Just a note, I decided that I wanted to gush about my amazing boyfriend and how the relationship makes me feel. If you don't want to get cavities from the sweetness of it all, just click the back button or the little x. It's okay. I understand. I wouldn't want to read it if I hadn't written it either. :)
So I'm not going to pretend this is love just yet. This is the feeling that sells all of those Hallmark cards and makes you go 'aww' in the movie theatre. But I've never felt this before. It's just pure elation. I've found someone that doesn't judge me, that doesn't use me, and likes me as a human being. He's an amazing guy, and I'm not just saying that because he's interested in me. I've actually found something amazing.
He's just remarkable. He's smart. We can talk about in-depth psychological theories and old video games. We can talk about stories we've written and books we've read. About college classes and kindergarten classes. About family and friends and pets and people that we've never known but would like to. We can talk about fears and dreams. We can talk about anything. I won't be playing chess with him though. He's a better strategist than me. And I'm pretty sure he's better at math too...
He's funny too. And the jokes aren't anything cliché unless it was pointedly intended to be so. I have yet to hear him tell a joke or say something witty that wasn't ridiculously funny. And his wit. He's the first guy that's left me feeling inferior in that department. Major points in his favor, by the way. And he laughs at the jokes that I make, even the super lame ones that I wish I hadn't said because they were that stupid.
And he hasn't overstepped a single boundary. No obvious ogling, no attempted groping or suggestions of it. He respects me. He's a good guy. He's walked me back to my dorm countless times in the middle of the night, when it was just us. I've gotten amazing hugs and cute goodnights. No joking about me sneaking him up when my roommate's out of town or him staying over. Nothing inappropriate. Well, nothing more inappropriate than the jokes that the entire group makes. Actually, thanks to three of them, Johnny included, my roommates think that I had an orgy one day. I still get jealous looks but that's beside the point.
He doesn't drink or smoke either. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a college guy that doesn't drink himself into a stupor regularly or smoke like a chimney? And that isn't a religious freak or vegan or something else weird? Remarkably hard. And on top of that, one that's funny and smart and witty and has similar interests and isn't a jerk or womanizer or abusive idiot? Let me tell you, we're getting into the thousanths of a percent at this point. He doesn't even mind me talking about my Dracula obsession. And he knows a decent bit about him. I mean, wow.
And his eyes... He's got amazing eyes... They see right through me and don't seem to mind what's there. That darkness I keep telling you about? He sees it and doesn't mind. He's been there. Nothing there scared him or worried him or made him cringe. He shrugged it off and told me how I could fix some of it. He let me see some of the darkness in him too. I wasn't scared either. I felt humbled by the fact that he trusted me enough to tell me about those things. He trusts me. Legitimately trusts me.
I don't think I've ever known what it's like to have that sort of connection with someone. I've rarely been comfortable enough with someone to let them know my weaknesses, and I can list those people on one hand. You think you know them, but trust me. I haven't shared any of them with you. You know that I fear failure, but who doesn't know that about me? He knows things about me that I refuse to share with you because you will exploit them. He won't. And if he does, then I know how to counter it. I'm not defenseless like you all think I am. Trust me.
I'm just in awe. He's so amazing and I don't know what I've done to deserve someone like him in my life. I'm not arguing with whatever put him here, but I'd just like to know what I did to earn this privilege.
*hums along with the song that was the title of this entry*
I can't wait to see where this relationship goes. It's early, and it's going to progress slowly, but I have to say, while I'm not getting my hopes up too terribly high about it lasting a very long time, I kinda want it to. I really want it to. I know I'm in college and don't know a single thing about love, but if it's anything like this, then I'd like to get to know it better.
So, Johnny Ray Hess Jr., go listen to our song again. I won't ever be able to hear it again without thinking of you. And listening to it on repeat probably isn't conducive to sleep. I blame you for my late night, but I don't hold it against you. I'm happier than I've been in a good long time, and that's your fault too. Thanks for being you. <3
Friday, December 23, 2011
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Thankful
So I just woke up. I had a long night out with my friends, hanging in Whitney's living room and laughing and talking until six this morning. It was amazing.
I didn't realize how safe I felt with them, not only because I trust every one of them, but because I wasn't worried about anything crashing into the dorm. I wasn't worried that someone would run in with a bomb strapped to their chest. I didn't even consider the fact that there are people worrying about those things while they're away fighting for our freedom to hang out until daybreak and feel safe in our own country.
I was sitting at my desk, thinking about what I wanted to write and looking out my window when he walked by. There was another college student on his way back to his dorm. I'm assuming he went to go get lunch since that's about the right time to get back now. He had a large backpack on. I gave it a second look and it was the digital camo print and nearly twice his size. I could see something that looked like a yoga mat strapped beneath it. I immediately remembered the other students I always see on campus with the same thing, but they're usually wearing the full uniform too. The guy looked like he was struggling with the load, swinging one arm further than the other like he was compensating for the strain.
I have to respect anyone who can pull themselves together and willingly walk into hell so the rest of us can sit on our asses and blog about it. I'm eternally thankful and in awe of everything that it takes for someone to step up and do something that amazing, that powerful, that underappreciated. I don't care about the politics behind it or in front of it or running it. I admire the people. The heroes. Without them, we would be in sorry shape indeed. Not only because of wars, but because of life in general. Heroes are everywhere, these are just a little easier to spot. (Or harder to, depending on the terrain...) These people are the guiding light whether they know it or not. By their sacrifices and struggles and successes, they show us what humanity is capable of. They show us that just because something is hard doesn't mean that it's impossible. They prove on a daily basis that there is good in the world. I've rambled a little from my original point, but you should have grown to expect that by now.
I realize that I don't entirely see how much that our Armed Forces do. I'm not fully aware of all they protect us from. I'm just now seeing how dissatisfied I am with that. I don't pretend to know everything, but I will own up to what I do know. At this very moment, I'm thankful that I have the freedom to write this right now. I'm thankful for the fact that I can write it in any language that I can speak, that I can write anything at all. I'm also glad that I'm able to attend college and walk around campus safely. If I were almost anywhere else, just the fact that I am female would slam most doors shut and lock me under a man's power thanks to culture and societal norms. I was raised by a woman who was way too independent for any of that to ever be okay, therefore, I'm hardheaded and stubborn and prideful and willful, things she tried to break me of. ;) The thought of being under control just because of my sex infuriates me. I am thankful that I don't have to worry about things like this due to the fact that we're where we are and we're keeping it that way.
The weather's nice today, lovely actually. After I watched my fellow student and future hero walk into the door of the dorm facing mine, I remembered a little thing that I wanted to do one night in a rainy Wal-Mart parking lot. I had seen so many Veteran stickers on trucks that I had the sudden urge to go make little notes thanking them for what they had done and stick them under the windshield wipers.The rain would have melted the paper and smeared the ink. Today, the weather is beautiful.
I may see who wants to go to Wal-Mart later.
I didn't realize how safe I felt with them, not only because I trust every one of them, but because I wasn't worried about anything crashing into the dorm. I wasn't worried that someone would run in with a bomb strapped to their chest. I didn't even consider the fact that there are people worrying about those things while they're away fighting for our freedom to hang out until daybreak and feel safe in our own country.
I was sitting at my desk, thinking about what I wanted to write and looking out my window when he walked by. There was another college student on his way back to his dorm. I'm assuming he went to go get lunch since that's about the right time to get back now. He had a large backpack on. I gave it a second look and it was the digital camo print and nearly twice his size. I could see something that looked like a yoga mat strapped beneath it. I immediately remembered the other students I always see on campus with the same thing, but they're usually wearing the full uniform too. The guy looked like he was struggling with the load, swinging one arm further than the other like he was compensating for the strain.
I have to respect anyone who can pull themselves together and willingly walk into hell so the rest of us can sit on our asses and blog about it. I'm eternally thankful and in awe of everything that it takes for someone to step up and do something that amazing, that powerful, that underappreciated. I don't care about the politics behind it or in front of it or running it. I admire the people. The heroes. Without them, we would be in sorry shape indeed. Not only because of wars, but because of life in general. Heroes are everywhere, these are just a little easier to spot. (Or harder to, depending on the terrain...) These people are the guiding light whether they know it or not. By their sacrifices and struggles and successes, they show us what humanity is capable of. They show us that just because something is hard doesn't mean that it's impossible. They prove on a daily basis that there is good in the world. I've rambled a little from my original point, but you should have grown to expect that by now.
I realize that I don't entirely see how much that our Armed Forces do. I'm not fully aware of all they protect us from. I'm just now seeing how dissatisfied I am with that. I don't pretend to know everything, but I will own up to what I do know. At this very moment, I'm thankful that I have the freedom to write this right now. I'm thankful for the fact that I can write it in any language that I can speak, that I can write anything at all. I'm also glad that I'm able to attend college and walk around campus safely. If I were almost anywhere else, just the fact that I am female would slam most doors shut and lock me under a man's power thanks to culture and societal norms. I was raised by a woman who was way too independent for any of that to ever be okay, therefore, I'm hardheaded and stubborn and prideful and willful, things she tried to break me of. ;) The thought of being under control just because of my sex infuriates me. I am thankful that I don't have to worry about things like this due to the fact that we're where we are and we're keeping it that way.
The weather's nice today, lovely actually. After I watched my fellow student and future hero walk into the door of the dorm facing mine, I remembered a little thing that I wanted to do one night in a rainy Wal-Mart parking lot. I had seen so many Veteran stickers on trucks that I had the sudden urge to go make little notes thanking them for what they had done and stick them under the windshield wipers.The rain would have melted the paper and smeared the ink. Today, the weather is beautiful.
I may see who wants to go to Wal-Mart later.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Said The Spider To The Fly
I should be doing something productive right now.
Instead, I'm sitting in front of my computer, blogging about nothing. Then again, this nothing may become something, in the way my writing usually does.
I guess we could talk about me some more, since that's almost why I made this. I wanted to be heard, even if I had nothing to say. It's easier for me to communicate with the written word rather than the spoken one, even though I've been told that I get my point across clearly regardless of the medium. I also tend to have bigger thoughts than I can actually convey, so having a nice, uninterrupted place to do so helps me focus, at least a little.
Anyway, just to give you a good picture of what's going on on my side of the keyboard, picture this. I'm sitting here in a grey v-neck tshirt, my hair up in a pencil, no make-up, shoveling ramen into my silent mouth. Since I'm alone, I'm also not worrying about eating very politely. Half of the time, I look like a three year old eating pasta. I won't elaborate on that since it makes me look marvelously uncultured. I promise my mother raised me better than that. However, there's no one in the room to look dignified for, so I drop the worry. I'm facebooking in the background, messaging a friend of a friend for no reason at all really. I'm debating making tea.
Inside my head, the part that you can't hear unless you're reading, I'm vaguely tossing around ideas for this blog. I could go into what makes me happy, gush about my boyfriend, tell you in way too much detail how the pen and paper role playing game that I'm in is going, break down the characters that I've created and I have a particular fondness for...
Let's go with that one. I'm going to share a few characters with you. Think what you like about them, I'm beyond caring.
Actually, no. Let's stay away from the characters today and examine your responses to this. Several of you have sent me emails or facebook messages or called/texted/smoke-signalled me your thoughts on my blogs. Some of you are family, some friends. What no one seems to get about these blogs is that it's all written in a tone of boredom and near desperation. Everything is said in a languid, scornful tone. That's how I'm hearing the words in my head, how I'm trying to send them to you. These aren't full of me whispering softly to you the ideas in my head. This is me letting icy contempt finally steal into the voice that has comforted you, the voice that has quelled your fear or your sadness, the voice that has lifted up your spirit when nothing else would. This is the sharp darkness of my vindictive and somewhat twisted view of the world and the people in it. I'm not holding your hand while you read this. I'm sitting in a chair, playing with the dagger of words idly while you sit in my company. This lingual dagger could save you from harm or cause you pain. Your reactions and my disposition decide your fate. But I hardly tricked you into coming here. You're here of your own free will. I'm not a professional here. I am me.
Some of you will think that I'm being ridiculous, but look again at the title of this blog. Everything I Never Said Aloud. Let it sink in, lovelies.
I have been the best friend, the loving daughter, the model older sister, the upstanding citizen, the attentive student. How many of you have actually seen my darker side? Not that that side holds any danger at all for you, I only want to share with you the things hiding within. When I write, I want you to be my captive. I want my words to hold you hostage and make you think. I want you to wonder how this experience will change you.
Read my blogs with my voice. Read them with the note of contempt and scorn that they deserve. Every one of my posts is a dare, every single one. I'm daring you to hold on with me and see where this wild rollercoaster from purgatory takes us. You have only ever seen the side of me that was raised correctly, my polished and controlled side. Not the side that I kept to myself. Not the side that had the comforting darkness of a night sky that allowed my soul to rest peacefully. Not the side that relishes in the beautifully dark ideas that I've read and nurtured myself.
Now, don't you start thinking that the darker side is something that means that I'm crazy or some sort of madwoman. I'm just embracing the side we all have. The little voice of pain and indignation when someone slights you. The darkness you run to when you want to be protected from the bright burning light of the rest of society. The one safe place to hide when the monsters are after you. Where your nightmares reside, where you keep them once you have conquered them. The place where you are strong, where you have power that you would rather not think about. The one place that scares you the most. The deepest, darkest part of you.
I want you to read my blogs and stare at your computer screen like it's the only thing that exists. I want you to be rapt with attention, to not have a single thought that I didn't put into your head while you are reading. I want you to sit back at the end of these installments and gasp for breath.
I don't pretend to be that powerful. However, if you are my 'ideal reader', then I do have that power over you.
And do you know what the absolute scariest part of it all is?
You gave it to me.
Instead, I'm sitting in front of my computer, blogging about nothing. Then again, this nothing may become something, in the way my writing usually does.
I guess we could talk about me some more, since that's almost why I made this. I wanted to be heard, even if I had nothing to say. It's easier for me to communicate with the written word rather than the spoken one, even though I've been told that I get my point across clearly regardless of the medium. I also tend to have bigger thoughts than I can actually convey, so having a nice, uninterrupted place to do so helps me focus, at least a little.
Anyway, just to give you a good picture of what's going on on my side of the keyboard, picture this. I'm sitting here in a grey v-neck tshirt, my hair up in a pencil, no make-up, shoveling ramen into my silent mouth. Since I'm alone, I'm also not worrying about eating very politely. Half of the time, I look like a three year old eating pasta. I won't elaborate on that since it makes me look marvelously uncultured. I promise my mother raised me better than that. However, there's no one in the room to look dignified for, so I drop the worry. I'm facebooking in the background, messaging a friend of a friend for no reason at all really. I'm debating making tea.
Inside my head, the part that you can't hear unless you're reading, I'm vaguely tossing around ideas for this blog. I could go into what makes me happy, gush about my boyfriend, tell you in way too much detail how the pen and paper role playing game that I'm in is going, break down the characters that I've created and I have a particular fondness for...
Let's go with that one. I'm going to share a few characters with you. Think what you like about them, I'm beyond caring.
Actually, no. Let's stay away from the characters today and examine your responses to this. Several of you have sent me emails or facebook messages or called/texted/smoke-signalled me your thoughts on my blogs. Some of you are family, some friends. What no one seems to get about these blogs is that it's all written in a tone of boredom and near desperation. Everything is said in a languid, scornful tone. That's how I'm hearing the words in my head, how I'm trying to send them to you. These aren't full of me whispering softly to you the ideas in my head. This is me letting icy contempt finally steal into the voice that has comforted you, the voice that has quelled your fear or your sadness, the voice that has lifted up your spirit when nothing else would. This is the sharp darkness of my vindictive and somewhat twisted view of the world and the people in it. I'm not holding your hand while you read this. I'm sitting in a chair, playing with the dagger of words idly while you sit in my company. This lingual dagger could save you from harm or cause you pain. Your reactions and my disposition decide your fate. But I hardly tricked you into coming here. You're here of your own free will. I'm not a professional here. I am me.
Some of you will think that I'm being ridiculous, but look again at the title of this blog. Everything I Never Said Aloud. Let it sink in, lovelies.
I have been the best friend, the loving daughter, the model older sister, the upstanding citizen, the attentive student. How many of you have actually seen my darker side? Not that that side holds any danger at all for you, I only want to share with you the things hiding within. When I write, I want you to be my captive. I want my words to hold you hostage and make you think. I want you to wonder how this experience will change you.
Read my blogs with my voice. Read them with the note of contempt and scorn that they deserve. Every one of my posts is a dare, every single one. I'm daring you to hold on with me and see where this wild rollercoaster from purgatory takes us. You have only ever seen the side of me that was raised correctly, my polished and controlled side. Not the side that I kept to myself. Not the side that had the comforting darkness of a night sky that allowed my soul to rest peacefully. Not the side that relishes in the beautifully dark ideas that I've read and nurtured myself.
Now, don't you start thinking that the darker side is something that means that I'm crazy or some sort of madwoman. I'm just embracing the side we all have. The little voice of pain and indignation when someone slights you. The darkness you run to when you want to be protected from the bright burning light of the rest of society. The one safe place to hide when the monsters are after you. Where your nightmares reside, where you keep them once you have conquered them. The place where you are strong, where you have power that you would rather not think about. The one place that scares you the most. The deepest, darkest part of you.
I want you to read my blogs and stare at your computer screen like it's the only thing that exists. I want you to be rapt with attention, to not have a single thought that I didn't put into your head while you are reading. I want you to sit back at the end of these installments and gasp for breath.
I don't pretend to be that powerful. However, if you are my 'ideal reader', then I do have that power over you.
And do you know what the absolute scariest part of it all is?
You gave it to me.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Musing...
I had to watch a video for a job that I'm applying for today. It was called, "The Ten Commandments". In it, there were people with disabilities talking about how they would like to be treated. They want to be treated just like everyone else and only have the barest minimum of concessions to make it just as easy on them to do things as it is for the rest of us.
The very need for such a video made me start thinking about how ridiculously immature the population that I have come in contact with is. Bigots, racists, people who can only see people as their stereotypes, and people that have their heads too far up their asses to notice that there is an actual human being standing in front of them make me sick. Then again, I was raised to see people as individuals, not as anyone or anything else. Something that someone else did shouldn't shape my impression of you. For instance, a good friend of mine whom I love with all of my heart has a mother that I cannot see eye to eye with. Her mother has done a few slightly unprofessional things that caused me a problem or two, but I still love that hateful woman's daughter like she is my sister. I just refrain from allowing her mother to come up in the conversation. (Art, it's not your mom. No worries. :) She's always been very sweet to me. <3 )
As far as shattering stereotypes go, let me share a few with you. I was working a nonprofit event in Shreveport. There are pictures on my facebook of the event and you may be able to see the man that I'm talking about. He's a tall man with broad shoulders and a greying beard. I have yet to see him out of a leather vest with a huge fist emblazoned on the back. The day that I'm describing, he also had on a pair of mirrored sunglasses and a bandanna on his head. I hadn't had a chance to meet him yet, but I had a few minutes of down time so I was people watching. I saw a little boy running around and smiled. He was precious and couldn't have been more than four years old, if that. I can't remember whether the big biker stopped him or if the child stopped to tie his shoes and that's when the biker approached. Either way, I saw the child look up at him, almost bending backwards to look up at the face above him. I heard the biker say something; I couldn't hear words but I could hear a kind smile in his tone. Then I saw all 6+ feet of him kneel before the child and tie his shoe for him. The kid smiled at him broadly and thanked him. I got formally introduced to the man a few minutes later. The name on his jacket was 'Opie'. I have yet to meet a man that is as kindhearted as he is. We're even facebook friends now due to the organizations that we're in (I'm a part of the Justice for Justin Bloxom Alliance for Innocence and Opie is one of the Bikers Against Child Abuse) and their collaboration on certain events in the Shreveport area. There is one shattered stereotype for you. A kindhearted biker.
The next stereotype that I'd like to share with you is the guy that I saw in the student center. He had a flat brimmed cap on sideways, beads in his hair, a ripped shirt with some sort of basketball propaganda on it, a tattoo in darker ink on his dark arm proclaiming what part of Dallas he was from. His shoes were untied and had large 'tongues' that hung out at an odd angle, his basketball shorts were about three sizes too big and the black silky material contrasted sharply with his green boxers. Again, I was people-watching, so my eyes followed him to the piano that we had in the student center. He sat down and I just guessed that it was time for me to find my headphones because he was going to start fooling around on the keys like a five year old (or any other non-piano playing college student for that matter). As I rifled through my purse, I heard the most beautiful melody breeze through the student center. My head snapped up and there he was, playing a complex and melancholy song without a single scrap of sheet music. I am a little ashamed to say that my jaw actually dropped, giving me that pet goldfish look. I recovered fairly quickly and just listened, dumbfounded, as he played the most beautiful music I had ever heard. Shattered stereotype two: A classically talented 'gangsta'.
But I started this long, rambling blog by talking about the disabilities video. I am familiar mostly with physical disabilities (my mother's back is two-thirds fubar'd, my sister has a chronic stomach condition, my father was infected with West Nile and still has partial paralysis, my very best friend has Cerebral Palsy, a good friend of my mother's is confined to a wheelchair... the list goes on and on.) but I do know a handful of people with mental disabilities or mental illnesses. I won't go into that right now, but I will go into how I've seen people treat them. All of them. My sister is commonly treated like a hypochondriac, and as a result, some people have thought that my mother has Munchhausen's. All that she wants is to make my sister better. Besides, we eat the same food and such, so I'd be sick too if she was doing something like that. No one really knows how bad my mom's back really is unless they've seen her at home. For the sake of her pride, I won't go into that either... Whitney gets treated like a spoiled little rich girl or a circus sideshow when she rides her Segway around campus. What they don't know is that she has the Segway instead of a wheelchair. She didn't buy any kind of special privileges, she made concessions so that she could get around campus just like the rest of us. The epic coolness of the Segway is collateral damage. The family friend with the wheelchair is more of a badass than I could ever hope to aspire to. He can not only jump a curb in his wheelchair, he's also a blackbelt and trains MMA fighters.
I spent more time writing this than I had originally meant to, so I'll get to the bit about life in the next blog. Time to go to lunch with a friend!
The very need for such a video made me start thinking about how ridiculously immature the population that I have come in contact with is. Bigots, racists, people who can only see people as their stereotypes, and people that have their heads too far up their asses to notice that there is an actual human being standing in front of them make me sick. Then again, I was raised to see people as individuals, not as anyone or anything else. Something that someone else did shouldn't shape my impression of you. For instance, a good friend of mine whom I love with all of my heart has a mother that I cannot see eye to eye with. Her mother has done a few slightly unprofessional things that caused me a problem or two, but I still love that hateful woman's daughter like she is my sister. I just refrain from allowing her mother to come up in the conversation. (Art, it's not your mom. No worries. :) She's always been very sweet to me. <3 )
As far as shattering stereotypes go, let me share a few with you. I was working a nonprofit event in Shreveport. There are pictures on my facebook of the event and you may be able to see the man that I'm talking about. He's a tall man with broad shoulders and a greying beard. I have yet to see him out of a leather vest with a huge fist emblazoned on the back. The day that I'm describing, he also had on a pair of mirrored sunglasses and a bandanna on his head. I hadn't had a chance to meet him yet, but I had a few minutes of down time so I was people watching. I saw a little boy running around and smiled. He was precious and couldn't have been more than four years old, if that. I can't remember whether the big biker stopped him or if the child stopped to tie his shoes and that's when the biker approached. Either way, I saw the child look up at him, almost bending backwards to look up at the face above him. I heard the biker say something; I couldn't hear words but I could hear a kind smile in his tone. Then I saw all 6+ feet of him kneel before the child and tie his shoe for him. The kid smiled at him broadly and thanked him. I got formally introduced to the man a few minutes later. The name on his jacket was 'Opie'. I have yet to meet a man that is as kindhearted as he is. We're even facebook friends now due to the organizations that we're in (I'm a part of the Justice for Justin Bloxom Alliance for Innocence and Opie is one of the Bikers Against Child Abuse) and their collaboration on certain events in the Shreveport area. There is one shattered stereotype for you. A kindhearted biker.
The next stereotype that I'd like to share with you is the guy that I saw in the student center. He had a flat brimmed cap on sideways, beads in his hair, a ripped shirt with some sort of basketball propaganda on it, a tattoo in darker ink on his dark arm proclaiming what part of Dallas he was from. His shoes were untied and had large 'tongues' that hung out at an odd angle, his basketball shorts were about three sizes too big and the black silky material contrasted sharply with his green boxers. Again, I was people-watching, so my eyes followed him to the piano that we had in the student center. He sat down and I just guessed that it was time for me to find my headphones because he was going to start fooling around on the keys like a five year old (or any other non-piano playing college student for that matter). As I rifled through my purse, I heard the most beautiful melody breeze through the student center. My head snapped up and there he was, playing a complex and melancholy song without a single scrap of sheet music. I am a little ashamed to say that my jaw actually dropped, giving me that pet goldfish look. I recovered fairly quickly and just listened, dumbfounded, as he played the most beautiful music I had ever heard. Shattered stereotype two: A classically talented 'gangsta'.
But I started this long, rambling blog by talking about the disabilities video. I am familiar mostly with physical disabilities (my mother's back is two-thirds fubar'd, my sister has a chronic stomach condition, my father was infected with West Nile and still has partial paralysis, my very best friend has Cerebral Palsy, a good friend of my mother's is confined to a wheelchair... the list goes on and on.) but I do know a handful of people with mental disabilities or mental illnesses. I won't go into that right now, but I will go into how I've seen people treat them. All of them. My sister is commonly treated like a hypochondriac, and as a result, some people have thought that my mother has Munchhausen's. All that she wants is to make my sister better. Besides, we eat the same food and such, so I'd be sick too if she was doing something like that. No one really knows how bad my mom's back really is unless they've seen her at home. For the sake of her pride, I won't go into that either... Whitney gets treated like a spoiled little rich girl or a circus sideshow when she rides her Segway around campus. What they don't know is that she has the Segway instead of a wheelchair. She didn't buy any kind of special privileges, she made concessions so that she could get around campus just like the rest of us. The epic coolness of the Segway is collateral damage. The family friend with the wheelchair is more of a badass than I could ever hope to aspire to. He can not only jump a curb in his wheelchair, he's also a blackbelt and trains MMA fighters.
I spent more time writing this than I had originally meant to, so I'll get to the bit about life in the next blog. Time to go to lunch with a friend!
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Mirrors
This post isn't about trying to get a compliment from you. It's only partly about my nonexistent self-esteem. It's just me wondering about all the times I've been told that I'm pretty or I'm beautiful.
You do realize that when I just tuck my chin and look away after muttering a thanks that it's not me asking you to go on, right? Don't get me wrong, I like compliments just as much as anyone, but it's just hard for me to believe you. How am I supposed to? I can't see it, and even though you don't have to tell me something that nice, I always think that it's just something you're saying to kill the silences in a conversation. A polite comment to hold the silence at bay.
Like I said, I'm not asking you to reaffirm the compliments, no matter who you are or if you've even ever thought that about me. All I'm saying is that I don't believe it. I don't know how to take a compliment. I can take criticism a lot better than I can praise. Especially praise for something that I had nothing to do with.
When I look in the mirror, all that I see is a girl that could stand to lose some weight, (I'm being honest. Don't pretend that you never noticed.) has pale skin without that many flaws, frizzy black hair that can shine if the light's cooperating, and eyes that are the weird border between hazel, gold, and green without being as beautiful as the colors would be on their own. I see another face in the crowd, silent and a little alone. I don't see anything remarkable at all about the girl in the mirror, except maybe the way her eyes and mine lock and she almost looks like she's daring me to say something, anything, to start a conversation.
Then I have the same problem with her that the rest of the world does.
I don't say a damned thing to her.
You do realize that when I just tuck my chin and look away after muttering a thanks that it's not me asking you to go on, right? Don't get me wrong, I like compliments just as much as anyone, but it's just hard for me to believe you. How am I supposed to? I can't see it, and even though you don't have to tell me something that nice, I always think that it's just something you're saying to kill the silences in a conversation. A polite comment to hold the silence at bay.
Like I said, I'm not asking you to reaffirm the compliments, no matter who you are or if you've even ever thought that about me. All I'm saying is that I don't believe it. I don't know how to take a compliment. I can take criticism a lot better than I can praise. Especially praise for something that I had nothing to do with.
When I look in the mirror, all that I see is a girl that could stand to lose some weight, (I'm being honest. Don't pretend that you never noticed.) has pale skin without that many flaws, frizzy black hair that can shine if the light's cooperating, and eyes that are the weird border between hazel, gold, and green without being as beautiful as the colors would be on their own. I see another face in the crowd, silent and a little alone. I don't see anything remarkable at all about the girl in the mirror, except maybe the way her eyes and mine lock and she almost looks like she's daring me to say something, anything, to start a conversation.
Then I have the same problem with her that the rest of the world does.
I don't say a damned thing to her.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Poison?
Everyone knows the line, “Pick your poison.” I've only ever heard it in reference to alcohol, but the sentiment seems strangely relevant. I just wish I would have picked you instead of having life inject you into my veins like bad heroin. You've caused me that much pain and sent me on that wild a trip but I can't give you up. I never would have guessed that you would become my habit.
I've known you for years, but then again, I haven't known you at all. Even though we've been through so much together, I never would have guessed that things would turn out this way. Looking back, I still can't pinpoint when everything started spiraling down out of control. You've become the ball in a game of pinball. Shiny and cold and careening out of all control beyond my reach. It's to the point where I can't just reach in and try to straighten your path anymore. You're behind the glass now.
Every time I talk to you, I tell you how to straighten your life, what you need to do. When am I going to learn that it's none of my business? But you know that somehow, through it all, it is my business because I don't want to lose you to a stupid mistake. Do you know how close a call that really was? I'm just glad that you realized it before things went even further. All I want is for you to be happy. I just want to see you smile and mean it. I miss the person you were.
It isn't fair for me to miss that though. After all, I'm not exactly who I was then either. That day you came to visit and you laughed every time that moronic ring tone went off and I was embarrassed should have shown me that we'd grown apart.
Do you know how much I hate that? Do you feel the same way? Do you feel anything anymore? We haven't honestly had a conversation that didn't revolve around your latest catastrophe in years, did you realize that?
I miss you. It may not seem like it, but I do. It hurts me to see you bouncing around from place to place and relationship to relationship. Would it really be that hard for you to give up your 'freedom' and ask for forgiveness? I've asked you that a thousand times, so I should know the answer by now, but I don't. I've told you to swallow your pride and to talk to them, but you won't. I've done the talking for you and it's gotten us nowhere.
I love you.
Trust me when I say that I'm one of the many people that will tell you that in your lifetime, but I am one of the very few of them that will mean it.
I love you.
It doesn't count unless you can hear me saying it in your head and you knowing that it's true.
Please, let me get some sleep and stop having to worry over you. Please, fix what you know is broken. Please, let me help you.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Strike Two
Yeah. Dishing a little more dirt out on the wonderful and eternal internet. I'm starting to realize that I'm truly to a point where I don't care what anyone thinks of me. The only people that truly matter are my family, very close friends, and future employers. My family knows, my friends understand, and my employers will hopefully see the attempts at professionalism exhibited here and will come to understand.
However, none of that matters right now. I'm here for a reason and I may as well get to the point quickly. I'll start with the problems from my end before I start pointing fingers so that you can see that I'm trying to be fair. I didn't call but once. But you only called after I sent you a message. I was leaving the space for you to make the first move, and you didn't. I thought this was going to be a give-and-take kind of thing. Not a 'Let Jordan Make All The Moves'. You should know by now that I have no self-esteem. I want to be wanted. I want you to want to have me in your life, but I don't need it. I want us to be okay and have a healthy relationship. It's looking like it may just be easier for both of us to stop trying, if indeed we were trying in the first place, and just put this behind us so we can move on with our lives.
This time, my eyes are dry. I have enough support in my life without needing your approval, and I've gotten this far without it. I'd love to have you in my life the way you're supposed to be, but I'm so sick of this. I've been wondering when you're going to call. But I should have figured... I mean, with the way things have been, one phone call in the middle of the night was going to fix thirteen years of dysfunction? Let's get real. Maybe I'm just being cynical, but I'm getting tired. I'm tired of wanting you to want to be in my life. I can resign myself to the fact that you don't. Like I said before, I have plenty of people that can cover for you in some way or another. Some already do without noticing it. And it should be easy for you to find someone to stand in for me, shouldn't it?
Anyway, I just had to get this out. Granted, we only played through the first few moves of this game, but I'm tired already. We'll say that you win.
However, none of that matters right now. I'm here for a reason and I may as well get to the point quickly. I'll start with the problems from my end before I start pointing fingers so that you can see that I'm trying to be fair. I didn't call but once. But you only called after I sent you a message. I was leaving the space for you to make the first move, and you didn't. I thought this was going to be a give-and-take kind of thing. Not a 'Let Jordan Make All The Moves'. You should know by now that I have no self-esteem. I want to be wanted. I want you to want to have me in your life, but I don't need it. I want us to be okay and have a healthy relationship. It's looking like it may just be easier for both of us to stop trying, if indeed we were trying in the first place, and just put this behind us so we can move on with our lives.
This time, my eyes are dry. I have enough support in my life without needing your approval, and I've gotten this far without it. I'd love to have you in my life the way you're supposed to be, but I'm so sick of this. I've been wondering when you're going to call. But I should have figured... I mean, with the way things have been, one phone call in the middle of the night was going to fix thirteen years of dysfunction? Let's get real. Maybe I'm just being cynical, but I'm getting tired. I'm tired of wanting you to want to be in my life. I can resign myself to the fact that you don't. Like I said before, I have plenty of people that can cover for you in some way or another. Some already do without noticing it. And it should be easy for you to find someone to stand in for me, shouldn't it?
Anyway, I just had to get this out. Granted, we only played through the first few moves of this game, but I'm tired already. We'll say that you win.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Books and Family and Tea
So, as you may have noticed, I only write when something's weighing heavily on my mind. This is my cheap therapy, even cheaper and more fulfilling than bubble wrap. And who knows, I may manage to accidentally spill a little of my wisdom on you in the process.
Anyway, as I've said, this post is about books, family, and tea. I'm going to flip through a few pages of my favorite books and quotes to begin with.
I've noticed that I tend to like stories with strong female lead characters. The Hannibal Lecter series by Thomas Harris is one of note, starring the famous Clarice Starling. You've seen Silence of the Lambs, I'm sure. Strong character, not fearless, but in control of her fear and her weaknesses. Not to mention one hell of a shot with a pistol. These are qualities in her that I would like to see in myself one of these days. Her mother worked hard to keep Clarice with her after Clarice's father was shot and killed in the line of duty. I've lived with my single mother and little sister for years, and I've seen a few of the sacrifices that my mother thought she kept hidden from us. I've also lived without a prominent father figure for the greater part of my life. I'm trying to work past that with him though. Considering my blog post a few weeks ago, I'm guessing that it's hardly a secret that he and I have a rather rocky relationship. We're both working to fix what we can. So it's good that I'm making headway there. John, my mother's boyfriend since I was in the eighth grade, is essentially my stepfather now, the only difference between his station and that of a stepfather being that he lives in another town. Today, he taught me how to parallel park and helped me work on my driving. He's been there for me when I needed him and when I didn't know that I needed him. I love him.
But I digress. Family's in the next paragraph. Another story that I like is actually from a Japanese comic series (Calling it Manga or Anime makes me feel like a nerd... It's even worse that I write fan fiction for this series) and it features Van Helsing's granddaughter, Integra Hellsing. She lost her father at an early age and inherited a monster. She's a woman in a man's line of work and she's also a mean shot with a pistol. She's portrayed as being very professional and having a strong will and strength of character. I'm intrigued by her portrayal as a character and as childish as it sounds, I want to be like her when I grow up. I got to thinking about these two characters the other day and started stacking up their similarities. They can both shoot with considerable precision, do anything to reach their goals, lost their fathers at an early age, and have fought against the odds to get to the station in life that they live in. They are both in emotionally trying fields and live (essentially) alone with no obvious romantic attachments. I want to be able to be comparable to them and not fail miserably. I know, I've said it before, it's childish. I want to be like a cartoon character and a girl in a book. I just want to have that kind of strength of will and tenacity. Granted, I won't be interviewing serial killers like Starling or breathing through cigars and drinking whiskey like Integra. I'll be repeating the question, "And how does that make you feel?" while doodling on a sketchpad on the other side of my clipboard in my office. I won't be shooting at an Ed Gein wannabe in a basement or shooting my vampire servant for another snide comment. If anything, I'll be squeezing off a few rounds at a shooting range to blow off some steam. And as for the living without a romantic partner, I can't say that it's looking like I'm that emotionally available for a relationship, regardless of how badly I want one.
Or I could play into my childish fantasy of becoming like them, reading stories about serial murderers and ritual killers in my free time and indulging in cups of tea on a quasi-regular basis. I am pretty fond of tea. I ended up with twenty different kinds from two sampler boxes that Momma got me while we were school shopping. So far, the Timothy's Green Pomegranate Tea is my favorite. The Orange Jasmine tea by the same manufacturer is amazing too. I like tea. The only problem is that I tend to put a bit much sugar in it. It's a guilty pleasure of mine. I've missed having random teatime with my friend Whitney this summer. That was always a bright spot, no matter how dark my day was.
I guess it's time to talk about family now, huh? I did promise you after all. Well, as far as the term 'family' goes, I've learned that it's not a hard and fast definition. Family isn't just who you're related to. Family means that you have a special, unbreakable bond with someone. You may not like them much at times, but you love them dearly and would do anything possible for them. I have a marvelously large family, some blood kin and most not. It pains me to see someone that I love but cannot help. It's times like this where I really wish that I had a place of my own and a good job so that I'd have a couch to put you on, or better yet, a spare bedroom. But at least a couch. Then I could maybe step in and be that voice that evidently never developed and make you listen. Whether you actually take the advice to heart is up to you, but honestly. If you only knew how much hell you put me through, you'd see why I can't tell why I'm staying around. I'm just afraid that you can't make it without me pestering you. I know it's vain of me to think that I'm the reason you aren't worse off, but really, how much evidence to the contrary have you given me? How many times have I told you that you're doing the right thing? How many times have you done the right thing? I'm so tired of swooping in and trying to fix your mess from afar. I've lost sleep and wasted tears because of you. I don't want our friendship to end. I love you, you moron. I have so many memories that I hold dear because you were in them. Please, don't make the ones I've had lately be the last. Just do what you need to and get everything straight. I love you and I'm sick of seeing you hurting, but if these memories have to be the end, then so be it. I've given you ultimatums before, and you always manage to keep just this side of the line so I haven't walked away yet. I'm just hoping that you're up to taking this challenge.
Well, looks like this is all for tonight. I'm going to go read something fun. You should do the same.
Anyway, as I've said, this post is about books, family, and tea. I'm going to flip through a few pages of my favorite books and quotes to begin with.
I've noticed that I tend to like stories with strong female lead characters. The Hannibal Lecter series by Thomas Harris is one of note, starring the famous Clarice Starling. You've seen Silence of the Lambs, I'm sure. Strong character, not fearless, but in control of her fear and her weaknesses. Not to mention one hell of a shot with a pistol. These are qualities in her that I would like to see in myself one of these days. Her mother worked hard to keep Clarice with her after Clarice's father was shot and killed in the line of duty. I've lived with my single mother and little sister for years, and I've seen a few of the sacrifices that my mother thought she kept hidden from us. I've also lived without a prominent father figure for the greater part of my life. I'm trying to work past that with him though. Considering my blog post a few weeks ago, I'm guessing that it's hardly a secret that he and I have a rather rocky relationship. We're both working to fix what we can. So it's good that I'm making headway there. John, my mother's boyfriend since I was in the eighth grade, is essentially my stepfather now, the only difference between his station and that of a stepfather being that he lives in another town. Today, he taught me how to parallel park and helped me work on my driving. He's been there for me when I needed him and when I didn't know that I needed him. I love him.
But I digress. Family's in the next paragraph. Another story that I like is actually from a Japanese comic series (Calling it Manga or Anime makes me feel like a nerd... It's even worse that I write fan fiction for this series) and it features Van Helsing's granddaughter, Integra Hellsing. She lost her father at an early age and inherited a monster. She's a woman in a man's line of work and she's also a mean shot with a pistol. She's portrayed as being very professional and having a strong will and strength of character. I'm intrigued by her portrayal as a character and as childish as it sounds, I want to be like her when I grow up. I got to thinking about these two characters the other day and started stacking up their similarities. They can both shoot with considerable precision, do anything to reach their goals, lost their fathers at an early age, and have fought against the odds to get to the station in life that they live in. They are both in emotionally trying fields and live (essentially) alone with no obvious romantic attachments. I want to be able to be comparable to them and not fail miserably. I know, I've said it before, it's childish. I want to be like a cartoon character and a girl in a book. I just want to have that kind of strength of will and tenacity. Granted, I won't be interviewing serial killers like Starling or breathing through cigars and drinking whiskey like Integra. I'll be repeating the question, "And how does that make you feel?" while doodling on a sketchpad on the other side of my clipboard in my office. I won't be shooting at an Ed Gein wannabe in a basement or shooting my vampire servant for another snide comment. If anything, I'll be squeezing off a few rounds at a shooting range to blow off some steam. And as for the living without a romantic partner, I can't say that it's looking like I'm that emotionally available for a relationship, regardless of how badly I want one.
Or I could play into my childish fantasy of becoming like them, reading stories about serial murderers and ritual killers in my free time and indulging in cups of tea on a quasi-regular basis. I am pretty fond of tea. I ended up with twenty different kinds from two sampler boxes that Momma got me while we were school shopping. So far, the Timothy's Green Pomegranate Tea is my favorite. The Orange Jasmine tea by the same manufacturer is amazing too. I like tea. The only problem is that I tend to put a bit much sugar in it. It's a guilty pleasure of mine. I've missed having random teatime with my friend Whitney this summer. That was always a bright spot, no matter how dark my day was.
I guess it's time to talk about family now, huh? I did promise you after all. Well, as far as the term 'family' goes, I've learned that it's not a hard and fast definition. Family isn't just who you're related to. Family means that you have a special, unbreakable bond with someone. You may not like them much at times, but you love them dearly and would do anything possible for them. I have a marvelously large family, some blood kin and most not. It pains me to see someone that I love but cannot help. It's times like this where I really wish that I had a place of my own and a good job so that I'd have a couch to put you on, or better yet, a spare bedroom. But at least a couch. Then I could maybe step in and be that voice that evidently never developed and make you listen. Whether you actually take the advice to heart is up to you, but honestly. If you only knew how much hell you put me through, you'd see why I can't tell why I'm staying around. I'm just afraid that you can't make it without me pestering you. I know it's vain of me to think that I'm the reason you aren't worse off, but really, how much evidence to the contrary have you given me? How many times have I told you that you're doing the right thing? How many times have you done the right thing? I'm so tired of swooping in and trying to fix your mess from afar. I've lost sleep and wasted tears because of you. I don't want our friendship to end. I love you, you moron. I have so many memories that I hold dear because you were in them. Please, don't make the ones I've had lately be the last. Just do what you need to and get everything straight. I love you and I'm sick of seeing you hurting, but if these memories have to be the end, then so be it. I've given you ultimatums before, and you always manage to keep just this side of the line so I haven't walked away yet. I'm just hoping that you're up to taking this challenge.
Well, looks like this is all for tonight. I'm going to go read something fun. You should do the same.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Dracula Dreaming
Vlad Tepes always makes me feel better.
Weird, I know. Drawing comfort not only from a man who died centuries before I was born, but a man who killed thousands. How messed up must I be to have such affection for a man who was the historical basis for the Dracula that we all now? How horribly twisted must my soul be to feel for such a monster?
I'll tell you, if you care to read through my whole explanation.
Vlad's father inducted him into the Order of the Dragon when he was just a boy. His father, Dracul, so named for his own place in the Order, had no issues with turning his loyalty to the most favorable outcome. He stooped so low as to offer his two youngest sons, Vlad and his younger brother Radu, to the sultan as a show of good faith. Vlad was no older than fourteen years old.
It's pretty murky as to how Vlad was treated under the Sultan's rule. It is unclear as to whether he was treated like the prince he was or if he was treated like a lowly harem boy. His brother, however, was clearly one of the sultan's favorite boys, growing up to be one of Sultan Mehmed's favorite lovers.
Vlad spent more time in prison than he did on the throne, but the brief years that he spent ruling, he purged the country of thieves and murderers and rapists and the like, encouraging honesty. This didn't come without a price, though. He killed nearly as many of his own people as he did in his crusades against the Ottoman empire. He was betrayed by his father, his brother, and his cousin Stephen in Moldavia. His first wife flung herself from a tower window to keep from being taken captive by the Turks. He spent years in a political prison due to a forged letter that said in presumably his own hand that he swore allegiance to the Ottoman Empire and he humbled himself before the Sultan. These letters were forgeries and the most devoted historians have shown that they were not written by Vlad. His life was story of endless betrayal that ended in a swamp somewhere in Transylvania.
His story reminds me that just because you've suffered, or think you're suffering, you have no excuse to give up and take it. You have to fight, no matter who or what you're up against.
This isn't meant to be one of those posts where I make you feel good or lift your spirit. I'm trying to explain to myself my affection for a man that I have never known and who can scarcely be considered a role model. After all, this is the same man who ordered thousands of men, women, and children impaled, skinned, cooked alive, tied out in the wilderness for the animals to kill and maim, and nailed turbans to the heads of men who refused to show him the courtesy of removing their hats in the presence of the Prince of the land.
This is the same man who allegedly ate the cooked flesh of his enemies and dipped his bread in their blood. The man who is said to be the son of the devil.
In spite of it all, I still respect him and can only hope that I can develop the strength of character that he had.
I guess it's about time to go back to the movie now, huh? Thanks for sticking around for another chapter.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Insomnia
I can't sleep and I'm listening to the jazz/swing station I created on Pandora. These two things usually lead to me writing another midnight note on facebook, but I have this blog now. How lovely.
So, this post will be wonderfully and delightfully vague because if you don't know who it's about, then you aren't supposed to. However, you will get my side of the situation and maybe respect me for it. Maybe not. Do I seem like the kind of person that lies when I say that I don't care what you think? I thought not...
However, this story begins when I was about... oh, seven or thereabouts. I had known you forever, and then you come to tell me that you're moving away. We were sitting in the backyard one day and you asked if I knew what that meant. I nodded. I didn't see the real difference in you moving since we never saw much of each other anyway. But I adored you. The foolish child that I was adored you and loved you and wanted nothing more than you to love me back. But by all appearances and how you handled our little separation shows me that you probably didn't care as much as I did.
Now don't get me wrong, I know that the phone works both ways, but not knowing your schedule tends to complicate things. Besides, I knew that you would be busy and you'd call when you had the chance, right?
I'm only starting to realize how naive I was. I thought that you had some sort of personality quirk resembling a conscience. I thought that you really loved me like you said. I thought for so long that you called because you really did miss me, not because you were drunk. Yeah. I know. One of your pretty little dirty secrets. Maybe that's why you got so sick? Yeah, I knew about that. I always thought it was funny when you repeated something five times, even after I told you in all honesty that I understood. I thought that you were joking with me, trying to bond with me. I fell for that self-inflicted ruse better than you could have ever expected.
Don't get me wrong, I still loved you. I want to love you still, but there's only so much that I'm willing to put up with. And do you honestly take me for that much of a fool? Do you really think that I was raised so that I would take every line of yours like the gospel truth just because of who you are? No. No, I was raised with the belief, the firm belief, mind you, that I didn't have to take that from anyone, even you. I'm done with the lies. I'm done with wanting to love someone that I can't rely on. I am finished. Do you understand?
I didn't think you would. You're sitting at your computer, mouth agape and face slowly reddening with rage because this way, you can't get a word in. You can't talk louder than me here. You have no imagined power here. You are helpless. And while I have your undivided attention, because wimping out on me now isn't an option, I want you to know that despite my better judgement, everything that I know and want, something inside of me still loves you, still wants you to be in my life. But that's just a little part. Very easily silenced by the parts of me that would feel nothing but purest relief that I don't have to wait on your phone call to be fed my yearly allotment of lies and insincerity.
Now, if I'm wrong, and I'm almost certain that I'm not, then we'll kiss and make up. I'll forgive, but you'll have to prove that things are going to change before I pretend to forget. Do you have any idea how our negative relationship has affected me? Do you know the stupid things I've done to attempt to capture some semblance of the love I should have had from you? No, you have no idea, because if you did... Well... Things would be a little more interesting and you would be a little less apathetic.
This is just scratching the surface on our wonderfully dysfunctional relationship. Sick, isn't it? And just think, it could have all been avoided if you had some semblance of human emotion concerning me. Just so you know, the next time something goes sour and we end up sideways, I want you to step in and let me know that you have a problem, not have your cronies attack me through facebook messages. That's horribly juvenile and not even acceptable in the cliques in junior high. I handled them as best as I knew how, but they should have never been brought into it. If you have a problem, you tell me. In case you never noticed, I grew up. I'm not in the second grade anymore. The bangs I had have grown out, not that you even registered the fact that I ever had them. I got a little taller. I haven't worn overalls or Arizona jeans in years. I'm not the little girl you used to know, if you even knew her. I'm grown. I don't pretend to know everything, but I know my shortcomings. Our relationship is one of them. I intend on either fixing it or forgetting it. It's your call which I do. I can't do either of them alone, so step in, step up, and man up. Make a decision. I'm not letting you overlook this. I don't care how long you have to sit in front of your computer and how many words you have to look up. I'm emailing you this link, texting it to you, and sending a link via your beloved facebook. Get the picture? All else fails, I'll call you and read you this long emotional passage myself with dry eyes.
I'm done crying over you, do you understand? I cried when you left, I cried when we got off of the phone, I cried years later when you said that you were proud of me. I am done. Do you understand that concept? It never felt like you did. The oddest part of this is that this post is another step that I'm taking towards the door, and my eyes are dry. I feel better now that I'm telling you. I feel so much better that it's unbelievable. If I had known that it would feel this good to give you this ultimatum, I would have done it sooner.
My letters and notes and emails and notes and such about you always drag on forever. Maybe that's because we never talked about anything of substance. All we ever seem to talk about is what you're tinkering with, how little of a social life I have, and empty gestures of affection. I'm sick of the small talk. We need to get past this one way or another. I've given up on the idea of anyone reading past this far anyway. Who has the time to waste reading my blathering nonsense? Why not give up the ruse and let everyone know who I'm talking about? Who I'm talking to? Why wait and let you have a chance to step up and be a man if you won't take it? I don't care what this does to your pride or your ego or your precious little life that you have now. I'm starting to realize that I never cared.
Before I get ahead of myself and show you how beneficial breaking this sick relationship off would be for you, I want you to know a little something. You taught me how to use people. Yes, that's all on you. You taught me that people only exist when you want them to. You can call someone to assuage your guilt whenever you feel like it if you have them convinced that they love you. You can send someone a message to tell them that you're so proud of them and that you smile when you say their name when you want to take part in their success. When you want to show off and say, "Wow. Look what I have..." and you flash a picture of someone that you've barely spoken to in years... That's what people are for. That's why I let you buy me expensive things. Shiny things that sometimes, I have no need of. I let you, no, encouraged you, to buy me the expensive things that I need. I let you pick up the tab for most of my electronics. Not because no one else can/would get them for me, but because I was letting you buy my affection. Those few days, I would pretend to love you, and you would indulge me whatever shiny toy I wanted just because I batted my eyelashes and begged like a cute little girl. Do you know how easily I did that? Do you know how easy you made it? Do you know how happy it made me? Did it do anything for you at all?
No, don't answer that. You'd only lie.
Now there I go, attributing emotions and actions to you. I barely know you. Maybe what we need is to take a few days and meet each other for the first time? Grab some coffee and talk for a while? I don't know anything about you. Well, I take that back. I know your little nuclear family now. Well, sort of... I know their names, and I'm fond of one of them, and I hope she doesn't hold any of this against me. She's precious and has no place in this. But that's for another time.
Now, I'm going to send you messages through every means of communication but a phone call. That's for tomorrow. If you read it before then, please let me know. Because we do need to talk. This is nowhere near all I have to say to you.
Now for me to return what I feel was always a lie coming from you. This will be my goodnight. Maybe I'll be able to sleep now that I have all of this tension and heartache and longing and such put up for the world. I certainly do feel better. Here is where I smile, tip my hat, and say:
I love you, Daddy.
So, this post will be wonderfully and delightfully vague because if you don't know who it's about, then you aren't supposed to. However, you will get my side of the situation and maybe respect me for it. Maybe not. Do I seem like the kind of person that lies when I say that I don't care what you think? I thought not...
However, this story begins when I was about... oh, seven or thereabouts. I had known you forever, and then you come to tell me that you're moving away. We were sitting in the backyard one day and you asked if I knew what that meant. I nodded. I didn't see the real difference in you moving since we never saw much of each other anyway. But I adored you. The foolish child that I was adored you and loved you and wanted nothing more than you to love me back. But by all appearances and how you handled our little separation shows me that you probably didn't care as much as I did.
Now don't get me wrong, I know that the phone works both ways, but not knowing your schedule tends to complicate things. Besides, I knew that you would be busy and you'd call when you had the chance, right?
I'm only starting to realize how naive I was. I thought that you had some sort of personality quirk resembling a conscience. I thought that you really loved me like you said. I thought for so long that you called because you really did miss me, not because you were drunk. Yeah. I know. One of your pretty little dirty secrets. Maybe that's why you got so sick? Yeah, I knew about that. I always thought it was funny when you repeated something five times, even after I told you in all honesty that I understood. I thought that you were joking with me, trying to bond with me. I fell for that self-inflicted ruse better than you could have ever expected.
Don't get me wrong, I still loved you. I want to love you still, but there's only so much that I'm willing to put up with. And do you honestly take me for that much of a fool? Do you really think that I was raised so that I would take every line of yours like the gospel truth just because of who you are? No. No, I was raised with the belief, the firm belief, mind you, that I didn't have to take that from anyone, even you. I'm done with the lies. I'm done with wanting to love someone that I can't rely on. I am finished. Do you understand?
I didn't think you would. You're sitting at your computer, mouth agape and face slowly reddening with rage because this way, you can't get a word in. You can't talk louder than me here. You have no imagined power here. You are helpless. And while I have your undivided attention, because wimping out on me now isn't an option, I want you to know that despite my better judgement, everything that I know and want, something inside of me still loves you, still wants you to be in my life. But that's just a little part. Very easily silenced by the parts of me that would feel nothing but purest relief that I don't have to wait on your phone call to be fed my yearly allotment of lies and insincerity.
Now, if I'm wrong, and I'm almost certain that I'm not, then we'll kiss and make up. I'll forgive, but you'll have to prove that things are going to change before I pretend to forget. Do you have any idea how our negative relationship has affected me? Do you know the stupid things I've done to attempt to capture some semblance of the love I should have had from you? No, you have no idea, because if you did... Well... Things would be a little more interesting and you would be a little less apathetic.
This is just scratching the surface on our wonderfully dysfunctional relationship. Sick, isn't it? And just think, it could have all been avoided if you had some semblance of human emotion concerning me. Just so you know, the next time something goes sour and we end up sideways, I want you to step in and let me know that you have a problem, not have your cronies attack me through facebook messages. That's horribly juvenile and not even acceptable in the cliques in junior high. I handled them as best as I knew how, but they should have never been brought into it. If you have a problem, you tell me. In case you never noticed, I grew up. I'm not in the second grade anymore. The bangs I had have grown out, not that you even registered the fact that I ever had them. I got a little taller. I haven't worn overalls or Arizona jeans in years. I'm not the little girl you used to know, if you even knew her. I'm grown. I don't pretend to know everything, but I know my shortcomings. Our relationship is one of them. I intend on either fixing it or forgetting it. It's your call which I do. I can't do either of them alone, so step in, step up, and man up. Make a decision. I'm not letting you overlook this. I don't care how long you have to sit in front of your computer and how many words you have to look up. I'm emailing you this link, texting it to you, and sending a link via your beloved facebook. Get the picture? All else fails, I'll call you and read you this long emotional passage myself with dry eyes.
I'm done crying over you, do you understand? I cried when you left, I cried when we got off of the phone, I cried years later when you said that you were proud of me. I am done. Do you understand that concept? It never felt like you did. The oddest part of this is that this post is another step that I'm taking towards the door, and my eyes are dry. I feel better now that I'm telling you. I feel so much better that it's unbelievable. If I had known that it would feel this good to give you this ultimatum, I would have done it sooner.
My letters and notes and emails and notes and such about you always drag on forever. Maybe that's because we never talked about anything of substance. All we ever seem to talk about is what you're tinkering with, how little of a social life I have, and empty gestures of affection. I'm sick of the small talk. We need to get past this one way or another. I've given up on the idea of anyone reading past this far anyway. Who has the time to waste reading my blathering nonsense? Why not give up the ruse and let everyone know who I'm talking about? Who I'm talking to? Why wait and let you have a chance to step up and be a man if you won't take it? I don't care what this does to your pride or your ego or your precious little life that you have now. I'm starting to realize that I never cared.
Before I get ahead of myself and show you how beneficial breaking this sick relationship off would be for you, I want you to know a little something. You taught me how to use people. Yes, that's all on you. You taught me that people only exist when you want them to. You can call someone to assuage your guilt whenever you feel like it if you have them convinced that they love you. You can send someone a message to tell them that you're so proud of them and that you smile when you say their name when you want to take part in their success. When you want to show off and say, "Wow. Look what I have..." and you flash a picture of someone that you've barely spoken to in years... That's what people are for. That's why I let you buy me expensive things. Shiny things that sometimes, I have no need of. I let you, no, encouraged you, to buy me the expensive things that I need. I let you pick up the tab for most of my electronics. Not because no one else can/would get them for me, but because I was letting you buy my affection. Those few days, I would pretend to love you, and you would indulge me whatever shiny toy I wanted just because I batted my eyelashes and begged like a cute little girl. Do you know how easily I did that? Do you know how easy you made it? Do you know how happy it made me? Did it do anything for you at all?
No, don't answer that. You'd only lie.
Now there I go, attributing emotions and actions to you. I barely know you. Maybe what we need is to take a few days and meet each other for the first time? Grab some coffee and talk for a while? I don't know anything about you. Well, I take that back. I know your little nuclear family now. Well, sort of... I know their names, and I'm fond of one of them, and I hope she doesn't hold any of this against me. She's precious and has no place in this. But that's for another time.
Now, I'm going to send you messages through every means of communication but a phone call. That's for tomorrow. If you read it before then, please let me know. Because we do need to talk. This is nowhere near all I have to say to you.
Now for me to return what I feel was always a lie coming from you. This will be my goodnight. Maybe I'll be able to sleep now that I have all of this tension and heartache and longing and such put up for the world. I certainly do feel better. Here is where I smile, tip my hat, and say:
I love you, Daddy.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
You Don't Know Me
You don't know me.
Stop and take a second to let that sink in. I don't care how long we've known each other. I don't care how we met or what you mean to me or I to you.
You don't know me.
How many times have I called you in the middle of the night, crying my eyes out and needing your help? How many times have I asked you how to make it all go away? How many times have I told you why I don't like burdening you with my problems? Do you even know what my problems are?
You don't know me.
But I know you. I know why you were so worried but wouldn't tell anyone because if they knew, you would have been stigmatized. I know that you don't actually know what stigmatized means. I know what a small person you are on the inside because of what you write on other people's wall posts. I know how naive you are. I know how you think that people have the same negative view of you that you yourself have. I know what he did to you all those years back. I know everything about you that I need to know.
I know you.
But you don't know that I was just as worried as you were. You don't know that when that word confuses you that I'll tack an explanation on the end to make you think that was my intention all along to make you feel better. You don't know that I wish that I could be that small of a person and let everyone with a third grade vocabulary know exactly what I think. You don't know that I wish I were as naive as you, so that all of those innuendos would mean nothing and I could keep from worrying. You don't know that I wish I could pretend to be as confident as you are. You don't know how furious I was that since he died, I can't kill him myself like I'd planned all these years. You don't know anything about me.
You probably don't even know that every sentence is about someone else entirely.
This sounds like I'm smug and mocking you, but this is just the beginning. You will know everything there is to know.
Eventually.
Stop and take a second to let that sink in. I don't care how long we've known each other. I don't care how we met or what you mean to me or I to you.
You don't know me.
How many times have I called you in the middle of the night, crying my eyes out and needing your help? How many times have I asked you how to make it all go away? How many times have I told you why I don't like burdening you with my problems? Do you even know what my problems are?
You don't know me.
But I know you. I know why you were so worried but wouldn't tell anyone because if they knew, you would have been stigmatized. I know that you don't actually know what stigmatized means. I know what a small person you are on the inside because of what you write on other people's wall posts. I know how naive you are. I know how you think that people have the same negative view of you that you yourself have. I know what he did to you all those years back. I know everything about you that I need to know.
I know you.
But you don't know that I was just as worried as you were. You don't know that when that word confuses you that I'll tack an explanation on the end to make you think that was my intention all along to make you feel better. You don't know that I wish that I could be that small of a person and let everyone with a third grade vocabulary know exactly what I think. You don't know that I wish I were as naive as you, so that all of those innuendos would mean nothing and I could keep from worrying. You don't know that I wish I could pretend to be as confident as you are. You don't know how furious I was that since he died, I can't kill him myself like I'd planned all these years. You don't know anything about me.
You probably don't even know that every sentence is about someone else entirely.
This sounds like I'm smug and mocking you, but this is just the beginning. You will know everything there is to know.
Eventually.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Just For Starters
This post isn't for what I haven't said. This is for the things that I have said one too many times. No, not the usual melodrama here. I'm going to be honest and straightforward and I expect nothing less from your comments if you deign to leave them. I'm not here to start drama, or even condone it for that matter. I think that it's a bit ridiculous that I'm only twenty and have less passion for drama than some who are much older than myself. I am not writing for anyone but myself. Let that sink in for a moment. I have your ear, or your eyes if you'd like that term better, because you have seen fit to give them into my care. If what I have to say offends you or bores you (and I would actually rather it be in that order), then please, make use of that little x and get rid of this. I'm not forcing you into anything.
I'm here to have a sounding board for the thoughts in my head that concern my life. I've been working on getting my hellishly cluttered room cleaned lately and it's still a work in progress. When I started throwing out the things that I never want to see again, I started thinking about my life. Then, while I was physically removing things like broken hangers and old papers and mangled stuffed animals(I have a moderately vicious cat), I started doing the same thing in my mind, so to speak. The only difference was that I was tossing out habits in myself that I loathe instead of the broken hangers, forgetting old hurts instead of putting the papers in a bag to burn, and evaluating relationships instead of deciding whether or not the teddy bear could stay if given serious surgery.
Now that you know why I'm here, I think it only fitting that I share a few things about myself. These may or may not change due to the inherent natures of the traits and habits and descriptions, but then again, they may not.
The first thing that you should know about me is that I'm starting to change who I am. Before now, I lived to be who everyone needed me to be. I was the steady best friend, the devoted and attentive daughter, the role model sister, the reliable one. I never really started to chose who I would be. But now that I'm home from college for the summer, I'm starting to realize that who I am when I'm on my own and who I am when I'm not are two completely different people. The jokes that were funny in high school, aren't. The antics that I used to go along with hold no further interest for me. I have essentially forgotten how to enjoy things so juvenile. I am slowly and steadily trying to change for what I deem to be the better. I am working on a more professional look and countenance.
There are people that I have a less than healthy relationship with. Those relationships will come to light at the appropriate time for me to deal with them, no sooner, no later. The posts dealing with those relationships will be highly personal and I do realize that I am opening them up to scrutiny when I do decide to delve into them. This is not my way of asking for help or sympathy. This is only a way of getting what I think out there and open to self-evaluation. Essentially, I will be counseling myself on such matters considering the lack of progress that I have made when I sought professional psychological counseling.
I realize that people who I am not on friendly terms will probably come snooping around and read this. I know that I am not exempt from this. I know of several highly personal sites that I have poked around on for the fun of seeing into someone's head. In fact, I am expecting this. I only hope, dear reader, that you are prepared to see all of what I'm willing to show you. Some of you, I suppose will have psychological backgrounds or interests, at the very least. Feel free to diagnose or attempt to treat me at any time. I will pretend that we are on equal ground and we can see who has a greater knowledge of the concepts and who has a better grasp of how to put them into use. I could use a good mind game or seven.
I feel that describing who you are by including a few interests and sharing quotes that you hold close to your heart is a bit vague and leaves open a very wide door for misunderstanding and misrepresentation. Hypocrisy is rampant. Who I really am will become heavily evident in the following posts as I explore both my relationships with the rest of society and with myself. I'm looking forward to learning more about myself and learning to write where I can be understood by even the most uneducated. Please, if you have a comment about my writing style, leave it for me. I crave criticism, be it positive or 'constructive'.
I guess that this is goodbye for now.
I'm here to have a sounding board for the thoughts in my head that concern my life. I've been working on getting my hellishly cluttered room cleaned lately and it's still a work in progress. When I started throwing out the things that I never want to see again, I started thinking about my life. Then, while I was physically removing things like broken hangers and old papers and mangled stuffed animals(I have a moderately vicious cat), I started doing the same thing in my mind, so to speak. The only difference was that I was tossing out habits in myself that I loathe instead of the broken hangers, forgetting old hurts instead of putting the papers in a bag to burn, and evaluating relationships instead of deciding whether or not the teddy bear could stay if given serious surgery.
Now that you know why I'm here, I think it only fitting that I share a few things about myself. These may or may not change due to the inherent natures of the traits and habits and descriptions, but then again, they may not.
The first thing that you should know about me is that I'm starting to change who I am. Before now, I lived to be who everyone needed me to be. I was the steady best friend, the devoted and attentive daughter, the role model sister, the reliable one. I never really started to chose who I would be. But now that I'm home from college for the summer, I'm starting to realize that who I am when I'm on my own and who I am when I'm not are two completely different people. The jokes that were funny in high school, aren't. The antics that I used to go along with hold no further interest for me. I have essentially forgotten how to enjoy things so juvenile. I am slowly and steadily trying to change for what I deem to be the better. I am working on a more professional look and countenance.
There are people that I have a less than healthy relationship with. Those relationships will come to light at the appropriate time for me to deal with them, no sooner, no later. The posts dealing with those relationships will be highly personal and I do realize that I am opening them up to scrutiny when I do decide to delve into them. This is not my way of asking for help or sympathy. This is only a way of getting what I think out there and open to self-evaluation. Essentially, I will be counseling myself on such matters considering the lack of progress that I have made when I sought professional psychological counseling.
I realize that people who I am not on friendly terms will probably come snooping around and read this. I know that I am not exempt from this. I know of several highly personal sites that I have poked around on for the fun of seeing into someone's head. In fact, I am expecting this. I only hope, dear reader, that you are prepared to see all of what I'm willing to show you. Some of you, I suppose will have psychological backgrounds or interests, at the very least. Feel free to diagnose or attempt to treat me at any time. I will pretend that we are on equal ground and we can see who has a greater knowledge of the concepts and who has a better grasp of how to put them into use. I could use a good mind game or seven.
I feel that describing who you are by including a few interests and sharing quotes that you hold close to your heart is a bit vague and leaves open a very wide door for misunderstanding and misrepresentation. Hypocrisy is rampant. Who I really am will become heavily evident in the following posts as I explore both my relationships with the rest of society and with myself. I'm looking forward to learning more about myself and learning to write where I can be understood by even the most uneducated. Please, if you have a comment about my writing style, leave it for me. I crave criticism, be it positive or 'constructive'.
I guess that this is goodbye for now.
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