I Deserve To Love Myself

beautiful, Family, feminism, fuck you, home, Humanist, Journal, Personal

When someone has a kid, it’s understandable that they would want them to hold the same beliefs and ideals as themselves.

Though, after I had spoken up for myself, my mom turned to me and said “I would never have been allowed to talk to my parents that way” when I had just expressed that I disagreed.

I have my own opinions, and I won’t apologize for thinking for myself. I might not know everything, but neither do you. There’s a good chance that we are both wrong in our own right, though I would rather die knowing I stood up for my own thoughts rather than following you blindly.

She has threatened to take away my phone because she believes I have too much contact with the world around me,
She thinks my opinions are too radicalized and extreme,
That I am simply following the mainstream.

Rather, I’m plunging into the arctic cold water that is adulthood and with that comes autonomy.

I have the right to my own opinions and thoughts, she doesn’t have to agree with them, but punishing me for them? That’s wrong.

And that idea she brought up, about not being able to speak to her parents a certain way, aka disagree with them – I just don’t even know where to begin with it.

I expressed to her that I have self respect, and in having that I am willing to voice my thoughts without hesitation. Somehow she views that as entitlement.

In some fucked up way, she thinks that my “selfish nature” of loving and taking care of myself is uncalled for and a generational thing.

That wanting to go to therapy and wanting to eat fruits and vegetables is somehow entitled. I just want to take care of myself. I don’t want to be spoken down to. I don’t want to be hit. I deserve to love myself.

I Need To Hear It

Awareness, Domestic Violence, Family, fuck you, home, Journal, no trust, Personal, Poetry

I know how I feel, but their words drown out my voice.
I know what has happened, but they say I’m making it up.
I know what I have seen, I know it and I will never shut up.

It’s just sensory overload
You’re just displacing your fear
This is a simple case of, “_____”

maybe “it’s Just” what I’m telling you it is.
perhaps I know what I’m experiencing

“The social worker thinks it’d be a good idea to get you into counseling”
Have I not been saying that for three years?

Listen to me.

Just fucking listen to me.

I know how I feel, I know what I’ve seen, stop doubting me.
I’ve come to terms that you don’t listen, my words are like wind to you,
they pass quickly and you don’t notice them.
my words are like the sound of a subway passing,
quick and you’ll soon forget them.

I swear to god, some strangers notice my suffering more than you have,
and don’t tell me that this is my fault.
I didn’t bring this on. I didn’t call CPS.

Please someone, tell me this isn’t normal.
Please tell me that being yelled at, accused,
isn’t normal.
please tell me I’m not just too sensitive.
I need reassurance that I’m not just a weak kid who
doesn’t understand the world.

I need someone to tell me I’m not crazy.
I need someone to reassure me that this is not regular.

That having Child Protection Services at your house is irregular.
That being screamed at and blamed is unusual.

I need to know I’m not just exaggerating,
I need to know that I will be okay,
I need to know that this isn’t all me..

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.

Godless Life

Athiesm, beautiful, Creative Writing, fuck you, Her, home, Jealousy, Journal, Love, Memories, Peace, Personal, Relationships

I’ll admit it, I’m happy they broke up – because for a short while I loved him.

I mean, who likes to feel replaced?  Who desires to see someone they would confide in become attached to someone new? not me.

Never me.

I may have disagreed with him on everything, he may have been an asshole at times, but I cared deeply for his shitty ass.

I hate that I cared, but I can’t help how I felt toward him.

But there he is. Sitting in front of me again, his gross hair that flips out at the bottom, his thick red jacket (the one that’s extremely fuzzy on the inside, the one that would keep my hands warm on rainy mornings before AP Psych). He got new shoes, I still wear the watch he gave me. a few weeks after we broke up he wore the leather bracelet I gave him, I wonder if he still has it. Why do I care? If he honestly came to me to make amends and try again I wouldn’t take him up on it – he hurt me too much.

He lied.

He dated Felicia.

He let me meet his family, when he knew he didn’t love me.

I loved him.

I could tell he didn’t love me.

I ignored it.

I’ll admit  it, as shitty as it makes me, I was happy when I found out his relationship wasn’t happy – I didn’t care that much if he loved her, I just was happy she didn’t love him.

He’s christian again,

lives with his crazy dad,

probably going into the military.

I’m atheist as fuck,

want to go to university,

I want to travel and live a godless life.

A life of love, of friendship, of tidiness and sex.

I want to burn candles on rainy days,

sleep in on Sundays,

read case studies and policies while drinking black coffee,

eat pomegranate seeds and avocado toast –

White bed spread.

Black bookshelves.

Wall of windows overlooking Seattle.

Seeing a therapist every Tuesday.

A clean fridge.

A white cat, miniature dachshund.

My godless life.

Wake Up, Get Ready, Go

Family, fuck you, home, Journal, Personal, school, Small Things

As I write this, the harsh reality sets in that I have to wake up early and go to school tomorrow. The alarm will go off at 6:40, I’ll begrudgingly hit “off” as I hold back a moan of anger and depression. I’ll sit up, roll off the bed, and pull of the t-shirt I wore to bed. Standing for a second longer than considered normal, turn the lamp that sits on my dresser on –  I’ll stare at the clothes I set out and consider what it might be like to not go to college and graduate with a low GPA because I skipped too many classes. I put the clothes on anyway because my mom would never go for it. Glancing at my jewelry, I consider wearing some, but just grab the watch my ex boyfriend gave me. Every time I see it, it reminds me of him, but I don’t know what I’d do without it. I remind myself that I picked it out, put it on my amazon wish list, and that anyone could have known to buy it for me. But it still reminds me of him and I wish I had another, despite how much I love the way it looks.

Grabbing my backpack, I head to the upstairs bathroom to brush my teeth. The light annoys my eyes, everything is a little blurry, and no one else is up yet. I kind of want to cry, but I don’t want a red face for school and my nose is already stuffy, and it would just agitate my cough, so I decide against it. I head down the stairs and really hope I don’t slip because man that would hurt and I would definitely have a bad day after that. But it doesn’t really stop me from taking quick, loose steps. Because at this point, I could care less about whether or not I have a good day.

Sometimes I’ll head to the kitchen to grab a quick lunch, sometimes I’ll head to the downstairs bathroom to do my makeup – it just depends on how much I care about eating lunch that day.

I grab my box and bag of makeup. As I sit down, I adjust my makeup mirror and turn on the light, I look at my face for the real first time today. I’m never smiling. Why would I smile right now? I’m about to embark on a day at school, with people who I despise, and teachers who expect either too much or too little, and a series of expectations that I don’t care to fill – I’m about to see my ex boyfriend and guys who think too highly of themselves. I’m about to see librarians who are far too enthusiastic for their jobs so one assumes they’re compensating for having such a depressing job as a high school librarian. I’m about to see the girls for whom I wear makeup to intimidate, the same ones who snicker and gossip and annoy the living fuck out of me. Why would I smile when I know what my day holds? But I look in the mirror anyway, at my dead eyes, my unmade face, and I stare. I do my makeup, every stroke calibrated, every dab deliberate, and I make my face perfect so there is one less thing to say about me. One less flaw to poke at. One less hateful word said. I’ll check the time about every ten minutes, until it’s time to leave. I’ll realize at about this moment that my mom and sister are still getting ready, and I’ll be incredibly annoyed at how inconsiderate they are of when I need to be to school. But I’ll ask my mom for the keys so I can start the car, and I’ll head outside to wait for them, accepting that I might be late. But why would I even care if I was late at this point? Who fucking cares if I even show up because it’s just another day in the mandatory hell they pass as education.

They finally come out to the car, Kendra kicks and screams, complaining every second that she spends buckling into her carseat. My mom isn’t far behind her, complaining just as much about how she dreads the day ahead. I silently sit, staring dead in front of me, my eyes blind, head full of miserable thoughts. I just want to be in bed. I want to really learn. I want to live, not this dead, dull routine. This isn’t living.

Driving to school we pass the children walking to their middle school, the crossing guards, the parents dropping off their kids. We pass this man, who I presume is waiting for his ride. He always has his cloth lunch bag, and on rainy days he wears a clear slicker. He’s a short man. He isn’t smiling either, as he leans against the cinderblock wall. He’s staring dead in front of him, with what I assume are blind eyes. We come to a halt at the four way stop, school bus passing in front of us, we wait. Pulling up in front of the administration building, I get out of the car, closing the door as I say I love you to my mom. Hoisting my backpack on my shoulder, I climb the hill to my classes.. I stumble upon the first group of people I see, and I’m smiling now. Despite the fact that I feel the same way as I did when I first looked in the mirror.

On My Mind

fuck you, no trust, Personal

Things I’m Tired of thinking about:

  1. Talon and his new girlfriend
  2. Whether or not said girlfriend is Felicia
  3. Xavier
  4. If he’s seeing the girl I saw him walking with the other day
  5. Why the fuck Brandon stopped snap chatting me out of nowhere
  6. All the guys who have ghosted me, ever
  7. Why my instagram is 20 likes shy of what it has been recently
  8. The fact that Charley went to bed and I’m lonely as fuck
  9. My nervous tick where I poke at my arms, which are currently really swollen
  10. All my damned homework that I’m ignoring
  11. Did I mention Xavier? Despite the fact that I unfollowed his profile on facebook so it wouldn’t keep posting when he liked something that’s genuinely funny and made me laugh, reminding me that I get his sense of humor — but then the crushing reminder of reality that tells me he was probably projecting his feelings for his ex onto me and that he never actually liked me and when he said he was “lucky” he meant nothing because he doesn’t like me and never did and that spark was gone for him a long time ago and he was walking by MacKayla and he doesn’t even see you half the time, and I need to get a grip because the reality of this is that you don’t matter to him.
  12. Did I mention that I don’t matter to Xavier?
  13. How guys use me until they have their fix, or until they realize they’re uninterested, but they don’t really tell me that and I have already grown attached to them.
  14. How I feel like anyone I have an attachment for will inevitably leave me
  15. That I’m scared number 14 is because of how my dad hasn’t tried staying in contact with me and that my mom is emotionally out of touch with life.
  16. Why do all of the guys who think that they’re cute end up being assholes?
  17. The fact that Charley lives so far away and that I’m low key worried I’ll fuck it up
  18. I don’t want to go to public school anymore. It makes me want to kill myself. Not even joking.
  19. I hate seeing Talon being a smug ass around campus
  20. I am annoying that I yelled at him. That I heard Felicia telling him that “it’s actually kind of funny”
  21. Remembering that Cadence said I was bigger than his taste
  22. Thinking Kavy is an annoying bitch
  23. Autumn too
  24. I just want some solitude and a weekend all alone.

The Gender Template

beautiful, bisexual, equality, feminism, fuck you, Humanist, Journal, school, science

The following is a blog post I wrote from my AP Lang class project on gender:

Gender. The word itself brings back memories of baby showers decorated in all blue, sitting through long sermons about how ladies should conduct themselves, and the rigorous dress codes ladies had to follow for recitals (damn you, toe seams).annoyed ugh eye roll eyeroll

Typically, I’m the kind who defines a concept through a logical explanation (thanks, scientific method), but gender cannot be explained biologically. (or can it..?)

Yes, yes, I know. Females have an extra chromosome, we have different hormones – there are biological differences between the sexes. But gender and sex are quite different, despite being so closely correlated.

So, what is gender if it cannot be explained through hard science?
How can we define it if there is no definitive aspects of what makes someone a guy or a girl?

I’ve come to the conclusion that we don’t have the tools necessary to understand gender – yet. As a firm believer in science, I believe that given the proper tools, the scientific method, and the right mindset, someone can make sense out of the world’s “phenomenon”.

Cue X-Files theme:

the truth is out there

But this is no X-File, gender can be X-Plained one way or another.

Gender roles are culturally instilled in humans all over the world; in the American culture men are expected to conform to the masculine stigma, which is: angry, emotionally out of touch, and intimidating.

We saw this from the gendered razor commercials, to the way John acts in The Yellow Wallpaper, by Charlotte Perkins Stetson – cold, stern, and logical.

Women on the other hand are expected to submit to a man’s anger–even if it is a complete stranger–it is assumed that every woman is emotionally in touch with herself, and that she possesses this “motherly instinct”.

But I honestly don’t. I don’t feel like I have a maternal instinct – I never have. In fact, I don’t plan on having my own children because I simply don’t want them.

We are, as women, expected to play dumb. To allow men to explain things to us that our teeny little brains just can’t comprehend. (Culturally, not specifically your uncle Eric who lives in Oklahoma – but maybe him too).

Party Over Here comedy haha hilarious nicole byer

Because women do everything for them dudes

While I can see how gender roles have shaped our society, they have created this imbalance between the relationship men and women have. Gender is just this illusion humans have used to describe anatomy – much like how women doctors were considered witches in the renaissance.

We can’t explain it, so it must be sinful, dark, and wrong.

I would like to argue that women are domestic because we are conditioned to be that way. Just as men have been conditioned to like mechanics, agriculture, and football – or whatever it is that the masculine archetype enjoys.

I mean, think about it.

Girls are handed dolls to play with at a young age, I probably got my first doll before I was two years old. Whereas, guys are given toy trucks and Legos.

The way I see it, those physical differences in our worlds between guys and girls at such a critical point in our development have to make some sort of impact.

If we give guys dolls at a young age, then they might become even more “domestic” or lean toward care giving.
If we give girls Legos at a young age, then they might become more logical. 

We are shaped into the people we become, and this is pretty evident once we find out the gender of an unborn child because we start painting their room pink or blue, we buy ribbons or blue onesies based off of a sonogram telling us that kids’ sex. Think about that for a second. We systematically pick from two different colors for our unborn children based off their suspected gender.

I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with this little cultural oddity, but.. We shouldn’t allow for it to define who we are, and if we’re gonna keep it around, maybe add a few more colors.

Though, as we saw in the TedTalk by Alice Dreger, scientists suspect that there are more than just two sexes, so wouldn’t that also mean our idea of having two genders is outdated as well? Maybe we should select a few more colors off our palette for the genders we’ve ignored?

Of course, that’s not the end of the story (when is it?).

(if you don’t think Jason Segel is cute, then we can’t be friends)

Who else has had AP Psych with Hogan? If you have, then you’ve probably heard about the John/Joan case in the 1950’s – if you haven’t here’s a link to an article on the case study. 

If you’re like me, you didn’t click the link – so I’ll expand on what it’s about. Basically, a baby boy went through a tragic accident in which he lost his genitalia, his parents decided to raise him as a girl and never tell him he was born a dude. So, they raise Bruce as Brenda and he never feels like he is in his own skin (poor guy) – and he goes through some emotional turmoil and his mom finally tells him he isn’t actually a Brenda but a Bruceplot twiiiist.

This particular story is unique because we can see what happens when someone grows up thinking they’re one gender when they are biologically another – you might be like “hey, Allysa, that’s supporting the other side and is excluding the transgender community” which is why it’s important to say that we can also see stories of transgender people who have had sex changes, and they are fully satisfied with that.

I guess the point I’m trying to make is that this is more about how we perceive our biological sex. Like, you can embrace it if you desire or you can reject it and whatever you choose is cool.

Little Bruce Reimer had no idea that he was born a biological boy, but he knew that being a girl was not for him. Many trans people know their biological sex, and yet they feel like someone else entirely.

People tend to figure out who they are, whether or not they identify with their born sex as their gender. Even Alice Dreger can admit that biology plays a role in our behavior and gender,

“there might be something, on average, different about female brains from male brains that makes us more attentive to deeply complex social relationships, and more attentive to taking care of the vulnerable.”

And I can step back, look at where she is coming from, look at her evidence, and say ‘I can see how that could be the case’.

The only way that we will come to any conclusive idea on gender is if we listen to each other, see where the other side is coming from, and consider all the evidence.

Obviously, no one is the same way.

Girls can be feminine.
Guys can be feminine.
Girls can be masculine.
Guys can be masculine.

Gender is a mixture of nature and nurture, it’s conditioning and biology – why limit our answer to “it’s only this” or “it’s only that”, which not only puts a stopper on our way of thinking, but it also puts a halt on advancements in our culture.

We can have our cake and eat it too, just so long as we are respectful of each other.

So, be respectful. Don’t be rude. And like, if you have a problem with someone else’s gender, ask yourself why you care so much about something that has very little to do with you.

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?

Life sucks

fuck you, Journal, Personal

I’m such a sad excuse for a person. I am affected way too easily by others. I’m not even taking the SAT. Apparently that’s really important and I just got chewed out by my sister for not doing it, even though we wouldn’t have been in town for it anyway.

But really. What am I doing with my life that’s even worthwhile? I do nothing productive. I’m 17 and I don’t even have a job yet. I don’t get A’s. I fail at almost everything I try to do. I can’t even keep my room clean, how the fuck am I supposed to be an adult? Go to college? Get a car? Jesus christ. I don’t even have a car to get me to community college. I haven’t taken the SAT. I’m not taking the SAT. Fuck. I’m wasting so much of my time. I can’t even run a fucking mile in under ten minutes. By nearly every standard except my own, I am failing at life. I couldn’t remember to do my physics vocab on time, how will I remember to pay my bills? How will I pay my bills without a job? How can I get a job without a car? How do I get a car? Money gets you a car. How can I make money when I’m dedicating all my time to getting good grades, and even then I get bad grades? And without good grades, you can’t get into a good college, and without a good college education what even is  life? What am I? A failure. Should I just accept right now that I will live an unhappy and unfulfilling life? That I’ve spent my entire childhood and adolescents fucking around when I should have been preparing to be an adult

I make too many excuses. I care about the wrong things. I’ll go no where in life. I’m already a ball of stress, why don’t I just fucking die? The way my math teachers look at me. It makes me want to give up. The way my physics teacher looks at me when I can’t figure out the math equation, it makes me want to die. I’m such a fucking disappointment. I always have been. I used to tell myself I would do amazing things, but right now, all I see is a disappointment, a wasted life. I can’t do anything amazing, and simply believing I could was such fucking dumb idea.

I’m such a worthless person.

Loving Endlessly (To An Extent)

feminism, fuck you, Hope, Humanist, Journal, Love, Loving Life, Partner, Peace, Personal, Relationships

In the world, there is only one person you can truly count on – and that is yourself. While we – as human beings – do want to feel love, belonging, and predictability in the world; if you rely on someone for those things you can’t find true satisfaction and peace.

That’s why I’m looking to myself to find love, because I know it’s in me. That’s why I am accepting and loving myself for who I am right now, because the only person who will truly accept me 100% without judgement is myself.

Someone who doesn’t care enough about you, or who doesn’t see a future with you is not someone you would have lived a happy life with. Someone who uses you for affection and emotional stability is not a healthy partner, and you are better off without them. Someone who you disagree with on a constant basis is not going to make you happy in the long run, and you will be happier, healthier, and live a better life with out them in it.

If someone doesn’t love me, and we break up, then I see no loss.
If someone moves on and they didn’t want to be with me, there is no loss.
If you love someone and they do not love you back in the same way, there is no loss if they leave your life.

I’m better off alone, then with someone who doesn’t love me for everything that I am. I’ve learned this not just through breakups, but also with my father. He didn’t love me for who I was, and since he has been excluded from my life I have been happier and healthier. Toxic relationships never work out and will only drain you of the love you have. Save that love.

I love who I am, flaws and everything – because over attachment and stretch marks are me. Caring about things a little too passionately, that is me. I am embracing the fact that I overthink, that I am short, that I can be an awkward mess – because I don’t want to change anything about myself.

I do not need someone else to complete me or make me happy – I don’t need another person to fulfill my biological need of love and belonging. I love myself endlessly, and I belong to the world. I am happy this way.

Loving other people is also one of my things. I always love someone, whether it’s my dog, my sisters, or a love interest. I’m finding that it’s in my nature to love people and animals, it’s something that I as a person need to do to be happy. I care.