Plant-Based Diet: Why and How for Naysayers

A conversation with Mom I had only a few minutes ago prompted this post. For the noobs, I had been a pescetarian (which is a word Mr. Spellcheck!) for about five and a half years. A camp friend of mine inspired the idea. We were 14 at the time. She told me she saw pigs in a trailer on the highway, thought about where they were going, and gave up land animals altogether. Honestly, I was trying to assert myself as a liberal in a very conservative small town. I was about to enter my first year of high school. I made the decision in September or November. Jim gave me shit (as is common and will be the topic of this post), and so in order to prove him wrong, I dove into it.
Granted. I'd never been much of a meat-eater. My lifestyle didn't change all that much. I was still eating fish which can be found at any fast food restaurant. And being surrounded by conservatives I got a lot of grief about it, which I took in stride. However, the response made me less sure in my decision. I was a really self-conscious high schooler (who isn't?) and took these things to heart. Out of pride I continued, but I don't know if I had any real reason in my heart to continue at the time. I hadn't done any research. I wasn't receiving the health benefits because I still relied on fish and cheese as my primary protein sources. But I kept on.

For lent this year I decided to go vegan. Wow. It sounded overwhelming (and still kind of does). Even to me, vegans were extremists--crazies--comparable to conservative Christians in their intensity and arrogance. But it had been on my mind, and I knew I had to try. I wanted to be healthy when I did it, so I did all the research I hadn't done when I'd initially picked up pescetarianism. I learned plenty about eating healthily as a vegan (actually a very healthy, protein-filled diet contrary to popular belief) but I also learned the reality of the meat industry. It shocked and disgusted me.
I was raised in a liberal household, but in college I've changed ideas and beliefs (as one should) and I've become far more liberal than the rest of my family. When it comes to animal rights, my family has a much more conservative viewpoint which I've grown to disagree with. Before I talk about this any more, I'd like to make it clear that I respect my family greatly. Their liberal upbringing gave me a strong foundation of a life based on compassion and inclusivity. From that, I've developed more liberal beliefs, just as they are more liberal than their parents, and their grandparents before them. With each new generation, revolution inspires progress. We fight injustice because it matters to us. We are the educated, passionate, liberal masses of Generation Y.

So, I promised a why and how regarding my vegan/vegetarianism. I'm going to try to stick to comprehensive facts and to cite my sources so you can check up on me or gain more information if you're interested. Before I get started, though, I'm going to define veganism. I've been surprised at how few people actually know what it is. A vegan is someone who does not buy or consume any product that has any substance from an animal. That includes, of course, all meats, eggs, milk, honey, some food dyes, and other things you may be surprised to learn have animal by-products. Okidoke.

It's healthier for the environment to eat less meat. An ignorant science teacher of mine in high school once said, "vegetarians are actually hurting the earth. If cow farts are to blame, then they aren't helping by not eating them." Oh, yes. This happened. If you were thinking along the same lines, it's important to remember that cows are severely over-bred to meet the extremely high demands of beef in our country. "A University of Chicago study found that the ‘typical’ US diet generates the equivalent of nearly 1.5 tonnes more carbon dioxide per person per year than a vegan diet. The livestock industry is responsible for 18% of global greenhouse gas emissions, more than the entire transport sector (which produces 13.5%), including aviation." Link here. Plant-based diets require 1/3 of the land used to house animals bred for food. The animals that we kill actually consume more protein and minerals than they produce. Plants are also a far more-sustainable food source. It makes way more sense to eat the plants we feed to farmed animals ourselves in a world with such precious and limited resources. Picture a world where the food used to feed over-bred farm animals went to feed impoverished families around the planet. We take this planet for granted. By 2050 our population is expected to have reached 9 million which is entirely unsustainable based on the average, meat-eater's diet today. Check it. 

It's a lifestyle choice rooted in compassion. This is where much debate arises. People bring up plants as living beings, blah blah blah. Plants are not sentient beings which is the basis of many who choose a plant-based diet. Most don't like to hear that pigs are more intelligent that our beloved dogs. "Man's best friend." Because we don't eat dogs, that would be barbaric, right? This is a state of ignorance that we have chosen as a society. No one wants to know what happens in those factory farms. The conditions are despicable. It's a lot easier to say, "don't tell me, I don't even want to know!" as I have in the past. But I care deeply about animals--mine, as well as the ones that man has designated as inferior. And so now, when I'm exposed to horrible truths about the industry, I feel a deep-rooted sense of shame when I turn away from it. If it makes you so sad that you can't even look at these images, then why do you support it? That was a question I really had to look at.

a rebuttal

I was discussing it with Mom earlier this week, and another misconception that many don't consider rose to the surface. She pushed my liberal buttons with this one: "If you're saying that eating eggs is wrong, then you're saying abortion is wrong." There are a few things wrong with this statement. Most obvious is that I don't care about the life that egg could have had. It was not a sentient being. I care about the hen who made these eggs, and is doubtless still doing so under inhumane circumstances. Many people I know who have been raised around farms will say, "no one did that to animals that I saw." There's also a problem with that statement. More than 99% of all farmed animals come from factory farms.Yup. Why? Because they produce cheap meat. They can house thousands of animals on one property. Because they aren't given special attention, there are no vet bills to pay for, and workers are paid as little as the industry can get away with. Local meats are far more expensive and won't be found at your local Wal Mart anymore. This quote summed it up beautifully:

"The disturbing nature of these problems can make it difficult for many people to accept the truth about factory farming when they are first confronted with it: “Surely,” one is tempted to say, “it can’t be that bad.” But once the scale of the devastation that this industry is wreaking on our health, the environment, and animals becomes clear, the most surprising aspect of factory farming is how effectively these problems have been hidden from the public in the first place.

It's healthy. When people picture vegans this is what comes to mind:

 

 

Rarely do these, more accurate pictures come to mind:

Lea Michele

Venus and Serena

Ellen and Portia

Emily Deschanel

Bob Harper

Jane Lynch

AmIRight? Some people have claimed vegan diets have helped with things like asthma, allergies, arthritis, indigestion, and migraines. Not to mention the obvious: lower cholesterol, considerable improvement in diabetics, and help for symptoms of IBS. Here is a seriously long list of personal testimonies to healthier bodies and minds. Commonly, people worry about my protein intake. What they don't realize is that the average American eats twice as much protein as is necessary for a healthy diet. Getting your protein from beans and grains is healthier and can even reduce your risk for osteoporosis. Also, the human body is not designed to process cow milk. 75% of the population may be lactose intolerant and live with undiagnosed milk allergies. A lot of people find cramps and constipation are alleviated with a vegan diet, simply because what they had been eating was poison to their bodies unbeknownst to them.
One woman said that when people ask her where she gets her protein, she answers, "where do you get your fiber?" Fiber leads to healthier bowel movements which can help prevent colon cancer. A vegan diet is beneficial to prevention of many diseases. Cardiovascular disease, high cholesterol, arthritis and many more. We are told to drink lots of milk to prevent things like arthritis. Ironically, a dairy-free diet has shown substantial benefits for arthritis symptoms. I could go on and on, but the link above has a really great list from a nursing website.

Finally my favorite argument: evolution. Another liberal button. As I've said, vegans are often compared to religious zealots. However, most vegans are left-leaners (as one might imagine), and this is an unfounded theory regarding human consumption of animals that naysayers like to torture us with. I do believe in evolution. Of course I do. We are a highly developed species. But that does not give us the right to eat all animals for a few reasons. First of all, these aren't animals we're hunting. They're bred in captivity and shipped out. All we have to do is pay for it. Other species have to fight for meat--have to chase it. Unless we can kill it with our own hands, we have no right to be eating it, and we aren't expending the calories necessary to get that food, which is another reason humans suffer from weight problems. Secondly, we are using dairy from cows which was never made for humans. Do we feed other creatures human breast milk? Better yet, who continues to drink milk into adulthood? It's unnatural. And here is the completely scientifically irrelevant point I'll make. Along with our evolution has come a refined evolution of compassion. We have the brilliant gift of speech, which has aided human emotional development (linguistics for ya). The fact that so many people turn away from images of the industry they support is because of guilt. But here's the good news. How about you try a Meatless Monday in your house? Maybe cut out red meats and buy soy milk when you can? You'll feel good about your decision not to support a capitalist, immoral industry even if only once a week. And of course you can reap the health benefits. You can make a difference. It's hard to be vegan. Worth it, but hard. I'm not asking everyone to make that life change. But I would like for people to know where I'm coming from now that I have. This post wasn't written to shame anyone about their diets. But I can tell you that I don't really find your meat jokes funny, nor do I find rape jokes funny, or child abuse... injustice should be taken seriously. Y'all will take from this what you will. If I've convinced someone to just give up red meat, I've done something. These are hard things to hear, but as compassionate, sentient beings, it's our responsibility to care for those who are least among us.

I can't fix this world, but if I'm dying anyway, then I will die trying.

After the shooting in Connecticut, I didn't want to post hastily about gun control and mental health and the shallowness of people on Facebook and Twitter about the whole tragedy. I didn't want to write insensitively about something so painful, so real when the child who is most precious to me is in kindergarten now. I didn't want to write with a reactive vendetta for all the wrongs in this world. I've done that before, and there are consequences for thoughtlessness. But I've had time to sort through those feelings, and I'm as ready as I'll ever be to speak about it.

Tanglewood Press has made a really beautiful statement with the help of a Connecticut mom and Audrey Penn. Go to the link to be a part of that.
That whole project inspired me from speechless disbelief to hopeful action. The only way to confront Evil is the produce Good. "Be the change you want to see in the world," right? But I feel only a hate that I don't even try to drive away when those bastards at Westboro Baptist capitalize on people's pain. But the public support gathered to block their idiot cries trying to make their statement of hate gave me hope. Hope has been in short supply lately. (Quite literally, as the One Hope United employees will tell you. My mom collects hope trinkets and ornaments that are only sold this time of year among peace and love items. But for some reason, in cruel irony, the have been nearly impossible to find this year.)

But I found it.

I've looked to the things that make me feel better. I paid for the guy behind me in the drive-thru at Starbucks today--a guy in a piece of shit car, smoking a cigarette, and petting a cat sitting on the console. That made me feel better. Being a part of giving those kids at One Hope the best fucking Christmas of their lives... that made me feel better. It's not that I'm a saint or anything. I'm doing this to prove to myself that enough Good will drive out Evil. The generosity of those who donated to One Hope brought on a regular flood of tears. It's as if those people were doing what I was doing--they were proving to themselves that the world doesn't suck. The world has been acting shitty lately, you know? But even with the lack of hope, in the way that I sought hope, so have so many others. Among Mom's gifts from coworkers, hope was bountiful. It was nearly, but not quite impossible to find.

That's my sweater, bitch ;)

When a mom smacks her kid in Wal Mart, Kayla is tickling the piss out of Julian. For every child (and parent) at Sandy Hook, The Kissing Hand will provide much needed comfort. There is plenty of Evil in the world. Plenty, plenty. But there are good, good people. And we can make a difference. You don't have to save all the starving children in Africa to do that, though. You can just wrap presents for kids who don't have a family to spend the holiday with. You can help out at a soup kitchen (props to Noah), and you can forgive that dude that cut you off on your way to work.

I just read John Green's The Fault in Our Stars (you can stop judging me for dropping the ball on reading. I'm catching up, okay?) and I finished it in a night. I stayed up past my self-designated bedtime to finish it, sobbing alone in my room. The world is trying to prove its fragility to me. Hazel Grace is telling me, Connecticut is telling me, Hurricane Sandy is telling me... You can't turn on the television (something I gave up a long time ago) without those images forcing themselves into your conscious. The Fault in Our Stars hit me hard, probably because I'm already in an estrogen-induced, emotional break down, but it knocked me on my ass. Hazel is me if I were dying. Which, she would point out, I am. But if I was made more aware of my dying, I think I would be a lot like Hazel. Or maybe I have a flawed view of myself--I tend to judge others more accurately than myself. But in her voice I heard myself. Fragility. That's the word ringing in my head. I'm living a very fragile life. There's only a few cancerous tumors between Hazel Grace and I. There's only a few states between my precious babies and Sandy Hook. I can't fix this world, but if I'm dying anyway, then I will die trying.

JUST LAUGH FOR THE SAKE OF PETE!

HAHAHAHAH! Get it??

I obviously can't maintain my "Love a Day" while I'm at camp as I'm completely without Internet. But I can promise to post one when it's available to me. So here goes: I love life exactly as it is. There are things I want to change, and so I do it. There are things beyond my power, and I struggle to accept that. But if I were to allow everything that makes me sad hold my attention in ways that are unproductive, then I have lost purpose. I will choose ways to make my life and the lives around me better. That is my definition of purpose, I think. And so I choose to find things that used to make me nervous, funny. There is certainly more humor in life than we give it credit for.

Knocked-over orange barrels can make you nervous, or they can make you giggle. Soaking yourself by accident with your garden hose can piss you off, or give you an excuse to smile. We always say, "you'll look back on that and laugh." And it's true. Those silly, embarrassing, and near-mishaps will be funny in a few days, weeks, months... years? We can laugh at them. But... but... why wait? What the hell people?! Imagine how much grief you'd save yourself if you accepted the wisdom you can already acknowledge your future self will posses. This is where this philosophy gets tricky, so Imma break it down.

You do something ridiculous.

You freak out.

You know that you'll find it funny in time.

Looking back on it...

But you choose to leave the laughing to your future self.

But two seconds post any embarrassing moment makes it history. If you know it's going to be funny to a wiser you, then you already posses the wisdom necessary to laugh it off. Right? It's so easy to panic when your car starts to sound its own panic alarm, but it's a hell of a lot easier to laugh at it. Laugh louder than that horn! Go for it! Because you cannot let a damned car horn ruin your vacation! You just can't. Enough crap in this world will bring you down. You don't need to sweat the small stuff. I know I'm not the first person to say that. But it's more than brushing silly things off your shoulder. It's about allowing yourself to fall in love with it.

Someone calls you a mean name. What's the real meaning of that name? Our choice of curse words is absolutely hysterical. Someone calls you fat? Why? Why did they feel the need to waste their breath telling you something you already know (and have accepted as the beautiful you, yeah?)?  Shoot. They got more mess in their brain than you do. Someone calls you a bitch? Female dog. Don't tell me that isn't funny. And who doesn't love dogs? When someone says it, picture yourself as a schnauzer or yorkiepoo. Those are precious. I can say that because I own those two. When I was little, my mom told me I could be anything when I grew up. Before I'd considered the unlikelihood of my dreams, I wanted to be a dog when I grew up (specifically with a good home and fur that's easy to brush). I wanted to be a bitch when I grew up.

That last paragraph got kind of out of hand. but I think my point is clear. There are things that are out of our control. There are things that will break your heart. But an orange barrel shouldn't be one of those things. All of you. Right now. Take a deep breath, and when you let it out, just laugh your ass off. Laugh so hard you start to cry. Start to think of everything that's ever made you laugh hard enough to pee on your camp cabin floor. READYSETGO!

We lead exciting lives... I think.

So. On Saturday after the campers left, my parents and grandma picked me up. After some time in Nashville, IN, we made our way back to Blueberry Cottage, the legitimate name of the cabin they'd rented out. It was cute enough, but after three weeks sleeping on a cot or on the ground, I was given one of the four couches. Somehow, it was still better though, so I wasn't even ready to start complaining. I also hadn’t slept in air conditioning for a while, and there was some comfort in requesting blankets. Mom spent a lot of time talking about harvesting basil. I spent a lot of time talking about camp; something I've learned will fall on deaf ears. I think we both tuned each other out. No one at home understands Gollywop language and Boogaloo. And I know nothing about gardening. (I need to go water the plants, now that I think about it. Give me a minute…)
Speaking about gardening and growth and such… I took care of a spider for Mom! That’s me, Official badass of the Bush-Markle-Thompson-Webster-Dunahee-Collings family. Need a spider taken care of? Call me and I’ll eat it. I’d drive to Centralia just to eat a spider. My heart swells with pride at the sight of disgusted looks. I’ll eat that spider, but I won’t eat a hamburger. I just realized that. Whatever.
When we settled into Blueberry Cottage, we snuggled into a few of the couches. Jim and Grandma were watching Road House. Jim likes boy movies, and Grandma gets all hot and bothered ‘bout Patrick Swayze. And Mom wouldn’t stop bitching about it. We shot her some looks, because she always gets to watch what she wants. Jim deserves Road House after all the episodes of Project Runway he’s sat through. But Mom kept with the resentful comments like, “I just don’t like all of the senseless violence,” and “this is so predictable… I could write this shit.” That’s her famous line. And I took a long-avoided shower just to escape the nonsense.
When we were all presentable, we tripped our way out the door.  We were all geared up to go to Indianapolis to the Cannoli Queen. Oh, my god it was so good. I suggest you go, especially when you’re having a bad day, because she’s super adorable and hugs your heart with her smile. But just as I got my new ear buds in and started to listen to some Chris Bathgate, there was a whole bunch of honking. Apparently, the car alarm system had been tipped off. It thought we were trying to steal it! I thought the whole thing was hysterical, because when you’re a camp counselor, you learn to laugh at disasters—it makes life a lot nicer thing to live through. And it also kind of reminded me about that scene in Little Miss Sunshine when their car horn keeps going off… that’s my favorite part in the whole movie! It’s such an Irving-esque way to remind you how desperate and ridiculous the whole situation is. But Mom and Grandma started yelling and Jim started shaking his head.
And Grandma was yelling all kinds of panicked orders, and Mom was yelling at her to stop freaking the fuck out… neither got their way. Grandma wanted to call everyone who had ever touched a car in their life, and Mom wanted Grandma to change a major part of her personality… at the ripe age of 72. The two of them were cat fighting. I actually know what that means… because I have cats and they fight. So I’m kind of an expert. And it looked just like that. Mom was saying intentionally hurtful things, and Grandma was taking anxious to a whole new level of irrational. I thought I was going to crawl out of my skin. At least cat fights end quickly. The alarm stopped sounding as we drove, but the blue light by her steering wheel was beating to the time of the music I’d turned up only loud enough to drown out their screeching and hissing. I wanted to smash that little, taunting bulb. It’s a good thing Jim’s the driver.
Meanwhile, empty clouds teased the city with a drop or so. We still have no creek, by the way. L The sound of thunder makes me bitter now. I hear it night after night, and I still live in a creek-free reality. I would growl back at the thunder if I didn’t think the thunder was a honey badger.
I did come out of Nashville with goodies on a way less depressing note! I bought myself some art and earrings from a cute little store called The Purple Fig. And I received Philosophy Body Wash that smells like PINK ICED ANIMAL COOKIES! You wonder, hm? How does this work? And I suggest you take my word for it, because it’s beyond your comprehension. I also got some eye-shadows for every day of the freaking week. Like, they’re titled different days, and the best part is the cute little descriptions that match each color. And then the box they came in. That was pretty cute too. I don’t want to get rid of it. Pencil case perhaps? AND me Mama and Papa got me ear buds with OWLS on them. Try to top the cuteness of that. Just try.
Then I came home and got in a bunch of fights with my parents and cried a bunch. But not before (actually, that’s a figure of speech. We fought before and after) I got to enjoy their new little yummy creation involving home-made pesto, local cheese, and artisan bread. Okay. It has a name. It’s bruschetta. But I’m going to pretend my parents invented it, because somehow that makes it taste better. It tastes like genius.
And because we have really exciting lives, we noted that Baby Kitty had been out for a while and that was worrisome. We wondered if she ate mice out there. We acknowledged that Maybeline is not nearly as glamorous without the fur they shaved off her due to fleas. Grandma brought up a bunch of depressing subjects that we groaned at. “Let’s talk about Darren…” actually Grandma… let’s not. We chatted more about things we found interesting despite the fact the rest of the table didn’t. We at 1111 Vine just like to talk, I think.
Today, Kelsie and I took pictures of ourselves on my webcam. They’re super cute. You can look at them here. Then she left. Then I got a cherry-coke Icee from Burger King with Kyle. We usually go to McDonald’s with Jacob to make fun of Fox News, but somehow without Jacob, it’s just depressing. He’s way better at witty than I am, and I can’t just watch Fox News without getting sick to my stomach. Making light of it is the only way to handle the piles of stupid they feed their viewers. I couldn’t handle that, so I opted for BK.
This post is getting really boring. I’m gonna stop now. I’m sorry if you fell asleep and now you have a bunch of Js and Qs on the Word Document you accidentally opened when your head hit the keyboard. Sorry. But if that didn’t happen… actually I’m still sorry.
Peace

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"

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.

I'm a cock...

Why couldn't they have just said rooster?

but not in the penis way. But the title got your attention, right? It is my belief that only my really weird titles ever get views, so I'm alternating normal and weird titles as an experiment to test this theory. But I promise that the title has a lot to do with the actual story. It kind of is the story. I've been cycling through some of the family classics lately--the stories brought up to embarrass children through adulthood. These are the stories that are funny to everyone but the person they're about until that person just decides to get over their cockiness (heh heh) and laugh along. Because I was really weird and didn't have a lot of friends my age, I'm nearly always the subject of these stories. I'm also the youngest child, which means there were more people to remember my embarrassing moments, and mine are the most recent.

Today I went to Panda Garden with Kyle. Panda Garden is arguably the best Chinese food in Terre Haute, and I've been going since I was a baby. They even gave us a free meal once, because one time I packed a bag full of my old Burger King toys and handed them out to the waiters and waitresses. It was New Year's Eve, and their anniversary. Panda Garden and I are the same age. The owner was charmed (and who wouldn't be? I'm hella cute), and gave us our meal for free. That event, paired with the fact Panda Garden had the only vegetables I would eat, made it a frequent visit for the Markle-Thompson-Webster-Dunahee family.

Panda Garden had those placemats (I don't care what my internet spellcheck thinks. Placemats is totally one word), with the Chinese Zodiac on them and personality traits of each animal. I'm pretty sure most Chinese restaurants has those, actually, now that I think about it. Anyway, unfortunately, I'm a rooster. <--That's what I should have said over lunch with my family and my friend Brittany.

I was one of those kids who never really got sexual references until like... high school. Yeah. It wasn't until "that's what she said" became a regular part everyone's vocabulary that I understood any of it. Then I probably took it too far, because when you give a 14 year-old that phrase, when they've always been the last one to get innuendos, they're going to abuse it. And before I knew anything about "she," or anything, really, cock only meant rooster. At least to me.

And one day I said it a little too loudly, because I talk loudly all the time (now that I think of it. No one should have ever told me I was a cock based solely on how much, how quickly, and how loudly I speak). "I'm a cock." And Mom was like, "Maddie, don't say that so loud." And because I was sensitive about being a loudmouth, I said it louder to piss her off. And it went from there. And in the middle of my defiant rant that left everyone at the table and surrounding tables debilitating-ly uncomfortable, I said "Darren's a cock, Ian's a cock, I'm a cock..." and I wouldn't shut up.

I'm a cock
Ian's a cock
Darren's a cock
I'm a cock
I'm a cock
I'm a cock...

And Brittany was in that I'm not sure if I'm allowed to laugh so I'm just going to look really awkward and try not to really, really hard kind of place, and Mom desperately tried to make me shut up, which made me even more of a brat about it.

It wasn't until we got out to the car that Mom said, "Maddie. Cock is another word for penis."

And I was mortified.

And since my family has used that story any time Chinese food came into conversation, or anytime they possibly could in order to mortify me. It wasn't so much that I was embarrassed I'd said those things. It was more embarrassment that I was in like... 6th grade and still didn't know what cock meant. But now that I'm older, 6th grade sounds pretty damn young. AND I can totally blame my ignorance on Catholic school and the Disney Channel.

Not. My. Fault. It's also the combined effort of my parents that I'm a cock in the first place. In theory, this is basically everyone's fault but mine. I'm going to stick with that.

"When you're 18 I won't feel bad for telling you that joke..."

My sister's son, Julian, has always been the precious kind of trouble maker that genuinely made trouble because he was a boy and for no other purpose. He liked the shock value, and he liked the attention, and he was a curious kid! In the moment there's always this kind of "What the hell, Jude! JUST STOP!" But then there's this little part in the back of your brain that wanted to laugh, and when the initial pissiness would wear off, the laughs came, too. That's what he lived for.

Cursing is one of those pointless rules that little boys love to break. They’re rules that give a whole lot of four letter words a whole lot of power. When he was younger, Julian was already a badass, and he loved to push that limit. Hell. Grownups do it all the time. He was just ahead of his time. But finally, for fear of punishment, he stopped, and instead began to punish the adults for cursing. That was okay to him, but there was no shock value in the “Boss of Bad Words” telling them, “We don’t say that.” I guess he needed more.

In the midst of this stage, while feeling bored at *OneHope United, he pulled the fire alarm. He had been told over and over again not to touch the damn handle, but he was a little boy. And he had a hard time wrapping his little mind around what was so bad about pulling a handle. He loved breaking pointless rules. But this one wasn’t pointless. And it scared him shitless. The blood ran from his tiny face and he ran with his knees and voice shaking to his mother.

When enough time had passed, the whole thing became amusing, and although we were a little afraid he’d think it was okay because we laughed at it, we were pretty convinced that he would never do it again, based solely on the look on his face when the alarm rang. And one infamous day in the car, he let us know about all the things we shouldn’t do or say.

We don’t hit Sissy, we don’t say fuck, we don’t say shit, we don’t say damn it, we don’t say stupid, we don’t say hate, we don’t bite, we don’t pull fire alarms.

And now, years later, his 9 year-old head was tilted up looking at that handle. He eyed it cautiously, and Mom said, “Julian, don’t you dream of it.” He grinned back at her knowingly and walked towards her. Kayla said, “We’ve already been through that one,” and Mom laughed as she leaned towards him, “we don’t say shit, we don’t say fuck, we don’t pull fire alarms… and when you’re 18 I won’t feel bad for telling you that joke.”

We don't say fuck.

*The company that employs nearly every member of my family.