Caring Too Much, as per usual

Blame, Failure, fuck you, Journal, Partner, Personal, Relationships

I’m bitter toward those who reject me – but who the fuck wouldn’t be?

Thinking about all the people who have turned me down really drowns out the ones who have obsessed over me.

God it hurts to think about all age times that a guy has told me he doesn’t reciprocate the feelings. Then again, I go through men like I breath air. It’s like a natural part of my DNA to not stick with one, but love them deeply and thoroughly for like three seconds.

I’m unlovable. Aren’t I?

Will anyone ever actually care about me?

I’m sitting in a Starbucks right now wondering if anyone will ever want to sit in front of me in one of these damn cafes for longer than five months. If they have enough love for me in them to last.

Part of me still loves every single one of the douche bags who has hurt me – I’m thinly spread out over so many people. It’s hurting me, I don’t love anyone who loves me back and this is starting to feel like a goddamn curse. Fucking stupid curse, at that.

I just want someone who cares about me for who I am, every last flaw. But there is literally no one out there who fucking cares about me like that.

Even the band kids have more self respect than to date me. They smell my desperation and I reek of passion no one desires  – they run. I need different goddamn pheromones or some shit.

I’m that girl who is alright looking, ya know? I’m like semi-interesting but narcissistic and no one is here for that shit.

I’ll be fuckin single forever unless I date a goddamn stalker.

Why is everyone so shitty.

Look At Me

Blame, Failure, Family, fathers, forgotten, home, Journal, Personal, Relationships, school

There are more people who dislike me in the world than like me. I’m not even sure my own friends like me- who even are my friends? The people at the high school aren’t that close to me and the kids I did the musical with are like disinterested in me and the people at erclc don’t even care about me anymore.

Even the people who live with me don’t talk to me- it’s been two weeks since my mom’s boyfriend has even acknowledged my existence. He has been ignoring me when I’m in the same room as him and hasn’t look at me or said a single word to me since May 10th.

I feel like I have no one.

People don’t respond to my snapchats, they don’t respond to my texts, and last night Sam sent me a video of his friends saying i should fuck myself.

Perhaps I’m just a terrible person who does terrible things and it’s easy to hate me.

I came so close to killing myself last night. It feels like only three people in the world really care that I live and breath.

I’m temperamental, narcissistic, over dramatic, insecure, controlling – I’m a million terrible things combined into one shit storm of a person.

I’ve burned bridges with people because of my personality, I’ve hurt myself and others simply by being me. Why am I like this? I honestly believe that I am the worst person I know.

I’m a disappointment to my mom, I’m such a burden to her.

I was a burden to my grandparents as well.

And to my aunt and uncle.

Look at me, a fucked up human who people hate. A academically failing piece of shit who will never fulfill their dreams. Look at me. I’m awful. I’m just a plain bitch. I can’t even fucking do the dishes like my mom asks.

I haven’t changed. I’m still shitty. I hate myself.

I want loving parents who care about me. I want to be kissed on the forehead and for someone to make me tea before bed and I want someone to care that I’m suicidal. I want someone to tell me not to, to say that I have so much to live for and that they believe I can do it.

Instead, I have a mom who comes home and complains about work everyday.

I haven’t had a normal conversation with my dad since I was 13.

I’ve broken friendships and people are uncomfortable around me.

Look at me. Who have I become?

I Don’t Want To Be a Victim

Awareness, Blame, Domestic Violence, feminism, fuck you, home, Humanist, Journal, Personal

An issue that poses itself after having been a “victim” of domestic violence is that if it happens to someone more than once, which is statistically quite likely, people can assume that you’re not very credible or don’t know what abuse is, or simply favor playing the victim.

I want to state, for the record, that I have never wanted to be a victim.

I want to be happy, healthy, and safe.

You’d think that if a kid came to you and said they were being bullied on the playground, you’d listen.

And if that same kid came back and said another kid was bullying them, you might think (unless you’re a piece of shit) that there’s an issue with bullying at this kids school.

Well my playground is home, and my bullies happen to be the men my mom bring into my life. They are people that I share a bathroom with, that sleep not even seven feet away from me, they are people who I am not related to by blood or marriage – and who do not pursue any kid of healthy relationship with me. He’s here to fuck my mom and use her for weed money.

But these same people, or Person really, feels entitled to discipline me in his own fashion.

He disciplines me in ways that the scientific method has not proven effective in any conclusive way that promotes one’s mental health.

He uses fear tactics – physical threats, screaming, breaking things to invoke fear. He has never beat me, but has grabbed me while angry. Which brings me to my next point, my mom had a rule that she taught my sister and I when we were younger – to never lay a finger on someone when you were angry.

There were no exceptions.

Laying a finger on someone when you were mad, or worse yet, physically hurting them when you were angry, never led to anything positive.

I have listened to her, I haven’t hit anyone or gotten in fights. But when it comes to this man, who I will not call her boyfriend, because at this point he is an abuser – when it comes to him, these same rules that she has set for us do not apply to him.

He can grab my wrists when angry, he can scream at the top of his lungs and point a finger in my face, he can bruise my little sister’s back for bringing milk upstairs – he can cause damage to our belongings by throwing them and damage to my mother’s daughters by physically hitting us and using what is clearly verbal abuse.

When I brought my opinions to my mom, carefully laid out, I stated that I simply couldn’t see how she can ignore the signs of abuse, to which she responded that she couldn’t possibly see how I did.

Two days ago, I posted this image on facebook:

Spanking.jpg

And I will admit, 1) it’s obviously incredibly biased, and 2) it is the kind of post that when I see someone who I disagree with posting it, I roll my eyes and internally scream something along the lines of “MY GOD YOU NEED SCIENCE” – but it said what I was thinking. So I posted it.

The topic reminded me of how my dad would whip me with a belt and leave bruises on my ass. It reminds me of when he would hit me so hard repeatedly that I would be sore for days.

I consider that abuse – even though it wasn’t the only abusive thing he did to me or my family. I feel the need to say that. I feel the need to qualify my abuse. To make it seem serious, because not nearly enough people see abuse as it is.

But even though I didn’t post this with the man my mom brought into my home in mind, he commented on it taking a defense.

He knows very well how guilty he is. He knows what he has done is wrong.

Yet he had the audacity to tell my oldest sister that she was projecting her anger on to him, being childish, and playing the victim.

My mom jumped to his aide as well, and used the same example she has every time we’ve argued about spanking – about the kid who runs into the street and puts them-self in danger.

Which apparently merits hitting your child. Because, hey! They survived! Let’s give them a beating so they wish they hadn’t!

But honestly, let’s break this down.

So it’s okay to discipline your child with a firm spanking, when they are putting them-self or others in danger. Alright, I can acknowledge that this isn’t devoid of logic. No one wants their kid to cause harm – but what about those other times this form of discipline has been exerted? And what is there to be said about using this method regularly? Because if the purpose truly is to strike fear and create a memory about what not to do, then this should not be overused. That is simply psychology – if physical discipline is used repeatedly and often, the child will grow to not fear or learn from the experience (I’ll likely write another post about whether or not it is ethical to use fear tactics while raising a person, because I don’t exactly agree with that).

The aforementioned milk incident, when my young sister brought a cup of milk upstairs? (which had a lid on it, I might mention. It was a sippy cup) Did that require a spanking? How about the time she was crying in the corner because she was exhausted, as four year old’s get, and he aggressively made his way down the stairs to spank her repeatedly (not even aiming at her hind anymore, but instead hitting any surface of her body which was available) and leaving bruises on her back, and welts where his hand had been? Sure. It shut her up. Sure, she isn’t crying and he was able to go back to his room and smoke some pot and go back to his jobless life of mooching off my mom’s income, like he has been doing for the last two and a half years.

Did the milk merit a beating of such caliber? Did the sad toddler in the corner, who felt isolated and unwanted, who expressed this through tears, did she deserve to be beat? Was that a worthy enough cause for him? Is that justifiable?

If it is, shame on him.

This child has gone through enough, she has to visit her depressed father every other weekend who doesn’t even properly bathe her. She has to watch him be an emotional mess – he cries in front of her.

There’s a fine line between discipline and abuse, but to me, violence will always be violent. Hitting will always be hitting. I don’t care if it’s on my ass or across my face, this is my body, my autonomy, my life and mental health you had in your hands and you fucking obliterated it.

To caregivers, parents, or siblings out there – it is your responsibility that these young people are okay. You are responsible for the mental health of these people. You are responsible for their well-being. Their perspective on life. You are everything they have. You are their consistency, their world. Make their world as great as you can, give them every possible opportunity you can. Their worlds depend on you.

I am not a victim of my circumstances. I am not Bryan’s victim, or my dad’s. I am no one’s victim, no one’s abuse toy, I am an independent individual who doesn’t rely on an abuser to give herself an identity. I am not your victim. My sister is not your victim. We are fucking strong, we hate you and your actions with a writhing passion, and I don’t care what delusions my mom has about you and what you have done, but I am no fool. I see your bullshit. I see your phony grandeur. You are nothing more than a sack of flesh who abuses children who are not even your own. You left your daughter in Australia and had to take a moment to remember her name, you use my mother for pot money and haven’t even applied for a job since moving here, you sit in your chair that my mom bought for you, smoke weed that she bought for you, you sit under a roof she pays for, use a computer she funded, and internet which she bought for you.

Get a life. Stop abusing those who are bridled into living in close proximity to you. You are a fucking loser.

Dear Dad

Athiesm, Blame, Church, dancing, Family, fathers, feminism, fuck you, god, Humanist, Journal, Love, Perfect

Dear dad,
I want you to know that I love you. I haven’t been able to say that in an incredibly long time. I haven’t been able to admit to myself in years that I love you.

I want you to know that you have hurt me – that I suffer on a daily basis because of your reckless actions.

I want you to know that because of your abusive actions, I was forced to become an adult at 13.

I want you to know that I hurt every time I see a picture or a mention of you on social media, because I have desperately tried to cut you out of my life.

I want you to know that because you weren’t there for me as a little girl, I tried to find love in a ruthless world. In a world where finding love is genuinely difficult – where I am taught to not love myself. In a world where having you by my side would have solved a lot of problems. I wanted you there.

I want you to know that I want you to love me more desperately than I’ve ever wanted anything else.

I want you to know that I don’t expect you to come back into my life, that I don’t expect anything from you, that this has made me bitter, hurt, and angry.

Which is why I hate to say I love you. Why it is bitter for me to say I love you. Why I roll my eyes at myself and am left in confusion when I say I love you, because I shouldn’t.

You abused me.
You don’t pay for child support.
You ignore my text messages.
You controlled me.
You manipulated my perception of myself.
You hurt me beyond all means.
You were not there for me.
You never made the effort to reenter my life.

I have every reason to hate you.
But I don’t.

I should.
But I don’t.

I want to hate you,
But I can’t.

Despite all you have done to me, I regret to inform you that I love you. I know that this doesn’t change our relationship – that it will continue as per the legal documents instruct; That we will see each other on the holidays listed, that I will no longer be on your insurance at 26, that you won’t be responsible for my child support after 18, and so forth.

But by this point, I should be used to not having you in my life. Or not having your “financial support”, which you have only given me once. I should understand that you only have me in your life when it’s convenient for you, when it looks good to that girl you wanna date, or when it helps you get custody of my little sister in court.

I understand that the extent of your love for me ended when you found out I was an atheist, that I wasn’t going to stand for you trying to convert me back to Christianity. You never tried to talk to me after that last weekend.

Remind me again why I should love you?

Dealing with the Pain

Blame, Journal, Love, Partner, Personal, Relationships

I am acknowledging my intense pain and longing to see Talon – they do not make sense, but they are there.

I loved him, I cared for him, and I did everything in my power to make the relationship work, and it is time for me to acknowledge that the relationship he and I had could not have worked. No amount of “working through it” or agreeing to disagree would have solved the problems we had. Longing for my ex is not a sign that I am supposed to go back and try to repair the relationship.

I am simply feeling irrationally attached to a nearly dead relationship.

I am feeling irrationally upset by the possible things that may happen because he is not mine anymore – but those are just feelings happening inside my head and are not threats to me in the current moment.

So yes, I do miss Talon right now. I miss him, and I love him, and I feel like this whole thing might have just been because he couldn’t handle a serious relationship, but those things are all irrational or assumptions that I shouldn’t let control my current state of being or my overall happiness.

And yes, the watch he gave me won’t stop ticking and it’s causing me to cry a lot, but I will overcome this.

And yes, I do keep thinking about the fact that his sister-in-law will have a kid that I wanted to meet but never will. and that he will probably date someone within the next 2 weeks to months, statistically.. And that I’m going to have to sit dreadfully close to him during psychology, and I’ll have to deal with knowing where all of his classes are and where he’ll be all the time so I can avoid him.. but right now I just feel intense loneliness. I keep thinking about our last hug.

An Apology for her Neediness

Blame, Future, Her, Hope, Journal, Love, Memories, New, Partner, Relationships

Thinking back on our relationship, I started seeing things that I wouldn’t have payed attention to before, I didn’t know they would mean something later on.

I was so much more emotionally invested than you, wasn’t I? I cared more about meeting your mom and family, I cared more about how I made impressions, and I think that you knew that we would inevitably break up, and so you didn’t care as much about those things. You didn’t even bother to try seeing me on New Years even though I had told you prior that it was important to me – you did the same thing when I invited you over to see Nate.. Was your dad’s house just an excuse? If I hadn’t asked to talk to you and made it sound so urgent, would we still  be together? Could we have been happy?

No.. We wouldn’t have been.

I want you to know that I did try – I took Riley’s advice about not breaking up just because a few bad things happened, to actively try to make the relationship work.. I don’t think you ever wanted to try and make things work. I think that you didn’t take it seriously.

I didn’t want to just be your girlfriend when you were a senior, I wanted to be with you for a couple of years.. I wasn’t planning on breaking up with you like I had done before – I wanted to stick it out. And guess what – we lasted just under 6 months together. My first relationship was longer. Your relationship with Ashley was longer.

It’s ironic isn’t it? You didn’t work with her because she didn’t show you affection, and we didn’t work because I was too affectionate and needed too much affection.

I wonder if you’ve told your mom. If you’ve told Gage and Wyatt. I wonder if you have ranted about me to your friends on Xbox.

I went to SLO with my mom today, we talked about her old boyfriends and went through her old yearbooks – she couldn’t remember half of their last names. I realized how much you won’t matter in twenty years – that helped.

I never stopped loving Sam, I hope I stop loving you.. I don’t want to have to deal with this pain too often.

I’ll get over this soon. I have a feeling you’re happier single anyway. No one to waste your time and money, no one to drag you around town during lunch.

My need for affection will be my downfall, won’t it? I wish I could have been less for you. I wish we could have worked. I liked your family, however quirky they were. I liked how you would get so invested in your games, how you would get annoyed at me. I liked your friends, and I could only wish they liked me too.

Maybe you were too important to me. I’m sorry.

Complaining

Athiesm, Athiest, beautiful, Beauty, Blame, Failure, fuck you, Future, god, Her, Hope, Humanist, Jealousy, Journal, Love, Memories, New, no trust, Personal, Religion, school, science

This last week has been hard.

I fell down a hill and ended up hitting my house. My whole body is sore.

I lost 10 points in PE because I couldn’t run the mile – my leg was too beat up, I hardly made it through the day walking between classes.

Also during PE: I ended up on a team with the two athletic girls (one of whom is in AP Lang with me —  let’s just say I embarrassed myself. My hair band broke, and my hair is at this really ugly length, it’s not quite above the shoulder, but it’s not really below it.. So, I was messing with my hair instead of trying to play badminton. I’m pretty sure they don’t like me now. Pretty sure I lost the game for us.

After PE, I had a physics test. Completely forgot how to solve one of the equations, even though I had studied an extra hour of unrequired materials in preparation two nights before. Of COURSE I forgot. The teacher gave me this look of disappointment, mixed with something related to anger and simply said “you knew this was going to be on the test.” and he was right. but I had also studied. I was understanding it. But then the test came and I was already having a bad day and the next thing I knew, I was out of his class and trying my absolute best to not cry at school. I can’t be the girl who cries at school again…

I’ve made a point to not talk about my family issues at school, or about anything negative that would set me apart. I don’t want anyone at school to know my past or present grievances.

But I still had a panic attack at school and hid in the bathroom stall, trying to control my breathing — those bathrooms seriously need loud fans or music because you can hear EVERYTHING that is going on in the next stall over. Seriously.

To top it off, we had vocal auditions that afternoon. Imagine singing, after having been so worked up, you had to stop yourself from crying.

The group did vocal warm ups together, and I’m perfectly comfortable singing in a group, but solos and I do not mix (at least not yet). And so when they asked me to do a solo part in the warm up, I nearly puked. I felt something lurch up from in my stomach, and lost my breath. Anxiety is great.

Then, that night was when I found out I had lice.

It was a wonderful day.

My sister is leaving for europe in four days.. She’ll be gone for a month. I’ve never been apart from her for that long. But she’s kinda pissed at me right now, and I hope things get better between her and I before she gets back..

She’s going to be gone for my birthday.. I’m turning seventeen in a month and two days.

Everything has me feeling so defeated. I don’t feel like I can cry anymore. I don’t feel like I can express my emotions without being judged. It hasn’t stopped me, but it makes me hesitant.

I want to feel pretty again. I haven’t felt pretty since I cut my hair. not really.. I’ll have moments of feeling attractive, but I don’t look in the mirror and think I’m beautiful. I would like to think that I’m pretty without my long hair, but I don’t think I believe that.

I feel so sick. Between waiting for the cast list to go up and my physics grade to go on Aeries, I really am not sure how I’m going to cope with all this stress.

Oh, and I decided to post this on facebook:

I wish I could have read this post early on, after my parents divorce.

I wish that people hadn’t excused what happened in our house as “God’s will” or even said that it was “for the better” — no. Definitely not.

Being mentally abused was not good, it hasn’t made me a better person in ways that I couldn’t have grown without it. I loath when I am told that it was a good learning experience or even that I am a better person because of it.

No. Abuse didn’t make me a better person, it’s stifled me in many ways emotionally and socially – and I would never tell another person that it was a positive thing if I learned that it had happened to them.

PTSD hasn’t made me a better person – I’ve become more understanding, yes, but that isn’t to say that it wouldn’t have happened without it. I have been told that it will allow me to walk a path of individuality because of I have it — while that may be true, the panic attacks that come with PTSD do not make me a better person. They hurt me. They stop me from performing as a healthy human being in social situations – that happened just today at school.

It’s okay for bad things to happen to us, and the “band-aid” idea that the bad things happen for a reason does more damage than good to a person who is in pain. Allow us to grieve, allow for our pain to show in ways that may be socially looked down on – crying, not smiling in public, or even just not looking happy 100% of the time – those things are okay. Being unhappy isn’t bad – it’s healthy if you’ve experienced something traumatic.

A lady who I used to know from church decided to comment on it. Mind you, I’m not friends with her on facebook. But this is what she said:

“I doubt God wants people to suffer. However, he can help you recover and use your experiences for good if you allow him to.”

My response: ” It wasn’t my intention to communicate that God was purposefully allowing people to be in pain – I was simply trying to say that when people pass off horrific events (such as car accidents and domestic violence) as “gods purpose” it can be a destructive mindset for those who are in pain. What we need is to be loved and accepted for where we are in life, and if where we are isn’t a happy place – then show compassion, acceptance and love us through our pain. If there is a god, I don’t believe he would be mean-spirited or “out to get people” – want to make sure I’m clear on that”

Her retort: “You KNOW there is a god. I understand where you’re coming from and I appreciate you shedding some light on how to best love those who are in pain.”

Oh wait. Sorry Mrs. Russell.. Sorry that I didn’t know what I believed and that I had to ask you.

But I didn’t ask.

And for the record, I don’t “KNOW” there is a god, so cool your tits. No one knows if there are any deities, or if there aren’t. So. Just. Chill.

Tornado

beautiful, Blame, Family, Journal, Love, no trust

I can’t decide what I need out of life right now. I’m having difficulties emotionally connecting to things, which worries me. There’s a tremendous amount of stress for me at home, but who doesn’t have that same issue?

I want to learn how to be a positive person, especially when I am under stress.

I feel like my recent dreams have been able to accurately describe how I feel.


Lost, I looked for my mom. Going inside the house, I looked from room to room, but still no sign. The wind outside audibly picked up, howling, making the house tremble. Suddenly, gravities pull felt stronger as I was lifted into the air – as the entire house was lifted into the air. Where was mom? The house came crashing, tumbling down, glass shattered around me from what had once been windows. The ground inches from my face, ruins surrounded me. Crawling out from the rubble, I tried to find mom. Where was she? I just wanted to be held. Blood dripped into my hand – the world around me had completely changed. Where was my hug?

 

Asking for It.

anti feminism, Awareness, beautiful, Beauty, Blame, equality, Failure, feminism, fuck you, Her, home, Journal, no trust, Personal, sexual harassment, stalker, Street Harassment

Adult men and teenage boys should stop following women on the street. Men should stop making unsolicited comments on women’s bodies. They should humanize themselves and the women they are doing these things to.

Today, the 8th of October 2016, a grown man followed me in his SUV. He consciously made the decision to follow a young girl, by removing his parked car from a parking lot to driving alongside her at a walking pace. This man, whoever he is, watched me walking and thought, “I should get her in my car”. I can’t allow myself to imagine what would have happened to me if he had gotten me inside of his SUV.

All this happened on the street I live on. He targeted me not even a block from my home. As I was walking, I realized I couldn’t go home – I couldn’t give him such precious information.

This was the second time a man followed me while in a car. This was the fourth time a man I was unfamiliar with has made an unsolicited comment about my body while in public. All of these things have happened this year. I am only sixteen years old. How much worse will this get as I get older?

It is disgusting that grown men can freely gawk at underage girls and have virtually no punishment.

In more than one way, I have been fortunate. I have only had these experiences during daylight. I have always been in moderately public places, and they have never used force or violence towards me. But those things have happened to other women, and I wouldn’t doubt that the men who have harassed me are capable of sexually assaulting, kidnapping, or raping their victims.

I am also fortunate that the police made no comment on my attire – they didn’t slut shame me for wearing a crop top, a short skirt, and wedges. They are taking my case seriously, despite the fact that they could get away with a simple “she was asking for it”. In fact, the two officers were very receptive and gave me a lot of comfort after the incident.

“Hey you!”
I turned. A man, in a car? Okay. Continued walking, crossed the street. Don’t acknowledge him, hopefully he’ll go away. Walking, I heard a car come up behind me. Is it him? It’s not him, don’t worry. This wouldn’t happen to you again. This stuff only happens like, once.. Right? The car came up from behind, it slowed down, approaching me. Nearly stopping, it crawled to a walking pace.”Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t be walking,” he said “let me give you a ride.”
“It’s alright,” I said, “I don’t need a ride, thank you,” I looked directly in his eyes as I said the last bit.
He continued to follow me. Hoping he couldn’t see how nervous he made me, I refrained from wiping the sweat off my brow. Why isn’t he going away? I want him to go away.
“You really are pretty,” my chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe.
“Come on, let me give you a ride,”
Why? So you can rape me? He sped away, turning around just a little ways ahead of me. He stopped. Why did he stop? Is he waiting for me? Is he going to try to run me over? Is he going to get out of his car and try to take me? His car started to move again. I let out an audible sigh. Coming closer to me, I figured he would just drive away. Of course he didn’t. Approaching me again, he rolled down his window, “Hey pretty girl,” he waited for a response. I gave none.
“Okay, fine, be that way.” He was angry. Sped away.

I rushed home, tripping over my wedges, I nearly sprained my ankle. I just wanted to be safe. Never had I felt so alarmed when I could see home – my safe zone.

I made it inside, sat down in the sofa and looked at my door. A noise outside startled me. is it him? No. There were children’s voices. I was safe. But I couldn’t stop staring at the door. I got up to lock it, then proceeded to lock myself in the bathroom and look up harassment on my phone.

You and Your Words

Blame, fuck you, Journal, Memories, no trust, Partner, Personal, Poetry

You don’t want to see me today.
I know you’ve mentioned feeling obligation.
It’s only been a month,
Has all of it been obligation?
I knew the tone today, I’d heard it before.
“Want to meet me at the park?”
I felt it then too.
Did you even want to get lunch
On our first date?
I assumed you wanted to see me
As much as I wanted to see you
Or is this another mind game.
Did you want me to question
Your intentions? Did you want to make me
Question every thing
Between us?
What is between us?
I want to eat a gallon of ice cream
I want to scream and cry
I’ve thought about it more times than I can count.
You said okay out of obligation,
You manipulated to get me to say what you wanted,
And now I’m not sure if I can trust the words on my screen
You and your words.