Burdens You Face

Creative Writing, Family, feminism, home, Journal, no trust, Personal, Poetry, Relationships

We burden her.
She won’t admit it, but we burden her.

We talk, but she doesn’t like being reminded of her burdens.
We cry, and her burdens are overwhelming.
She can’t stand us.

Forbid her burdens have issues that need attention.
Forbid they demand health treatments that cost money.

Isn’t it feminist to be selfish?
She wants to think so, and selfishness it is.

This burden doesn’t react well when yelled at by the Abusive Coward,
But let’s slap a “sensory overload” tag on it and call it good.

That burden doesn’t like being threatened by the Abusive Coward,
It leaves and it’s a bad, bad burden.

The smallest burden, the loudest, it needs attention and her time,
but that time is called for by the Abusive Coward.

The coward, he is the victim when he strikes a Burden.
The coward, he is the victim when he threatens a Burden.
The coward, he is the victim when a Burden cries.

She sees humanity in the coward,
She sees love in the coward,
She sees hope, light, and prospect in him.

Her burdens weigh her down,
Suck her dry, they kill her spirit.
Despite being their mother, these burdens are inhuman.

She carried them around, 9 months each.
9 months to learn to despise them,
9 months to learn she would never have freedom.
9 months to realize she carried the children of a man she loathed.

I am her burden, one which has been steadily growing seventeen years.
I am her problem, which she can’t ignore.
I am the outspoken burden which plagues her,

Plaguing her existence with demands.
Fair treatment.
Therapy.
Vegetables.

Extremities which cannot be fulfilled.
Demands which are impossible.
Requests that are beyond capability.
I am your burden, mom.

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..

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.

Discomfort

Journal, no trust, Personal, Relationships

You led me on, told me you were interested, asked me on a date.
Now I feel awkward for having feelings for you,
Because you ignored me for a week.
Now you don’t “feel it” anymore.

What am I supposed to think? You got my hopes up.
You made me believe something was going to come out of it.
You said you were interested too.

Who could blame me for being a little upset by that?
By you.
The thing that gets me is that I was starting to really like you.

Now here I am, back where I started,
feeling like every dude who has walked the face of this planet,
Is human garbage.

Don’t pretend that you care about me in anyway,
Because you don’t.
Don’t pretend that you “understand where I’m coming from”,
Because if you did, you wouldn’t have ignored me.

I became the mistake that happened after you broke up,
Didn’t I?

God, I’m fucking mad.

Recalling Memories

Church, fuck you, Humanist, Jealousy, Journal, Love, Memories, New, no trust, Partner, Personal, Religion, school

You were the first boyfriend that I was both physically and emotionally attracted to.

This is probably my least favorite part of breaking up because my dumb fucking brain only wants to remind me of all the cute things you did that made me like you..

How you got that app with the little kitten that would roam around on your phone. How your hair would flip when it was long.. how we would hold hands during psychology. How your face would brighten up when you would see me waiting for you at lunch or before 4th period. Holding hands when you drove – that long car ride we took to Taft.. When you came over that one time and we watched that really annoying and shitty movie Nate recommended, we got taco bell, and cuddled on the sofa…. When I came over to your house and took that picture of you with a Snapchat filter of a cat.. When we went to starbucks together and you hated me for getting you to like the passion tea lemonade. Taking me to the melodrama, getting that pretentious macaroni and cheese in SLO with your mom..

But then, there were the times when I just couldn’t help wondering why we were ever together.. When we would argue about anything political. When you told me you were thinking about going into the military. When you just the other day told me that you couldn’t date someone who was fat – or when you out right said that you would specifically look for things that solidified your existing beliefs. The racist songs you played in the car that one time…

I only broke up with you because you obviously didn’t want to be with me anymore, and I’m not sure why you hesitated to do it yourself.

I love you, but now I resent that more than I ever appreciated it. It’s burdening me, I don’t want to love you.

They, Themselves, and I

Failure, forgotten, fuck you, Future, Her, home, Journal, no trust, Personal, school, Small Things

Yesterday was an insane and emotional day – it’s funny how one can mask their identity so easily while out in the public eye, it’s so convincing that they even believe it, and then the moment they get in the car, the mask melts away. They cry. They scream. The perfect mask they had acquired throughout the day, is meaningless.

The things that still hold meaning are what made them cry in physics, the things that are too deep for even their family to help with.

It’s when they’re last on the gym court during dodge ball and everyone is yelling at them to score and get everyone back in the game – yet they fail to. Losing the game.

It’s when their PE coach comments about how their tshirt is getting “looser” and that they are “getting better” at the mile — even though they still only got 9:30 on it. They know it’s not the best time in the world, and would rather not have her comment on it.

It’s when they’re in the car on their way home, and their mom asks how their day went, how school was, and they can’t even respond without a flood of tears ensuing.

It’s when they are laying in bed at 1:47pm and the next week they have finals and all they can think about is how calming death sounds. How easy it would be for them to just jump.

It’s when they’re sitting in the dressing room during rehearsal and they can’t allow themselves to think about themselves or how they’re going no where in life already, because the director instructed that everyone “check their baggage at the door” – they can’t let anyone know that their costume makes them feel ugly because every other princess in the show got a hoop skirt but them self.

It’s when they can’t allow their stories to become person, so they resort to talking about them self in the third person.

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.