I'm bipolar. I blog about it. I also blog about sex, theology and atheology, funny shit and sad shit, books, music, feminism, and love. Mostly love.
Showing posts with label For Women and Men. Show all posts
Showing posts with label For Women and Men. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Unrestrained Hope--A Post on Living Without Fear

It's been awhile, friends. The week of Homecoming and the week prior to homecoming was packed full for Greeks and the enthusiastically involved like myself. I had the Chi Omega tent to worry about and affiliated alumnae events, I had Sycamore Sync, and Trike, and The Walk.I'm not old enough to participate yet, but I have to worry about not hitting drunk college students in matching shirts saying things like, "Walk Hard, Play Hard," and "Keep Calm and Walk On." It's kind of like an unsupervised herd of children walking down Wabash--except hyper-sexual and profane.

Sunday, work took me to Indianapolis with Kyle. Pleasantly, Mom brought Kairyn along, and I spent some time with them. I took pictures for Tanglewood Press. It was a good Sunday day after a long, long, long two weeks.

Last night I had my date. Some of you may notice that I removed my last post. I did so because I was asking questions I've managed to answer myself, now. This is something I never used to do... but the recentness of the post made the contrast to this post uncomfortable and confusing to those who follow me faithfully.

Last night I went on my date with Drew. I'm guessing a number of you didn't even know that was happening. Dinner, movie, and conversation. In one way or another I'm guarding myself from an acca-awkward situation in the future. Here I'm going to define my feelings on the past of that relationship, my fears regarding it, and how I picture it working. *Deep breath* Here we go.

Drew caused me a lot of heartache over the last year. I was pathetically and unrelentingly in love with him, and he did not love me. I'm not the type to have a million crushes on boys and fall in love willy-nilly. I've only said it about three boys now. And Drew was the second. Honestly he led me on. On the surface, he didn't. He never made any promises he couldn't keep. He never did anything directly unkind to me. But when I look back--he was leading me on. Because he still paid attention to me. For whatever reason, he let me love him. He could have shut me down, and he didn't. It was hard for a long time. But this summer, I did a lot of processing, and when the truth of that relationship revealed itself to me, I cut ties. It was a kind of passive decision. I was uninterested in talking to someone who was uninterested in me. It's a decision I made just in time for him to silently change his mind about me. When my only contact with him was via text messages that he sometimes responded to hours later, any interest he'd ever had felt distant and vague. He's not one to talk about his feelings.

In this time I dated Jacob--a jumbled kind of affair. And due to misunderstanding, Drew and I had no contact for two months. Acca-awkward.

In an odd series of events, we began speaking again. And this time there was actual speaking. With calls instead of texts and with long-winded Skype sessions. He apologized an awful lot.

So... fears.
  • I'm afraid he wants to be with be because he's lonely. And that it doesn't really have anything to do with me.
  • I'm afraid my history will confuse our relationship--that was a not-so-subtle topic last night.
  • I'm afraid he'll be too scared. And this will all be a repeat of last year.
If we were to make this work. what would it look like?
  • No commitments. Nothing is ever in stone.
  • Personal academic achievement and work always come first--even if that calls for an end to all of it.
  • There would be an equal contribution on the part of both parties to see one another. I don't like the idea of "make it work." This shouldn't be work. I know long distance is rough. It never lasts, whatever. I've seen in work with mature adults before. But I still have those same fears of long distance. But honestly? Haven't we been doing that for a year? Just with a paralyzing fear of the assumed commitment that walks hand-in-hand with labels. What I dream of? It's close. Just with a greater effort to spend time together. Just with a level of temporary commitment, which doesn't dictate decisions for the future, but rather enriches the experiences we have in that moment... those moments.
  • I'm a realist. My level of idealism has shrunk more as I've grown and seen the exploits and failures of those in my life, (and my own, I suppose). I'm expecting nothing more than acknowledgment of love.
If those things do not happen, I can be okay with that. But I can be nothing more than a good friend. I refuse to chase. I'm over chasing. I'm over looking. If love wants me, love will find me. and I will give myself wholly to that feeling in that moment with no care of what lays before me. Endings are as natural as beginnings. I live without fear. Love cannot exist one-way, and it cannot exist if it is unspoken. Something as intangible as a feeling doesn't really mean anything unless it's expressed. It isn't even there. Think about that for a minute.


I won't have my heart broken if it never becomes something, and I won't have my heart broken if something develops, then fades. That's just life. Sadness over such things is inevitable--but I'm beyond the mess I used to live in. I'm just as happy by myself. But hope is as unrestrained as love in it's imaginary place in our minds. I'm giving it substance by saying it here. I hope something happens. I do.


It is what it is.


Thursday, September 13, 2012

and full of the details we avoid so carefully...

I'm feeling really lonely right now. I want someone to sleep next to right now. I don't want anything beyond that, though. Do relationships like that exist? I haven't seen my therapist for two weeks now. He's been sick. I don't know what I'm going to tell him. Just when I thought I had it all figured out--what I'd say to him, that is--more rains down on me. I'm going to need to take a list. This is what it would look like:

  1. Jacob
  2. Unnamed boy
  3. Some missed classes...
  4. Loneliness
  5. Regret
I want to talk about regret because it's been on my mind. I think regret is the fallback of people with bipolar. They fuck up in mania... regret. They disappear in depression... regret. And right now, just somewhere between, I have only my past to regret--although it's a pretty heavy history.


Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Bitches get stuff done.

Yesterday I was really down. Today, I'm still a little down, and I'm procrastinating, which until this moment I had not done this semester. Regardless I can feel the weight of yesterday's disappointments are a little lighter. I don't really feel the need to sleep right now. I'm a little anxious that I'll go to bed too late because I have to go home after the practice for recruitment tonight. I'll do laundry and some homework, and I'll keep Grandma company because I know she misses me... but the night will be long. This week is going to move so quickly, and I don't have time to be sick like I am.

I'm keeping in better touch with my camp family. They're going to keep me stable. Because right now I don't want to be depressed. I am going to fight the hell out of it, because I absolutely have to fix this. I won't let myself get to where I've been. I'm going to keep going to class. I'm going to keep studying. I'm going to keep in touch with those who keep me grounded. These are my promises to myself.

I've lost hope for a lot of things lately. But I still stand strong in my conviction that people are inherently good. We mess up all the time, but that doesn't mean we're bad. It means we are struggling. I will keep believing that. It's a belief that allows me to be vulnerable and get hurt; but it allows me to form relationships with far greater depth. My friends, those who I've trusted with the truth in me, will hold my hand while I do all of that. I don't need a boyfriend to hold my hand. People fall out of love all the time, and sudden disappearances will shake me--like it just did. If someone's going to hold my hand it needs to be someone I can count on for stability, and someone I respect enough to help in the very same way. Partners will come and go, and so will friends, really. But I have friends that I believe in right now. They've seen me at my worst, and they love me anyway. That takes great strength--genuineness always does.

I have a lot to do still. With my life, I mean. I have places to go and people to meet. I have things to accomplish! And I know I'm going to. And I'll do it "alone." But I'm not really alone. Just because I don't have a boyfriend doesn't mean I'm flying solo. It means I don't have a boyfriend. I have friends that will take care of me in ways a man never could. I'm too much of a bitch for a boyfriend anyway. But you know what? Bitches get stuff done.

I'm blogging like a manic right now. I have to. Bear with me. I'm going to get better and then this won't be so dreary.
This kid kept me honest this weekend.

Monday, September 3, 2012

Lord I'm 500 miles from my home.

I'm really sad today. I'm just sad in general right now. I'm thinking about a lot of things--dwelling really. I think I'm getting depressed again. I want to fight it, but I'm getting to that place where fighting it hurts more than living it. All I can do is keep going and keep on top of the things that need done. I'm kind of happy I have Chi Omega right now, because I have a reason to wake up and actually shower and take care of myself. Through recruitment we need to represent Chi Omega well. All I want to do is sleep.

So, apparently I wasn't a rebound. But the fact of the matter is I was too much for him. Right now he needs someone that doesn't need to be taken care of because he needs to take care of himself... whatever. It made me think, though: am I just too messed up for a relationship? I've already cut myself off from boys for a while now. I know how bad they are for me, and I know I was looking, which is never good. Love should come to me, I think. Today James said, "My grandma used to say that we live to find love, we don't love to find life. I think that's what you need." He's so right. And that resonated with me after a little time in the car gave me time to process that. I was looking. But I couldn't help but wonder if I am just too much for someone else to take care of. Am I so difficult that I'm one of those project relationships--will people take me on to try to fix me? Because I know how poorly those turn out. So, after that thought, the first thing I considered was just waiting. Maybe in time I'll have my life better together and I'll be good for someone. But then that disquieting word--maybe--slapped me in the face. What if I'm never better than I am right now? What if my whole life will be this roller coaster of ups and downs? What if when I need medication adjustments I become too much to take? What if I always struggle with self harm? What if I spend my whole life falling in love with people who are scared of me?

I thought of all these things as I was driving away from camp with NPR playing quietly in the background, only to make me feel less alone. I've never known someone with bipolar that had a positive, healthy romantic relationship. Bipolar people are great for some things. They are writers and actors. They're movers and shakers... but they never seem to have love. And that thought scares me. I'm working on being okay alone, which is hard, but I can't help but try to look to the future and hope that I find someone. I can't help but hope that I'll have that camp wedding I always dream of, and that I'll have babies that don't have to have bipolar disorder. I wouldn't wish this feeling on anyone right now.

He wanted me back Friday, after he dumped me Thursday. He told me that he missed me, Madeline Webster, Queen of the Gollywhops. He said I made him believe in love again. He said he'd made a terrible mistake, and he couldn't believe he'd let me go. But Wednesday night... he was with someone else. So I knew those feelings had to have a parallel conflict he didn't want me to see. So, against the calls of my heart, I said no. I said no even though he wanted me to believe that he wanted me. And today, Labor Day, four days later, he again doesn't want me. I see it was a wise decision to hold strong. Because no matter how much he "loves me," he doesn't love me enough to withstand my bipolar disorder. And maybe it's just the place he is in his life--I can accept that. But when love is real, none of that matters. When love is real, you can't imagine your life without someone. When love is real, you don't even consider loving someone else. When love is real, you're willing to take anything thrown your way: distance, stress, mental illness...

So, he dumped me Thursday. I'd planned on meeting his family this weekend, and so I hadn't signed up to work at Waycross for Family Camp. But when it happened, I knew I needed camp. I knew that I needed support, distraction, exercise, and music. So I emailed Eric, and he let me work, but I didn't get paid. I spent a total of $65 dollars in gas to get there and back and make my runs in Brown County. But I didn't even care. I was just so happy to be there. It was so good for me. The thought of Jacob still hurt a lot, but I managed to make it through the weekend with growth and a greater sense of peace. I think it'll take a while to heal now. I'm still very hateful towards him.

I'm maddest because he was the one that wanted to look so far ahead. Somehow that assured me, because he was willing to believe in long term when Drew wouldn't even commit to now. We seemed so good for each other. He promised to love me despite everything I was afraid he'd leave me for; everything I'm still afraid I'll be left for. And after rushing so quickly into things, he dumped me so quickly. I'm mad because even after he played on my emotions trying to get me back, he managed to change his mind so quickly again. I can exist as a fleeting thing. He can want me and not want me three times in the course of a weekend. I was mad because I felt deceived. But I have to catch myself when I'm mad at him for not wanting me. That really isn't fair. In that instance I'm not mad at him. I'm mad at my fear that no one will look far enough past my crazy to love me. Because honestly, at this point I'm not grieving him.

If he doesn't want me, he doesn't. And I have almost entirely retrained my brain to not want him anymore too. I can't even imagine myself ever being desperate enough to make that mistake. But I am grieving the hope I've lost. I think when I was looking, like I'd said before, I was looking for assurance that I was lovable despite my mood swings, and my scars, and my depression... and I thought I'd found that in Jacob. But I was wrong. And that's why it hurt so much. Because the very thing I was looking for in love, was the very reason I lost it.

I'm getting sick. My throat is sore, my head hurts... I'm just miserable really. I'm disgusting and I need a shower. I miss camp. But here I am, back at school, fretting about this homework I need to scan and email, and looking at the mess in my room fearing that I don't have the will to pick it up. It's going to take everything I have to shower and get to the library. I'm listening to Peter Paul & Mary, which is practically my camp soundtrack. 500 Miles just played. And I think it's true. I have no idea how many miles camp is from me right now, but it's too many. And not just camp, but those people who make camp what it is. They're my home too. And it's all so far away that it physically hurts. I feel it in my bones that there is where I belong. And soon I'll return to clear trails, or fix bikes, or work on the new archery field... and I'll find peace again. And maybe someday I'll learn to bring that peace home.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

You've Got Mail and Oatmeal Cream Pies

I haven't blogged in a while. I just started my sophomore year here at ISU, you know. And I had a boyfriend. Had a boyfriend. It's funny how life happens that way. I was so over men, but some little part of my just wanted to belong to someone. And for the first time, I don't really want that at all. I'm about to honey badger all over the penis shit. I had to be hurt this way to see it, though.

I mean. I broke up with Kyle. I lived on that end, and it's shitty. Being Summer sucks. And Drew? I wanted him so, so badly. But I finally came to terms with the reality that he did not want me back--and time nor space would change that. And that broke my heart in one kind of way. It was a consistent throb that I became comfortable with; it began to feel normal. I was okay with the ache. It went from hurtful, to tolerable, to almost enjoyable... but with a little help from Ms. Beasley, I realized for the first time that I was being used. We were using each other really. I think a little more therapy will reveal the roles we played for one another. Who knows. But when I finally got there, I just kind of let go. One day I drove into town on a break, and I didn't text him the whole time. I didn't even think about it. It was kind of an epiphany. I was really over him.

And right now I want to text him so badly.

That's just a sign of how unhealthy that whole business was. And then Jacob. We moved way too quickly. I was a rebound. And some shy part of my brain knew that a long time ago, but I was just so excited that I ignored all of that. I was so happy to have found someone I had so much in common with, who promised to love me despite my crazy, who said nice things, and who bought me flowers... I was so happy that I ignored the shit in my brain warning me to slow down, to read him better before I opened up. But I kept thinking that with time, we'd grow close enough that the speed wouldn't make a difference. It would just end in the same place: a relationship. I thought the road there wouldn't make a difference...

And it's not that I'm so sad about the relationship. No good relationship ends in a breakup, right? But, I've never been broken up with before. It kind of took me off guard. I expected we'd talk it out and keep going... but I sensed what was coming. I didn't want to be drug around. I just yanked it out of his ass. If I'm not mistaken, he'd expected to get drunk and make an ass of himself so I'd do it for him. I sure can pick 'em.

And this is what I said to Shannon earlier while we watched You've Got Mail, ate oatmeal cream pies and pretzels, and drank warm Jones Sodas, I said, "it's not that I have bad taste. I like good guys. I like smart guys. I like really cool guys! I just don't like guys who like me." And she nodded. Because it's true. Jacob isn't a bad guy at all. And even though I'm pretty pissed at him right now, I know that will pass, and it'll be easier to acknowledge that he's not bad. He just didn't really like me that much. I'm glad it was over before I could get any more invested.

So. I know I'm coming across as pretty healthy right now. Maybe I am. But I'm crying as I type this. And I'd been trying to sleep for an hour before I finally decided to write instead. My heart was beating fast, like I'd been running, and I felt a little like punching something, which would not actually make me feel that much better. So I decided on this instead.

Tomorrow I'll go to Waycross. It's brilliant timing. He actually kind of broke up with me by saying that someone else was taking him home. The first thought I had was? Wtf? Did he just break up with me? and then I thought camp it is then, motherfuckers. I'm still pretty overwhelmed. I'm going to try to sleep again anyway. I'll probably have more to say tomorrow.

So as a good night:
"No one will remember you, Joe Fox. And maybe no one will remember me either. But plenty of people remember my mother. And they think she was fine, and that her store was something special. You are nothing but a suit."
Also: Thank you Kelsie Jo, Cydney, Mom, Shannon, and Sara. You all are my saving graces. I don't know what I'd do without you.
<3 Chicks before dicks.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

A text from Chantel:

Idk if you know this but Superman is dumping Lois Lane for Wonder Woman. Apparently Wonder Woman has been after Superman since 1988. DC is basically making her look like a home-wrecking slut.

This, right here is why I love my friends.


Tuesday, July 31, 2012

"Setzen Sie fort, die offenen Fenster zu passieren"

or Keep passing the open windows. That's where my blog title came from. I also may get it as a tattoo... someday. In typewriter print. On my side. It's just perfect. It's the perfect metaphor.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Adventure Time--and other gag-worthy children's shows

I wish it would stop moving. And promoting unhealthy eating habits.

Television has potential to be educational. Sure. Okay. That's not what I'm talking about. Dora and Barney? I got no beef. Adventure Time. Are you effing kidding me? I only watched one episode, and this is what I found:
  1. Sexual innuendos
  2. Poor grammar
  3. Borderline cursing
  4. Poor boundaries; both verbally and physically
  5. Pointless, lesson-less, mind-numbing entertainment

 This is inappropriate for children. This is an example of why we should be teaching our children healthy messages about their bodies and sexuality--because television shows, directed towards our youth, are doing it for us. The kids watching this show aren't old enough to be exposed to sex in this way, but if parents allow their kids to watch it, they should probably be watching too in order to explain and ask their child to question those things that bother them. Seriously.

Also. The grammar. In shows directed towards adults, poor grammar is used as a comedic tool that references a lack of educated, a low socioeconomic status, child-like speech, or even people of specific regions (particularly the south). I don't always agree with that in shows for adults, because I think it furthers our skewed ideas of culture, but I'll admit I've laughed. We watched this show. They didn't laugh. The kids just assumed it to be correct. When children are that young, they're still learning what's okay in our society. They're still idolizing their parents, teachers, older peers and siblings... they haven't found themselves quite yet (as if we ever do, ha!). But they're taking in the images on the tv screen. Television is our culture's most popular babysitter. They didn't laugh because they still think they're being taught. They think it's correct.

I'm sure you do.
 Borderline cursing. I tend to think cursing is overrated. Words are words, nothing more or less. Some words are weighted with a certain kind of power that they're child-like alternatives lack. Darn/damn, frick/fuck, shoot/shit, etc. But there are words that are arguable. Pissed, sucks, God, etc. This show makes use of those arguable curse words as well as the "almost" words. Now, these are things we don't let kids say. Personally, I think it shouldn't matter as much as it does. Kids have feelings equally as important as adults', yet they're not permitted to use the same powerful speech we use. But society says otherwise. We punish kids who cross that line, or eve toe it. We can't punish kids for words like sucks, pissed, God, frick, danged, or whatever; if we allow them to receive their education from a talking box. They'll say what they hear. We need to either normalize ourselves to children cursing, or we need to stop the source from which they hear it.

Boundaries! I watched one character hold another's ass while they made it dance for them... with no pants on. Granted. It's a cartoon, and it's a dog. But they gave the dog an ass that resembled a human's... and the character was holding it. They bite each other. They lick each other. They had a baby (which they'd stolen), and shook it around because it wouldn't "jiggle" for them. They wanted to "get down," and the baby was "ruining the mood." Nuff said.

All in all, it's a lame show. It's not actually that well-done. The script isn't interesting or informative. There's not really music between clips. The plot is dumb and unrealistic. Nothing important comes from it. That was a wasted hour in those kids' lives. It's an hour they could have practiced reading, created art, listened and danced to music, played a game in the yard, or even talking to one another--quite a lost art. I was offended, really. I am so over television. My children will watch PBS and documentaries. Nothing. Fucking. Else. Oh, my God. No hope for humanity. :(
"Lump off"

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Addiction, Anger, and Hope.

when addiction is involved

I really try to blog about twice a week, just because it's good for me, and I hate the thought of a visitor coming by to find at the top of the page that post which they read last. It's always so disappointing for me when the same happens on the blogs I follow. If I'm interested enough to go there, then I'm excited to read what they have to say! But I've been slipping lately.

I plan on writing a post about Books-A-Million and their Tea Party affiliation, but life has gotten in the way. It will come. I kept telling myself that would be my next post, and therefore wouldn't allow myself to write what I was feeling. I kept stalling. But no more. I'll go back to that in time, but for now, I have more pressing issues at hand. Following: the issues I take with my brother-in-law and my brother.

My brother-in-law has screwed up. Again. I love my sister, and I love her children, so I've been as kind as my patience allowed. But I'm reaching my breaking point. Patience with children is a skill I've worked very hard to develop within myself. Kindness to your partner is vital. And when you have dependents, it's important to take care of yourself. If you have a problem, then fix it. I have little tolerance for denial. Gambling away $2,000 in one night is not something to be taken lightly--good thing he's not my husband. Those are the things on my mind. Regardless of his douchebaggery towards me this semester. Which I'm not over, by the way. Even with the apology I never got, I'd take a while to move past that. Which is not a decision. Those are my feelings. Anyway. Regardless of that incident, I'm angry. I'm angry for my sister whom I love dearly. I'm angry for her life right now. When it rains, it pours. And she feels so strongly. That's part of what makes her such a good person--she can empathize. But it can break her. Carrying the weight of another can hurt so, so much. And now this? That was simply selfish on his part. I am done with him until he's gotten help and made the proper apologies to his family. Line=drawn.

Ian is hurting. I tend to distance myself from friends and family when it gets hard, because I don't want to be holding that hand when they slip... when they stop passing their windows. It scares me. And so I'd managed to "forget" about him. I'm not sure if intentional lack of consideration really counts as "forgetting" someone. I just stopped thinking about him. I refused to worry. What would come, would come. It is what it is.

But you can't really do that. No one can. I'm an expert and I couldn't do it for long. I'm going to take this part directly from my journal, because I don't think it's beneficial to me to write it all again.

We're out looking for him. On our way to Paris now. I brought Longbottom along, like a child, for some sort of security and comfort. I want something to hold if we don't bring him home. As a constant reminder of why I'm in this car, his socks and shoes are beside me. A cigarette is on the floor. Is he in Paris with no shoes? No one's talking much. Every time he disappeared before--every time he hurt himself--we talked about it. But there is a weighted silence in our throats. We're afraid to speak because someone may say that lifeless word: dead. He was alone this time. And somehow possibilities feel more possible when they're said aloud. 
*
A call from Paris. And it's Molly. Guilt in her tone. She did this. And so did Bonnie, and Jay, and Lindy... and he did it. He did it to himself. He did it to everyone. Barefoot. Broke. Hungover. Lost. No phone. No car. No... hope? But Mom: that's her word. That's her world. And I cannot deny her that. But I've denied it of myself.
*
We found him, bleary-eyed and sad in his trailer. And I was in some place between angry and relieved which is an uncomfortable mix of emotions. I kind of wanted to hug and hit him at the same time. I do love him. And I can't forget about him. And I just want happiness for him, and I know how foreign a feeling that is at the millionth dip; down, down. But he'll have it if he thinks he will. Happiness is a choice--it is not a circumstance. I kind of want to beat it into his head--like a physical understanding of what it feels like to love your life. I thought he was gone. He wasn't. We've another chance to fix it. And since I've stopped asking God to care, I'm going to pick up the slack. I will hold his demons in my capable heart, and I will defeat them. Kayla will defeat them. Mom will defeat them. Jim will defeat them. And Grandma will, too, even if she's a little hesitant. Happiness is a choice. But so is hope. I denied it of myself, and that hopelessness was unwarranted. I cannot do that again, because disappointment hurts only the blind while hopelessness is parallel to apathy. I'll keep my eyes wide open until we smash this mother fucker. Addiction be damned. I've taken the hope from you.
Addiction: It sucks
Anger: I've got it. And I'm kind of airing Darren's dirty laundry. But telling the truth should never bring shame. And so I have none.
Hope: Hear my message. Feel it. Because that was for me--I wrote it with no intentions of sharing it. But Mom's already made our story known, I've simply written subjectively. I brought emotion to what was information. This is for you now. It was mine, and I've made it yours, because so many of you have heartache. All of you do. No one lives without acquiring some demons. And I want you to know what it means to hope for something better. Because it's our job to make this place better. Have hope. Please have hope.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

This Post is About Sex


Twisterrrrrrr

You know what has more views than any other post? The one about me not shaving. So. This post is about sex. It really is. But I thought that title might help me out. ;)

S.E.X. You mean… sex? Ahhhhh!
That was a conversation between my grandmother and me when I was about 9.

I think our culture’s fear of sex is both amusing and terrifying. I think sex is a natural part of life and suppression is both unhealthy and unwarranted. In the early days of religion, sex was strongly encouraged. “Be fruitful and multiply.” These kinds of messages were necessary evolutionarily to continue our race. HAVE SEX AND HAVE LOTS OF IT Genesis told us. So men have a whole bunch of wives because 9 months is just too long to wait to make another child. Monogamous relationships would have been counterproductive to the continuation of humankind. And because of our ability to communicate these ideas, specifically as instructions directly from a higher power that has control over our afterlife, humans thrived. WE HAVE SO MANY! Whoa. But let’s get real. If we don’t believe in polygamy anymore, then we shouldn’t view sex as sinful anymore, either.
We don’t need to have so many people, because we’re using and abusing the world’s resources. For that reason, we have contraceptive devises. ßGenius stuff really. And at puberty, when kids start to have urges to reproduce, they may or may not choose to wait for a number of reasons. I think these reasons can be narrowed down to a lack of education, religious beliefs, fear of judgment from peers or family, fear of disease, or fear of pregnancy.
Those are all well-founded reasons to wait. But regardless, those urges are there. And some people aren’t going to wait, especially those who have been raised with really unhealthy ideas of what sex means. I think it’s our public school system’s job to educate kids on what sex is, the role it plays in relationships as defined by our society, and how to prevent pregnancy and STDs and STIs. I think it’s our public school system’s job to counsel kids on when they’re ready for sex, ideas of sex based on experiences with sexual abuse, and which decision is best for them if they have contracted an STD or STI or have become pregnant.
I don’t think someone is ready for sex unless they are comfortable with their bodies, comfortable with their sexuality, are well-educated, and have found a partner with mutual expectations. Those are difficult standards to define, which is why I wish sex wasn’t such a taboo topic. Then those would have clearer definitions, and kids wouldn’t feel as scared to approach someone to really discuss where they stand. And personally I think in our society you aren’t ready to have a child until you’ve reached adulthood, which should be redefined as 21 (and sometimes not then really). And I only say this because of judgments our society makes concerning young parents and the structure of our educational system.
Educating kids on sex isn’t going to make them want to have sex. Likely, the same reasons kids don’t have sex will remain firm, and more kids who do have sex with use protection or know better what it means to be ready for sex. And I find that the same people that are against sex education are against abortion, health care, and supporting social welfare programs. A lack of sex education leads to diseases, unwanted pregnancies, and eventually uncared-for children. (Extreme generalization, I’m aware. But these are ideas put in kids’ heads that they’ll take into adulthood about readiness and protection.) So if you support this lack of education, then you should be supporting programs to deal with the backlash of these unwanted pregnancies, unwanted babies, and unwanted STwhatevers. You can’t just put kids into a pit of lions and ditch them without helping them when things go badly. That may have worked with Daniel, but he was the good guy in that story… and how many other people make it out of a pit of freaking hungry lions?
This all comes down to our ridiculous fear of sex. There are ways to protect your children from unhealthy ideas of sex and to encourage waiting until marriage (if that is something you care about), but pretending sex doesn’t exist isn’t all that effective. If you don’t educate your kids first, then the kids who have been exposed to sex (sexual abuse, sexual exploitation, exposure to sexual behavior and images at home) will do the talking for you. Do you see how this can be problematic? We’re so scared of sex, that the least healthy messages around sex are what circulate among our youth.
I can attest to this! I’m barely an adult. My mom did a great job of educating me, but I still heard what kids had to say. And the naïve kids soaked it all up because they didn’t want to look dumb. Sex seemed like a big kid thing, and the bad kids knew all about it (because they were forced to grow up too quickly). I remember thinking it was kind of creepy (I don’t use that word lightly here) the way kids saw sex when I was in middle school and high school. I hadn’t taken enough time to think about why. It all comes down to fear. And it’s starting to piss me off. Tell me what you think. Please?

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Makeup is NOT Antifeminist

Yes makeup, yes feminist.
*I would like to note that I wrote this geared towards women because of the feminist nature of the post. However, these truths are applied (often in reverse) to men who wear makeup as well. Men should not feel bad about interest in cosmetics, and no assumptions or judgments should be made concerning a man’s sexuality because of his use of makeup. I try to be sensitive to my male readers on this topic, because I acknowledge the flaws of our gender dichotomy. <3 to y’all.

I love makeup. I love makeup because it is art. It is art in the same way tattoos, piercings, and clothes are art for our bodies. It’s a form of artistry I’m not half-bad at. I appreciate cosmetic application as an expression of personality and a creative outlet. I like picking colors that look good together and finding the perfect shade of foundation for my skin. And I love helping other women do the same. I’m a Mary Kay consultant. I’m also a feminist.

And I know that’s hard for some people to grasp, because the way in which people use makeup can be antifeminist, and the way in which people interpret a woman’s use of makeup can be antifeminist. But makeup is never antifeminist. Some women do not wear makeup because they don’t like it. Just fine. Some women don’t wear it because they want to push social boundaries. Just fine. Some men and women are attracted to a certain style of makeup. Just fine. But makeup is often viewed in ways I find problematic. Following are my issues with makeup and my explanations of those.

What makeup is not:
  1. A requirement for beauty.
  2. A requirement for women.
  3. An invitation for sex.

Further explanation:

  1. Physical beauty has nothing to do with images on TV or in magazines. Physical beauty is something every single woman has. Some man or woman who is in touch with their sexuality and their wants and needs will find her attractive. Ugliness lies in behavior and isn’t present in physical appearance. I don’t believe in ugly. I do believe in unattractive. Something may be unattractive to me, which to me means that I find it unattractive; and not that it is by nature unattractive. Just because I do not find someone attractive does not mean they are inherently unattractive; someone else still might. Makeup isn’t what makes a woman beautiful. It can highlight the things she is most fond of. Maybe a woman really appreciates and loves the shape of her lips. If she wants to accentuate that, I take no issue with that. All that means to me is that she loves herself enough to have found a part of herself she is willing to show off. And the same goes for a woman without makeup! If she finds herself attractive without makeup on, then she need not wear it. I know I’m beautiful without makeup, but I still enjoy it. I wear makeup a lot, but I sometimes (more often lately) allow my face to go without. I need to remind myself that I’m beautiful without it, and I am confident enough to show it off without fear of how others feel about it. I find myself attractive, and if someone else does not, I’m not bothered by that. I don’t find everyone attractive either! It’s crazy to expect everyone to be attracted to me. A woman’s beauty comes from her attractiveness which is a combination of her personality and her physical appearance; which does not have to match societal standards of beauty to be beautiful. Damn the man.
  2. It’s absurd to define a woman’s femininity by her interest in makeup. Perhaps she just feels more comfortable expressing her creativity elsewhere. A woman is a woman by choice, and if she does indeed identify as woman, then she is a woman. Her style of dress, her career, nor her interest in cosmetics can take that identity from her. I’m concerned that a woman can feel less of a woman because of another person’s idea of attractiveness. Often that idea of what is attractive is defined by images on TV (curse television), and I take issue with that because...

    A) images of women on TV are often achieved by unnatural means and are unattainable by nearly every other woman. It is unfair to expect that of women. Women should not be attempting to fit themselves into our cultural cookie cutter, because not everyone fits! Women should instead accept their appearance, although always aiming for health. But some women are healthy at a size 14 (this girl, for instance). Some women are healthy at a size 0. No body is the same. And the cookie cutter is getting more and more complicated. The cookie cutter has breasts that are not proportionate to the rest of the tiny body. The cookie cutter has skin that is darker than is healthy for the popular blonde hair often associated with it. Blondes tend to have fairer skin and are more prone to skin sensitivity and sunburn. This cookie cutter leaves women feeling hopeless and unfeminine. Women try to lose weight to look like those skinny women, but the weight first comes from their breasts! Women try to tan, but then age more rapidly—another natural process our culture is terrified of, as if looking younger means you aren’t actually approaching death. A woman in her natural state is attractive to someone as she is. There isn’t one way to be beautiful, and it’s ludicrous to think that because a woman doesn’t look like a Barbie—something nearly physically impossible to achieve without cosmetic surgery –she isn’t attractive! And,

    B) people who are attracted to those images are often only attracted to those images because they feel a social obligation to be, as if not finding Kim Kardashian attractive would make them less of a man. (I only say man because women are generally not expected by society to find Kim Kardashian attractive.) So, TV Heads (people who allow television to think for them) can only be attracted to them physically which is only half (although still important) of attraction. That means these people are experiencing a very shallow sense interest in these images, and they are assuming that they will be wholly attracted to a woman that displays that image in the “real world.” However, they are lacking the equally important part of attraction: personality. This leads to misinterpretations and unrealistic expectations. For instance, women with large breasts are often considered sexual—regardless of their personality—because our society encourages young men to find large breasts sexually attractive. Also, I’m bothered because I don’t think TV Heads are really in touch with their sexuality. Every single person attracted to women is not likely attracted to the same kind of woman, and vice versa. A person that lets their TV think for them is often not aware of what they do find attractive. They think that only certain physical bodies are supposed to be found attractive, and someone who finds a 300 pound woman attractive is wrong. But honestly, I believe that person is far more in touch with their sexuality and their physical needs, because they’ve come to that conclusion on their own. Society had nothing to do with that decision. I respect that.
  3. I feel ridiculous that I have to say this at all. Guys and gals: just because a woman wears a style of makeup our culture tends to pair with sex doesn’t actually mean she wants to have sex. You may say, “Maddie! People don’t really think that!” But tell me if you’ve heard this: “Her makeup looks so slutty.” You have. And the word ‘slut’ is associated with sex! But be sure to check the etymology on that! When someone calls someone a slut because of the style of a woman’s makeup, they’re insinuating that woman wants to have sex because of that. Culturally, red lipstick and thick, black eyeliner are associated with prostitution and thus women who are initiating sex. But further consideration needs to be made: Perhaps she just likes the aesthetic appearance of that style of makeup. Is it not possible she just finds herself attractive in that style of makeup? Also, we should consider the likely possibility that she may feel pressured to present herself as a sexual being, because she may see herself as such. By calling her a slut, you’re confirming her belief that her purpose is to please men; nothing more. We need to be a lot more careful about our judgment of women—everyone has a story, and you don’t know everything! I get that it’s pretty much written in our DNA to judge people and categorize them, but we’ve come quite a long way since the days of a necessary, biological sense to protect ourselves from warring tribes, in order to carry on our race. In fact, we’re dangerously overpopulated. Seriously. It’s unnecessary. And people. Assuming a woman wants to have sex with you just because you think her makeup screams it, makes you look kind of desperate. And desperation + the flippant use of the word ‘slut,’ makes you a tool. Congratulations. You’re an asshole. Nice guys don’t really finish last.
In short. Makeup is a form of artistic expression. I don’t like for women to feel as though their beauty depends on it. And I don’t like women to feel as though their womanhood is unbreakably bonded to cosmetics. And I don’t like when a woman is labeled a slut because of the way she wears her makeup (or anything she does, really). But I love makeup. I’d appreciate if other feminists stopped harping on it.

But for the sake of you feisty women: I do think women should wear it less. I think they should experiment with their natural, physical beauty and learn to accept themselves as they are. They should look for things they’re proud of instead of focusing on what they’re ashamed of on their bodies. And the confidence to go without makeup is impressive, only because of our culture’s emphasis on it. Try it out for a while every now and then, just to remind yourself of how beautiful you are, and to get in touch with why you’re really putting that face on in the morning.

No makeup, no big deal.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

All the single ladies...

This is it, boys, this is war - what are we waiting for?
Why don't we break the rules already?
She'll go to sleep alone in her queen-sized hotel room bed. She's pretty okay with that these days. I'm embracing my singleness and for the first time I'm not really afraid of being single forever. I know I won't, but if I am, I don't think I really care. I'm settling into a comfortable kind of relationship with myself that doesn't feel lonely. All the single ladies. There's no one in my life, near my life that I want to be with. So... who cares? I'm just as cute alone (except for the refusal to shave my legs thing). I'm just as smart alone. I'm just as compassionate alone. I'm still me, and I'm not really alone. I've got me some grrreat friends, and a maaahvelous family. And I'm way past just okay with that setup. I'm happy being myself, by myself, with the people I love. I'm not sure I like the 'alone,' phrase anyway. The more I use it, the more it feels wrong. The word alone insinuates that I'm lacking something--that I'm less than whole. I'm my own whole person. And if I'm attracted to someone who makes an effort to be with me, I'll give it a go. But until then, baby, I'm dancing with myself.

Doesn't mean I don't want a spooning buddy, but seriously ladies... put your hands up. If he liked it then he shoulda put a ring on it.

Why I’ve Stopped Shaving


No. It’s not another defiant feminist protest.
No. It’s not to “see how long I can stand it.”
No. It’s not to torture my mother. :P

I don’t want to feel pressured to shave my legs. I don’t want my womanhood to feel linked to smooth legs. I like the feel of smooth legs, so at some point I’ll shave, and if and when I ever have a partner again, I’ll take their preferences into account. But I will not let society dictate what I do with my body. I want to be comfortable with my body in its natural state. I don’t actually like shaving that much. I don’t think anyone does, really. Am I right, ladies? But we do it anyway because it’s expected of us. We’re somehow unnatural if we don’t. But what is unnatural about allowing our bodies to behave as they would naturally? Hair on our bodies served an evolutionary purpose at one point. But now we associate hair with manliness, only because our society has done that for us; another example of how we allow our societal norms to think for us.

But I do like shaven legs. Because the association between smooth legs and femininity is so firmly engrained in our culture, I feel womanly and feminine when I do it. I like the way they feel against each other when I lay down to go to sleep. I feel cleaner somehow. But the act of shaving itself is cumbersome enough that I don’t mind giving it a little longer waiting period. I’ll shave again when I feel like it. Damn it.
Rainbow glitter Goldenponies oxfords. Hell yes. + Hairy legs.

Peace.

UPDATE:
Dear Miss Kelsie Jo,
Which is also fine. Some people just like to do it. In that case, get it gr. I just find it tedious and bothersome.

A Mother’s Soul: Wonder Woman Style

Wonder Woman and Batman

I’m sure I don’t need to point out that mothers are not defined as women who have birthed a child, but rather women who have tended to and reared a child. On Mother’s Day, we honor the women who have felt the joy and heartache associated with motherhood. Although I believe men and women should play a nearly equal role in parenthood, I think women have something men do not. We are biologically and culturally geared to raise children with a certain amount of love and compassion that comes more naturally to most women. Men are capable of this expression of parenthood—but the truth of parenthood is written on a mother’s soul; it is so natural.
Not every woman is called to motherhood, just as every male is not called to fatherhood. And some of these men and women continue to follow their biological impulses to reproduce before they are ready, or in spite of their lack of capability. It happens all the time, and in that instance, it is on the capable men and women of the world to nurture and bless those children with love. It’s the social responsibility of those who have motherhood written in their very bodies, as some women do, to cradle the abandoned and abused. These are the mothers.
Mothers are heroes. They are the Wonder Woman in a child’s life. They rush to the rescue when their child has skinned their knee, been called a mean name, or left their favorite doll in the stands of a gymnasium…. They rush to the rescue when their baby has been dumped by their partner, gotten a bad grade, or been diagnosed with bipolar disorder…
I have a pretty great mom. I know she isn’t perfect, but she was born to motherhood—it’s written on her soul. And because I think she’s done such a good job, I’m going to narrow down 3 important traits of heroic mothers based on her example. <3 you mama.
  1.  Heroic mothers really listen. Sometimes in imperfect moments a mother will tune their child out. They get a little tired of the empty chatter—especially talkative ladies like me. But a mother knows when she needs to listen. She knows when her baby is on the verge of tears or when her baby has done something they aren’t proud of and has worked up the courage to confess. She knows, by listening, the time to scold and the time to hold. She knows that unconditional love is often expressed in the ability to sense a child’s need to speak to her. She listens for a crack in her child’s voice upon an ending statement. She listens for the music they want to present her—for the smile they want her to wear. A mother hears any story a child does or does not want to tell. It is written on her soul, the directions to hear what is unsaid. She has supersonic hearing.   
  2.  Heroic mothers can see beauty. In imperfect moments, a mother will tell their daughter she looks like a hooker when she’s just playing dress up. But a mother knows that beauty is more than a brand of makeup or a style of clothes. She knows that beauty is the talents their child has been blessed with. She knows that every child has a purpose; sometimes a little coaching is required to find it. She knows that beauty is the way in which her child treats a person who can do nothing for them. She knows that beauty is in the genuine smile of every child, no matter how many teeth have fallen out. She knows that beauty is the list of values her child has inherited from her rearing. Values of selflessness, compassion, intelligence, and resilience… She can see beauty where others can only see a face. She has X-ray vision.
  3. Heroic mothers love with a strength that can vanquish evil—from one of the most badass fictional mothers ever: Lily Potter. I’m speaking directly to you now, mothers. A woman born to motherhood—a woman with motherhood written on her soul, whether or not she has given birth to a child or not—knows what I mean. You feel such inexplicable love for a person that you are willing to give your life for them. You prize the life of a child so greatly that your love becomes magic; greater than magic. Your magic can stamp out the most powerful evils. Your love is capable of strength your powerful, womanly body cannot exert. Your love is stronger than an unforgivable curse. That’s some pretty impressive stuff ladies. Hats off. You have Lily Potter charm
Motherhood can be taught to women who were born to women who were not mothers. And motherhood is not a requirement. It is a calling. Women are called to artistry and to writing in the same way. For some women it just feels right. And for the best mothers: whether they are adoptive, foster, surrogate, or biological—I salute you. I honor you and I respect you. I thank you for your contributions to making the “good guys.” You are Wonderful Women.
*A hand for the heroes.*

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Why I Don't Watch Television

Kyle: I said in my first post ever that I would remain the conductor and y'all would still be my passengers. A person's name doesn't change just because they do. I think that's how I'm justifying it.

Now for the actual post.


I'm on a feminist kick. I don't know if all this progressive thinking is a phase of my higher education, or if I'm really starting to think a little differently. I've noticed that the less I engage in Facebook, the less television I watch, and the more I read; the more I really start to think about where I'm at. I think about the world I'm living in. I choose to always think of the things that bring me joy, but I do not ignore what upsets me. And I'm upset by this patriarchal society. And I hadn't thought much about it before. I was probably a feminist before, but I wasn't pissed off enough. It was also hard for me to see where our patriarchal society really affected me because I was so immersed in that society and had never taken time to question it. Again. I think an overdose of Real Housewives, My Sweet 16, and any show that glorified the lives of the famous filled the time in which I should have really been thinking about the world around me. I know y'all are going to get sick of my reality television rants, but I think it's a serious thing.

Television (with the exception of educational television or artistic work) is 1) a waste of time, 2) an easy way for media to reinforce patriarchal ideas as well as stereotypes and create a standard of beauty to a vulnerable or young audience, and 3) is all managed and produced by the very rich, which gives that one percent we liberals are always complaining about, power that is undeserved and truly scary.

I used to watch television to know what clothes were cool, and if I didn't own those clothes I somehow felt inferior or angry that no one would provide them for me. That led to some severe ungratefulness on my part. *Sorry Mom* I used to watch television to know who was important, completely overlooking the fact that being a good artist does not make a person any more invincible than any other; it only magnifies their successes and failures in an exploitative manner. I used to watch those shows and let it reinforce my hatred towards small town life and "country bumpkins." I used to watch television to wish my life was like someone else's.

Instead, I could have been making my life the way I wanted it. I could have been reading more books, or exercising more, or talking to people who helped me to open my mind to new and brilliant things. There's nothing wrong with television until we expose children to anything besides educational television (PBS, people), because it again reinforces stereotypes and teaches children to want, want, want those toys on the commercials. They are so unnecessary, but those ads, as ads will, make them seem like the only way to achieve popularity or coolness. That is teaching children at a young age to allow media to tell them what is acceptable, cool, and what is beautiful or good-looking--the standard thereof. What toys would they be interested in if TV wasn't telling them what to be interested in?

Those Disney channel shows I loved so much reinforced the belief that nerds were uncool, and "normal people" were beautiful and rich. Those "normal people" didn't have glasses and they weren't above the weight our standard of beauty says is okay. And although those "normal people" weren't rich by standards of that show, they still managed to have lots of cool, beautiful clothes, and huge houses. Their moms were almost always at-home mothers. Their fathers liked reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. And although the fathers always made decisions for the family, the mother always knew what was best, and the father's plans would always fail. The mother would quietly shake her head, smile, and fix everything. Don't believe me? What about road trips where the dad won't get directions although the wife suggests it, and then they're lost? The man gets to make the decision. The man makes a fool of himself. The woman fixes it. That's we how we, in the 50s, began to justify the apparent sexism in television, but now it's ridiculous. And I'm not sure why men put up with it, frankly. Men aren't always meat-head brutes that are far less intelligent that their wives... not always. There are plenty of intelligent men, and plenty of working women. <--and why are the "less intelligent" sex given the career?

The "popular kids" in those shows weren't actually that popular. No one really liked them, but everyone pretended to. Everyone was nice to them although they were mean to everyone else. It was about once a season that someone would stand up to them. And they were always blonde with huge boobs and revealing clothes. Those were the girls knocked up in my high school... not the homecoming queens. These shows gave me a very skewed idea of social interaction, of how to handle bullying, of what was "lame," "normal," and "popular." It taught me to glorify and aim for that popularity. It taught me what was normal, which was actually more like the very top of middle class, which is definitely not the norm. Also, who gets to kiss Aaron Carter in junior high? Who needs to be kissing anyone in junior high?

On a personal note, I think I watched television as a coping mechanism. I didn't always want to think. If I didn't like myself, I could immerse myself in something besides thought. Because thought could lead to scary places. But I was immersing myself in something that began to think for me. That wasn't okay, either. I think we do the same thing with our cell phones now and with clubs and committees and classes and parties and anything that takes our time away from centering and mindfulness... because we're afraid of what we'll find if we spend too much time in our heads.

I've continued to watch public television. And if I like a show enough, then I'll buy the series and watch it on DVD. But I don't need to see those commercials. I don't need to get caught up in a train wreck of a TV show or the cat fights and pettiness of those rich-people-reality-tv shows. <-- The Hills, Jersey Shore, My Sweet 16, Housewives of whatever God-forsaken county... I don't need any of it. And if I have to buy a series, then I really have to think. Keeping something in my cart is harder than hitting an on button. I really have to think, if this show enforces stereotypes, will I be able to recognize and question them? Will this show have the power to tell me what is beautiful? If the answer is no, then it's not a purchase I feel bad about.

Word Vomit Wrap Up in 5:
  1. I'm developing and learning about more feminist ideals.
  2. I'm kind of disgusted by what's on TV.
  3. Kids are still easily manipulated by images and speech, and what they find on television gives them false ideas about life and doesn't allow them to think for themselves.
  4. Television takes the space of time during which we should think about ourselves, our lives, our failures and achievements, and what we define as such. It doesn't allow us to be mindful or conscious. It takes time from reading, meditation, prayer, conversation, or anything that would further our journey toward self-discovery.
  5. Television is packed full of stereotypes, patriarchal themes, and images of what is "beautiful." I need to experience real people to help me define behaviors of different cultures, I need to defy and question patriarchal society, and I have my own eyes, thanks.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Epiphany Post

by Laurie Lipton

I don't really care what other people think. My entire life I've spent time trying to be someone I'm not. I've become so accustomed to code switching that I've lost myself. I let reality television, pop stars, and my peers tell me what was cool. But now? The stuff I thought was cool back then is cool now. So really? There was nothing wrong with who I was. There's nothing wrong with who I am. There's nothing wrong with being as many people as I want to be. There is never anything wrong about being. That's simply my existence.

I try to be kind to people. I try to treat people like I'd like to be treated. I try to take the concerns of others seriously. I try to respect different cultures as different as opposed to wrong. I don't judge a person based on their religion, sexual orientation, age, sex or gender, or political beliefs, even if I don't agree with everything. (If you know me, the only things in there I really take issue with are opposing political beliefs (although I'm working for a better adjective than opposing) and a person who denies their own pleasure by forcing themselves into a relationship that is untrue to their emotional and physical desires, when someone uses age as an excuse to close their eyes, when someone sees their sex or gender as superior to that of another...). Basically I don't like when people make other people's business their own or when someone isn't true to themselves. Other than that I try to accept people as they come and to judge by a person's true merit: the way in which they treat others; and yet to understand and coach those who don't treat others well. It's my duty, and it's yours too.

Those things are things I'm proud of. Those are my values. I think it's important to define our beliefs and values in our ceaseless journey to self-discovery. I'm still finding a belief secure enough to follow blindly besides that of love. Love is the only religion I trust entirely. But my values? I've got them down. I don't always adhere to them. I'm not perfect. But the way I treat other people is a direct reflection of how I feel about myself.

And here comes the epiphany: It's not a bad thing to be happy.

I used to have such an aversion to happiness. I felt guilty in happiness. I didn't like myself well enough for happiness. Whatever. Now I don't. I don't know if it's the meds, the mere knowledge of my condition, or if I'm just finally embracing a journey to enlightenment. I don't know if I care. I'm here anyway.

I love this. I don't know if I've ever embraced life this way. I'm so okay with myself. I'm okay with my body. I'd like to lose some weight, but hey! If I don't I don't care that much. I wish I'd managed better than a 3.5 this semester, but with everything I was up against, I'm really proud of that GPA.

I still have heartache. Happiness is a state of being and it doesn't mean I don't get sad or lonely or disappointed or frustrated or angry... my feelings are still very real and present. I worry about Ian all the time, and I have both nightmares and dreams concerning him. I miss my family in southern Illinois and I want to make more of a difference in the lives of the children of my family. I still get really insecure at times, and I have to remind myself that there's nothing wrong with me being myself. There's something wrong with a person feeling the right to judge me for being me. There's something wrong with society for condoning that arrogance and entitlement and standard of "normal." It's still hard. But I'm choosing to live in happiness and feel those hard feelings as they come, rather than feeling nothing until those feelings break me. It's a conscious decision that I have to work to keep to--just like giving up meat and soda.

I love everyone. I love the idiot drivers I cuss at behind the wheel. I love the most annoying child you've ever met. I love the people who have hurt me--some more than others. Speaking of which: I've gotten over the Sarah Simpson thing (Go ahead and Google yourself! I have nothing to be ashamed of, and there's no teacher or principal to run to now that we're adults.) She was a nasty, cruel little girl, and I'm sure she's a cruel young woman. But I'm sure she had her own heartache; heartache I'll never know. And at the time I was not confident or secure enough to handle her bullying. Who is in junior high?!

But now I am. I dooooon't really care what she had to say. Because I was a badass back then, just like I am now. I was still kind as often as I felt I could be. I was still doing my best with what I had. I have nothing to be ashamed of, just like I don't now. Just because I didn't fit Sarah's idea of physical beauty did not mean I was not beautiful. And I'm disappointed in myself that I ever let her childish comments wreck me the way they did. But it is what it is. We all have a bully who breaks us. We are defined by the way we put ourselves back together. I've grown up since then. I just don't care what she (really she just represents all the people who have hurt me) think.

It's so freeing to wake up knowing that if she were to call me today and call me Weight Watchers Dancer again--something that used to have me crying in the bathrooms at Marshall Junior High, I wouldn't care. I would feel bad for her that she still felt the need to bring people down to feel good about herself. <-- That's something I used to think was just something grown ups said to make you feel better, but it's so true! People only hurt people when they are hurting. But I wouldn't really let that change the way I see myself. Really, at the time she was just affirming all of my greatest insecurities and making very real for me a truth I tried to hide and ignore. But now I've displayed that vulnerability. I've learned to accept myself as I am. And bullying words can only hurt me if I think they're true! Since I love myself as I am, and I accept and forgive my own faults, no one will have that power over me now. I do not judge myself based on the opinions of those I do not respect.

I've done things I'm not proud of. I could list them, but most of you know them already. Instead I'll say a big I'M SORRY. I'm sorry to the people I'll never see again. I'm sorry to the girls I may have been unkind to. I'm sorry to the boys whose hearts I've broken. I'm sorry to the family I've said hurtful things to. I'm sorry to those I respect that I may have disappointed. I'm sorry. I know I'm not perfect. But the only thing I can really do to make it better is to live well. I will take this summer by storm and I will make those children my own. I will fill them with so much love they won't know what to do with themselves. They won't understand why someone can love them so much, because they still see their flaws so clearly... but I don't overlook them. I love them anyway. Because there are some really, really beautiful people that loved me anyway. And I would do them a disservice not to carry on that legacy of love.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Breasts, Bodies, and Shame oh, my.

Everyone loves breasts. And why not? They are the earliest source of nutrition and they are an early distinguish-er between our society's differentiation between men and women (something I intend to discuss at some point, promise; but if I tried to do that in this post, this post would surely never end). But shame? Women are ashamed when their breasts are "too big," or "too small." They're ashamed of the size and shape of their nipples and the coloring of their areolas. Because this is a factor that differentiates men from women, we tend to associate them closely with sexuality. Since we live in a patriarchal society, women are raised with a deep awareness of their sexual role and the standards of beauty promoted by our culture, as attraction is influenced by those standards.

But women are made differently because evolutionarily, different body types served different purposes. My big butt and strong legs were designed to survive some ice age. Unfortunately, I don't live in an ice age. I live in the United States in the 21st century. But I know my body type served a very important purpose. The genes that make me the size 14 I am now, are the same genes that were important enough to survive generations and generations of big-assed women. I know that my body type doesn't fit into our culture's cookie-cutter standards (nearly impossible to fit into, women), but I know that regardless, there are men and women attracted to the body I have been blessed with.

It is an erroneous myth that the cultural standard of beauty is actually what is attractive to everyone. For instance, I'm not attracted to the fit, masculine, athletic man that fits our cultural cookie cutter. And I made my way through high school thinking that because I didn't fit the cultural cookie cutter shaped for women, that I would not be found attractive. In college, around so many more different men and women from so many different cultures, I've found that my big ass and thick thighs are very attractive to the right person.

What about health? you ask. I'll call myself out: I'm a pretty darn healthy size 14. I am active and I eat a balanced, if not perfect diet. I don't drink soda or eat red meat. I probably consume too much sugar and caffeine, but I try to burn those calories off and to limit my caffeine intake to morning hours. Human bodies weren't created with cars and McDonald's in mind, so we have to find ways to keep ourselves active to make up for these new factors. But "dieting" is scary business. I don't diet. Everyone has a diet. That's just what you eat. But I don't really go on diets. I cut things out of my diet I feel I can stand to lose if I find them unhealthy. However, if I find myself unhappy because I'm turning down food or drink I really want, then I readjust.

Feeling deprived doesn't make for a successful weight-loss plan. You get tired of that really quickly. I've found, though, that if I cut certain foods I (again) can stand to lose, then I'm not interested in them after a while. Once I got over the pop thing, not even Diet Coke sounded appetizing. Once I got past bacon, meat kind of grossed me out. And now I prefer soy milk, I prefer fiber cereals, and I'm happier if I finish two or more water bottles a day. But none of that bothers me. I don't feel like I'm missing out. If I want a piece of cake, I'm going to eat it. If a chai latte sounds super good, then I'm going to get one. Health is only a matter of being healthy. Not thin. Big difference. It's about being strong enough to support your joints, fit enough to walk a flight of stairs without wheezing, and happy with yourself and your decisions. I need to kick my own butt sometimes to get out of bed and do something, but I do it because it makes me happy. Period.

Back to breasts. Your boobs are as big or small as they're supposed to be. If your breasts cause you physical pain, or you don't identify with the feminine nature of your body, then that's something to look into. Your body should never hold you back from activity, and no one should feel trapped in a societal construction of gender. But they're yours. Own them. It is not society's job to tell you how to feel about them. Too big=sex object? Well shoot. How dare you... have the boobs you were born with? Sheesh. Put those away. :P  Too small... for what?

It's your business what you do with your body. I'm not really in the business of telling people what to do. It just bothers me how blindly we allow those cookie cutters to make decisions about beauty for us. You have your own eyes, your own minds, your own bodies to help you make decisions about what is attractive to you. And there's no need to change yourself to make yourself attractive. Because someone who is in touch with their own wants and needs may be looking for someone just like you.

So. Be healthy. Be happy. And damn the man. You can make your own decisions.

Peace .

Get it girl

Friday, April 27, 2012

Hey. You in the glasses... ;)

Not all of us are attracted to toned or buff men who are overconfident and tan. People don't think girly blonde girls like nerds... I'm actually more attracted to  slightly chubby Star Wars fanatics than I ever will be to a bro. Found this picture on Pinterest. I thought it kind of played to my analogy. Just call me Rapunzel. Aren't those two so stinkn' cute together.

Just a reminder my loves: In my heart--dweebs. <3

Thursday, April 26, 2012

"If you don't like gay marriage, then don't get one."



Since it's early, and I haven't had a lot of sleep, and I've had a rough week, I feel like bitching.

I never used to like politics. I had liberal leanings, and I called myself a Democrat because that's what my family was. But I was also raised in Marshall, a small, rural community of primarily Republican (or just plain conservative) folk. I spent a whole lot of my life hating Marshall for that fact. I hated that I felt my values and beliefs were constantly being questioned and attacked. I hated that teachers made me feel stupid for feeling differently than them. I hated that a teacher who said, and I quote, "I just think they should line up all the gays and shoot 'em," remained employed. Mrs. Hasten was one of my favorite teachers because, although we shared different politics, she respected me and my opinions. She was open-minded and kind about it. If I could find a way to share that with her, I would. I may just write her a letter or something, because I've been thinking about that lately.

I didn't care about about politics because if I really educated myself on politics, then I would feel more obligated to defend myself, which I didn't want to do. I'm of a non-confrontational personality, unlike many of my peers. Little did I know, most of them didn't really know what they were talking about either--they just talked anyway because they knew no one would argue with them. I will not generalize, though. There were plenty of students with me that could speak intelligently about politics. I only mean to say, that in a small community of primarily Republican people, it's easy to talk on things you don't know about as long as it leans right. I would not have been afforded the same luxury.

Now that I'm in college, though, it's easier to respect Marshall for what it is. We need places like Marshall. We need people like that. Everyone plays a role. I really believe that. And that's why I think it's so important to respect the maintenance staff and your waiter. It's important to respect farmers. They serve a very important role in our country. I respect that little rural community. But I also don't think it's for me. It's funny, though. I do love the outdoors and the small-town vibe. I like that people wave at you on the way to the grocery store. But I like big-city thinkers. So back to that.

Now that I've come to college, I've also taken more time to really research what I claim to believe in, because I feel a little safer doing it here, somehow. And I've found that, approaching the information as unbiased as my environment could allow, I'm still pretty much a Democrat.

1) If you don't like gay marriage, then don't get one. Forril y'all. I respect different interpretations of The Holy Bible, because quite frankly, a document which is as conflicting as it is, is going to develop plenty of interpretations. I understand and accept that. No one should be ostracized for any one interpretation. (Although, I'll get to a little less-diplomatic thought on that in a moment.) Which is exactly why gay marriage should be legalized. There is no legitimate claim against it besides an interpretation of the Bible. Separation of Church and State. If you're going to obsess over your right to bear arms, then you should respect the separation of church and state. That is no less important. America is advertised and prized as the "melting pot." That comes with different religions (including no religion), and the right to practice one's own religious beliefs. Gay marriage is a topic attacked only with religious argument--which makes it invalid as far as the government is concerned.

2) If you don't like abortions, then don't get one. I realize the implications of this. I know that this depends on your belief of when life begins. If you believe life begins at conception, then abortion must be a seriously moral dilemma for you. I accept that. But if you do not believe life begins at conception, then this is a different struggle. I even respect the right to protest against abortion--against a person's decision to do it--not the government's role in the argument. Because it's not proven--other than by the Bible--that life begins at conception. My belief is that life begins when a child has a fully developed brain. You are not human until you are capable of love. That's an opinion. I accept that it may not be correct. But I will argue for that as strongly as another may argue that a person should not get an abortion. I'm also pulled by the social effects of making abortion illegal. Women will try to perform them on themselves. Babies in dumpsters. More children in the system. Unwanted children. I genuinely believe it's better to not have a child than to fuck one up when you do have it. If you're not ready to be a mother, then you should not be one. Another argument I hear: You should deal with the consequences. It's your mistake. Well, okay. You just called that child--something you consider to already be a living person a mistake. You have deemed that child a punishment for one unfortunate act. Rape. Incest. Stupidity. Ignorance. Prostitution (forced or voluntary). Drunken acts. Those are all mistakes. But a child should never be a mistake or a punishment. But again: my opinion. But my opinion should be respected as should those who do not believe in abortion. But the government should not make that decision for me. A woman can make her own choice. If that woman believes life begins at conception (an unproved opinion), then she may not have one. But if a woman does not believe that--or simply is not ready for a child--she should be granted the right to have an abortion.

3) Conservatives are nearly obsessed with protecting the rich. I have two things to say on the matter. A. I understand that we want to protect our standing in the international market. I understand that our big corporations help us to maintain that standing. However. This isn't a standing we really have, or have ever had because of unaccounted-for, printed money. And we can try to keep that image all we want, but we are falling apart on the inside. We are protecting 1% and hoping that it'll get to us normal-folk someday. Trickle-down effect, right? But when has that worked? And what do we do while we wait? Do we let people starve? Do we let people die unnecessarily from treatable conditions? Because those people can't really wait for that money to get to them. It doesn't work.
B. America is the Land of Opportunity. Cool. But Republicans tend to have this delusion that everyone has the same opportunities. This deludes them into thinking its okay to judge the homeless, impoverished, and uneducated of our country. I constantly hear Republicans calling homeless "lazy." "Get up and fill out applications," they say. First of all. Shut the hell up. Don't pretend you know someone's story. Don't pretend that you can even comprehend the pain they've felt or the world they come from. It makes you seem ignorant and unkind. Second of all. If you have been living in poverty, unable to take a shower, with no nice clothes, how likely do you think it is that someone's going to hire them? Educated people, people with suits and running water, cannot find jobs. Do you seriously believe they have the same opportunities as anyone else? They're just lazy? No. They're just smart enough to know that they won't ever have the same opportunity. That seriously bothers me, that a person thinks they can judge another's position without having spoken to them to hear their story. True Christians, following in Christ's way, take care of the sick and feed the hungry. You cannot judge a man sleeping on the street and still call yourself a Christian. No one is given the same opportunities. I am blessed. I'm getting an education, I come from a middle-class upbringing, and I have a family who is very aware of mental health. I'm bipolar, but I was clearly born in the right family to help me through it. I have the most understanding and amazing parents I can imagine any one young adult may have. And my family is full of love. They have raised me to believe I can accomplish anything (realistically of course). If I had been raised in the foster care system, moving from one house to another, missing school and moving schools constantly, facing the reality that I was a mistake, living primarily among unhealthy people who have abused me in ways I could not begin to blog about as though I'd experienced... if that were me, do you think I would be in college? Do you think I'd have the grades to receive my Presidential Scholarship? Do you think I would have developed the social skills to have rocked that interview? Do you think anyone would have taken the time to help me know the importance of learning to write well to totally kill that impromptu essay? No. I wouldn't. And how dare any one person assume that a person in a different position than they would have just as easy of a time.

4) Obama has created jobs. Seriously. If you actually do the research, it has improved so much since Bush. So please stop talking on things you don't know about. That's not even a reasonable argument because it's incorrect. End of story.

5) The race issue. I won't tie this to Republicans, because it's not necessarily a Republican value and I think that's horribly unfair. But I will tie it to far right belief systems. Ghetto? How about White Trash? No effing difference. Still people who come from different places than you, who have seen things in their childhood that would make you throw up as an adult. Neither are trash. They are both the lowest rung of society. We're more likely, although still reluctant, to help a homeless man than an inner city citizen who uses poor grammar and dresses in a way we judge to be inappropriate and trashy. I love how we think it's okay to judge prostitutes. But they are taking on the job they can find--the same job we blame the homeless for not finding. Anyway. Black doesn't make someone ghetto anyway. They may like different foods, they may speak differently (using they colloquially, of course)... but that doesn't make them bad. We don't even have standard English. It's dialect. And if we don't like their having a separate culture, then we have no one to blame but our ancestors who have so long segregated them--forced them out of white society--that they have come together and formed a culture among themselves altogether separate from ours. Embrace that now! We have a different culture living among us? Well okay. Deal with it. Learn about them. And if they don't want to get to know you, then that's their issue, but at least you can say you tried. Have you never met a white person that thought they were too cool for you?

6) This is another non-political issue. It's just a Christian issue that I'll keep within that realm. Again. I don't think it's fair to call all Republicans Christian, let alone fundamentalist Christians. I believe everyone has the right to practice their beliefs, no matter how extreme they may seem to me. I've had friends with whom I don't agree with when it comes to religion. I don't have to, really. And I don't appreciate when people think I do. And I would expect them to feel offended if I tried to convert them to my way of thinking. That isn't fair. Because by doing so, I would be saying "I'm right, you're wrong," which makes for a pretty uncomfortable relationship. But in my opinion, many "Christians" are not practicing as they ought. I may pick and choose bits of the Bible to believe. I'll admit that. But it's a conflicted book. I believe the Bible was written by Man and is not the whole Truth. I think the Truth is found in many different beliefs, and you have to explore it everywhere to find it. I believe the Truth lies in my heart--in my conscience. And I will preach that. With that belief, it's acceptable to choose the parts of the Bible I agree with. Because I don't agknowlege the Bible as a perfect document. But for those who do? I think you're hypocrites. If you truly believe that, then you think that God is the ultimate judge, and our business is to take care of ourselves and our families. You don't believe in shaving, cursing, gossip, football on Saturdays, eating lobster, eating pork, cotton and polyester blends, or association with women on their periods. I can give you the verses for those if you don't believe me. You can look it up yourself.

That's all I have for now, but I have plenty more to say. But this was a rant, and I actually feel better. And here's the thing: I really don't care WHAT you believe. I may disagree with you, but I agknowlege that I may be wrong. I just think that religious beliefs do not have a place in politics. I have no tolerance for racism, and I believe (arguably of course), in using the government to care for the needy. But I respect other opinions. I have a great deal of respect for women like Mrs. Hasten, who although at times I disagree with, I can agree to disagree. Which is a brilliant idea, really. It's been around for ages, but sometimes we forget about it.