong with him after 30 years of unknown symptoms, loves me in a way that I couldn't ever have received from anyone else, and that makes me luckier than most.
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