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.

Complaining

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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.

Answers in Genesis? More Like: Answers in Wretchedness

Athiesm, Athiest, Church, Family, fathers, forgotten, fuck you, god, Humanist, Journal, Memories, Personal, Religion

In the beginning:

In the truck, applying lip gloss. Dad behind the wheel, destination: church.

Fond memories of red berries on the hill, crowned with a cross. White flowers by the doors. Mrs. Hengst’s red lipstick. The grey, musty floors. 

Stone mill, tall oak trees. Counting how many times one man could say ‘lord’ in his opening prayer – interesting fact, it was seventy. Being bored shitless during sermons, imaging life beyond those two front doors. Getting on stage to sing the ritual “Jesus Loves You”.

Even then, I knew there was no god answering my prayers. Those ‘answers’? I knew they were coincidence, I asked for easy things – like for the sun to rise tomorrow. I doubted every second, hoping I would find the one true answer.

Blindly believing in faith was not sufficient, my mind would not be satisfied without real answers.

In the end: 

I found there were no answers from a God that would end my questioning.

I found that there was no verse I could learn that would make me stop wondering.

I found that I would not be satisfied with unanswered prayers.

I found that the life I had led for thirteen years was a big white lie and if I was wrong… I was prepared to burn in hell for it.

My Perfect Partner

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My perfect partner.. They would be assertive, taller than me, about a year older than me, pretty fit or small, kiss really well, their occupation would be in a field of science, they would be a mathematical person with soft emotions, we would share the same taste in music and humor, they would be atheist or buddhist. Preferably would have brown or dark hair, would wear leather shoes (probably oxfords or sandals). They would play chess, read for leisure, cook occasionally. High libido, masculine but not necessarily male. They would love theatre like Shakespeare and have wanderlust. They would aspire to know everything they could, never stop learning. They would love foggy weather, as well as the rainy days. They would share my nerdy side, loving Lord of the Rings and Sherlock as much as me. They would understand that I have many emotional issues, including but not limited to PTSD, depression, anxiety, and binge eating. They would understand that sometimes I really just need to be left alone or have things that are just mine and don’t share. They would let me go through everything I need to – like dying/cutting my hair, losing or gaining weight, that sometimes I get jealous and I can’t help it. They wouldn’t mind me spam texting them when I feel like it, that I can over analyze things because of my past. They wouldn’t mind that I can overreact to things, that sometimes I need weeks or months to just cry. Sometimes I can’t sleep. They would understand that I have a really difficult time loving people, that I have a really difficult time trusting something that isn’t fantasy or an animal. They would understand that I am a person who fluctuates in everything: emotions, weight, ideas. I’m constantly changing and don’t like settling. They would understand that I have a very hard time trusting men specifically, that I have a lot of triggers, that when I love I love fully and will commit like nothing else in the entire world because they are mine and they understand me. They would need to be passionate and caring, interesting but not a douche, kind but not delusionally so. They would never leave me. They would be really sexual, enjoy the mystery of large cities and live in one with me. Their last name wouldn’t start with an S because I don’t want my initials to be ASS (which sucks because I have a tendency to attract and be attracted to people with surnames that begin with S). They would be down for adventure at any hour. They wouldn’t let me get stuck in my ruts where I forget what I love..

Most importantly, I want to be attracted to them in the way that I fall in love instantly. The kind that makes me crazy, the kind that I can’t sleep over. Where I yearn to know everything about them and once I know that, I want to learn more.

They would be feminist, an ally or part of the LGBTQ community, they wouldn’t support anything anti-LGBT, they would understand the importance of spreading the knowledge of domestic violence. They would love me as much as I love them and I wouldn’t doubt it. They would like small dogs and cats, enjoy poetry and a cup of tea. They would own professional clothing – as a male they would wear a navy suit, as a woman a pencil skirt and blazer.. They would hold my hand when we were shopping, they would hug me often.. I would never doubt them.

This person makes me believe in love. They make me warm and happy inside.

Little Whore-Faced Cunt

Blame, fuck you, Her, Jealousy, Journal, no trust, Personal, Religion

I’m hurt and angry – cadence and I have been broken up for awhile now, and I had been taking it really well..

And of course there is a “but”, so here it is.

Ya know that bitch, Megan? His friend who he always was texting and skyping? The same little christian whore who he liked eight years ago?

Guess what – the little lying bastard ex likes her. He likes her.

How long did it take him to get over me? two, maybe three weeks? fuck that shit.

Not to mention that this is the same girl I was insecure he would leave me for… Do I just have an unfortunate life? I thought these things only happened to really bad people, like rapists and mass-murders.

I’m a decent person, I don’t step on ants and I feel bad when I walk on grass. I’m anti-pesticides and want our earth to be healthy. So why do I have such awful karma?

I guess what really just gets my goat is that he acts like such a goodie-two-shoes, just like the fucking cunt does too. He’s stopped cussing, he’s stopped being himself. He is actually being nice and I don’t get it. Why isn’t he angry and upset like me? Why does he like her????

OF ALL PEOPLE WHY DID HE PICK HER.

She is the only person in the world I would have cared about him having feelings for (this much).

It makes me angry because I was about to break up with him and he threw me off guard and broke up with me.

It makes me angry because he knows that I care that he has feelings for megan.

It makes me angry because he is gossiping about me.

It makes me angry that he isn’t more upset about me sexting Zenyn.

I am hurt because he got over me so fast, and now he has blocked my number even though I never stopped being civil to him.

He told me “I love you more than I did yesterday, and less than I will tomorrow”. Then a week later broke up with me.  He broke up with me. He is telling people I broke his heart, and yesterday when I messaged him with a paragraph explaining why I was upset friday at the theatre, he responded really short and said he didn’t want to talk anymore because it wasn’t good for him..

Why do i have to care? Why can’t he!? Why am I the one who is still upset

 

AND FUCKING MEGAN HAD THE NERVE TO TRY AND HELP ME – SHE THOUGHT SHE HAD THE RIGHT TO TRY AND BE MY FRIEND.

THAT BITCH.

I HATE HER AND I WILL ALWAYS HATE HER UNTIL THE DAY I DIE AND I HOPE SHE HAS A MISERABLE LIFE TRYING TO CONFORM TO HER CHRISTIAN PARENTS LIFESTYLE THAT THEY HAVE PRESCRIBED TO HER. I HOPE SHE IS QUEER AND LIVES HER ENTIRE LIFE IN MISERY AND CAN NEVER COME OUT. I WANT HER TO BE UNHAPPY HER ENTIRE LIFE.

I hope she is miserable. I hope she knows I hate her, that I think she is a little cunt faced bitch. I want her to know. I want her to read this – so, If you’re reading this Megan Fuckface Fairbanks, I hate you and I want you to know that you’re a whore and a bitch and you are awful at writing debate cases, thanks for being such a shitty debate partner. Also, your sense of style is horse-shit. And your eyeliner is always messed up. And mascara is clumpy. You need to get your makeup game on point, bitch. Also, your hips have really bad cellulite and your “cute” selfie face looks like a baby squirrel was run over by a tractor. I’m also really happy that your asshole boyfriend who I never liked, cheated on you. I’m happy you had to deal with that pain. I’m also really happy you illegally dated an adult and that you have a smush-face. You’re ugly, bitch.

And yeah, I might have an ugly heart, but I have a nice ass, boobs, and my face is beautiful even without makeup – at least I don’t have the sad excuse of a face that you do.

So, Megan.

I hate you and I always have – also, people do talk about you behind your back. We don’t like you.

Spanked

Athiesm, Athiest, bisexual, dads, Domestic Violence, Family, fathers, fuck you, god, Humanist, Journal, Memories, Religion, science, Uncategorized

So much has happened recently that I’m not sure where to begin, but I had a major flashback recently that I had forgotten about (concerning my one and only father).

It was about three years ago, a few months before we left him. I had done something that deserved punishment, and he thought it would be a good disciplinary action to spank me, his thirteen year old daughter, who had obviously been going through puberty (due to my ever-growing breasts).

He bent me over his knee, pulled down my pants, and spanked me.

I was so uncomfortable, and not because I was being punished, because I always took that with a grain of salt. I understood when I had done something wrong, and that the only way to get over those issues was punishment for them  (so I had thought).

No, this was a different kind of discomfort. This kind was different, it made me want to squeeze my legs shut as tight as they could go. At the ripe age of thirteen, I felt like I had been violated, like my father had no right to be touching my bare ass.

But at the same time, I couldn’t do anything about it. If I had protested, I would have had more spankings, or been told that I was trying to get out of punishment.

It’s memories like these that make me want to have that man erased from my mind forever. I feel so gross thinking about it, like I need to wash myself.

And then  it makes me angry, how was he allowed to do that to me? Why couldn’t something have stopped it? Why did he think that was fucking okay?

I have so much inside me that wants to come out.

I find myself feeling like screaming when I think about everything going on, about all the feelings I have that I’m not allowed to express outside my bedroom.

What the hell am I supposed to do?  I’m angry, I’m frustrated, I’m sad, I want to feel comfortable outside my bedroom door. But I don’t.

I can’t be myself as soon as I step out my door. I have to put on a stupid-ass christian face. I have to act like I’m not a part of the LGBTQ community, like I am not a Bernie supporter, like I don’t like eating organic and believe that global warming is ACTUALLY GOING ON, like atheism doesn’t make any sense and Bill Nye is an ass instead of a scientist, all because I know they wouldn’t accept it.

I wish I could say I didn’t care about being accepted, but I honestly think most people do care, a lot.

We all want to be accepted at least a little bit, and when people you live with don’t, it’s hard to come out about it, to say you’re something other than the social norm.

 

Life Update: Ranting

Athiesm, Athiest, bisexual, Church, Family, fuck you, Future, god, Hope, Humanist, Personal, Religion, Small Things

I’ve been dealing with numerous problems recently, but the most prominent to me right now is my family. To be more specific, not my parents or siblings, it’s my aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents.

They’re all fucking idiots. Trump supporting, anti-intellectuals who give me the worst headache ever and I’m not sure I can handle being their blood. In fact, when I move out of their house, I swear I’m never going to talk to my grandpa again. He’s such a sexist asshole, I hate hearing his voice in the morning right when I wake up and how he listens to Talk Radio in the afternoon when he picks me up from school.

I think I would have less of a problem with my Nana, but she has been stifled for so long, I believe she’s forgotten who she is. She got married right out of high school at 19, and was kicked out of christian-college for being married, and then proceeded to have four children, and now takes care of her grand-children and cooks and forgets to clean (which my grandpa refuses to do because he’s a man and I honestly believe he doesn’t know how or where to start if he were going to), so my grandpa gets onto my sister and I about cleaning messes we took no part in making, like his juicing supplies and fucking dog feces that his damn dog made NOT MINE.

And right now he is standing outside my door knocking, but I’m in the front room and don’t care if he thinks I’m in there ignoring him.

Have you ever met someone and just the octave of their voice made you hate them? But you act sweet and nice, like it doesn’t bother you. Years later, you still deal with the problem but now it’s grown into something a lot bigger, because they voiced their heavily right-wing opinions about women and how they are physically weaker than men and it’s “just science”, like how can someone hold such an archaic opinion? Sure, women sometimes are built smaller than men but what about those who aren’t? The british actress Gwendoline Christie, for example. She’s a naturally tall and buff woman who could probably take most men out. But, according to my grandpa, women can’t be like that. That’s not natural.

Of course, he doesn’t know I’m bisexual or an Atheist (though, I’m sure they have their suspicions) even with my “cover job” as a sunday school nursery worker/teacher, and I accidently let it out that I like Bernie Sanders at a family dinner, so they now know I’m a liberal* and my being a feminist is something I just cannot hide. I just want to go somewhere where I don’t have to hide anymore.

Once I move, I swear I’m changing my facebook to who I really am. I’m going to changed my religious views and repost those bernie sanders pictures and do EVERYTHING that is ME. I can’t wait, honestly. I will feel so liberated and free. I want to be just about anywhere but with my extended family because they make me hate myself. They don’t love me, only when I fit their mold. They don’t care about me, my mom, or my sisters. They don’t hide their disapproval of my mom’s boyfriend and guess what… I CAN’T WAIT TO NOT DEAL WITH THEIR SHIT.

My life will be perfect, even if I end up moving into another mobile home, just as long as I don’t have to deal with so much negativity toward me.

It sounds like I’ll be getting my own room, and I’ll be the oldest child in the house, which is both exciting and terrifying (in a good way), but I think I’ll be happy doing the dishes and having a morning routine, having my mom to fold laundry with and have her there when I graduate high school and go off to college. She’ll be there with me when I want to look into colleges and maybe we’ll even tour some together. I am so excited for my future and how bright it will be just having my mom by my side.

I think I will appreciate having her buy me food and paying to get my hair cut 100% more than before. I don’t need a lot to make me happy, but I sure love not having to be financially scared at 16 for college and having to budget just to go hang out and go to see theatre and movies, or even just get starbucks.

I’m gonna have my mom in just around 4-5 months. I can do that. And when I’m there, I want our house to be the happiest and brightest house there is. It’s going to be a bubble of positivity. I’ll go to therapy and get my life together, I’ll be able to start driving and get my mom’s little car. I’ll go to a new school with people who have no idea who I used to be, and the best part is that I won’t have to deal with my extended family’s expectations for me to be their patriotic, right-wing little girl.

Well holy shit, I went to the opposite side of the house to write this while my family was having lunch where I was not invited to join, and then my aunt brought my four year old cousin into the room and yelled and spanked her and then left her there for a time out and I’m just like. Flash backs and shit about being spanked as a kid that really bother me. I understand that it is their form of punishment and I won’t tell them how to raise their kids, but I will never spank my own if I have them. It psychologically messed with me and I don’t like the effects it had on me. It harbors anger toward the person who spanks and then you are told to hold in your true emotions because you’re not allowed to be unhappy. You’re not allowed to show how you really feel, and that causes harm in the long run. I think it’s best if you just let children show how they feel, if that means they’re grumpy and upset, then they are and maybe they should go down for a nap, I don’t know.. It’s just upsetting to see and hear a kid in such discomfort do to the parents own hand. What made it worse was that the mom said that she was angry with her daughter. What if that resonates with her more than all the “I love you’s” she hears and she lays in bed at night and feels unwanted and unloved after all the days she was spanked. I don’t think it’s right.

*After finding out that I was liberal, my aunt said “Well… It was bound to happen, with your going to that hippie school and all…” she made it sound like I had committed a felony!!

I Believe in Science, and you can hate that.

Athiesm, Athiest, Church, god, Religion, science

The other day I came out of my christianity closet and announced to a friend that I was an atheist. (oh no!)

It was… an experience…

It’s always fun to be looked at and for someone to say “You’re going to burn in hell” to your face.

In fact, she was the first person I told who reacted negatively. But my, oh my, was it negative.

By the way, I’m going to lose my eternal life and satan won me over with the seduction of “secular life”.

But I told her that was okay. I’m okay burning in hell for eternity, because, fuck it. I don’t believe in an all-mighty-monogamous-preaching man in the sky, and it makes me feel FUCKING GOOD.

f-u-c-k-i-n-g.

G-O-O-D.

And I’m happy this way. I’m happy in my sinful and awful ways, because this is who I fucking am and if you don’t like that.. Screw you. You don’t have to appreciate my happiness for it to continue making me happy.

Religion isn’t anything but books and superstitions, and yet I’m the one who is looked at like an alien for saying that I believe in something that can actually be proven.

If you don’t already know what I mean, it’s called science, bitches.

So, gtfo.

You can believe whatever you want to, and you can try and convert me. But, I live with a pastor and he has yet to do that. So, good luck, children.