Remember how I said that I couldn’t wait until I left Louisiana? Well, I did it folks! I moved!
Proper blogging will commence after my birthday.
Remember how I said that I couldn’t wait until I left Louisiana? Well, I did it folks! I moved!
Proper blogging will commence after my birthday.
My beloved’s father died. It still hurts, to be honest. He was hilarious. He was smart. Was he an ass? At times, yes. But he was human.
I’m not used to his absence. I’ve tried to intellectualize it…but it sucks.
Yes he had cancer, but he beat it twice.
So he won’t be here when I become his daughter in law. Well, technically I was…because that’s how he saw it.
I wanted to learn more from him, but life isn’t fair.
The irony? We were able to say goodbye…but it wasn’t enough.
We love you poppy.
one thing I wish that was touched on in religious settings is the correct way to deal with anger, or his older sibling Rage. At the churches I attended, rage was seen as something you had to be set free from, not something you must deal with in a healthy manner.
This is something that is wonderfully humane. A reminder that we have emotions. In the realm of anger, there is usually a reason why someone is angry. A pretty legitimate reason. But in church, anger in a human is usually seen as wrong unless it is something god hates. Which keeps shifting. As a result, a person who means well may do their best to keep their anger inside. They want to be a good Christian. So they hold it in, hold it in, and hold it in. Next thing you know, that person snaps at someone for giving them cold bread.
When the truth of the matter is that the bread isn’t a problem, it’s the unresolved issues eating away at you.
You talk to a minister, and they suggest prayer. Same thing the cell leader said. Because no one wants to be in the foxhole with you. They just want to pray once and it be done forever. So they take part of the glory…but none of the work.
They want the testimony but not the test.
And that is bunk. Life is messy. Horrible things happen, and it’s not the will of none but the abuser. They create excuses, gaslight, and push their will into the will of the universe. Saying the horrible thing that happened was god’s will. Which leads to the thought that god allowed it to happen..why. Just why.
So you try to find meaning in the abuse. But there’s no meaning. Only pain and an empty stomach bloated with lies. So you become angry. Or in my case, holding in rage. Which is sinful.
So you feel guilty about the sin of rage and try to never be angry again. But you fail.
Then you end up turning all that rage inward. Because you are convinced that you are the problem. Years of this happening either has you in a church, therapist’s office, morgue, or bar. Maybe you’ve convinced yourself that the worst is over. So you close yourself off. Which only leaves more pain IN.
So you’re at a crossroads: either face that anger and work with it or hide it. I’m facing my anger, and it’s scary. Because I’m very angry. I feel diminished by the years that I’ve neglected to take care of myself. Hollow from the stubborn refusal to admit my not so happy Funtime feelings. I’ve cut off the darker part of me to be more pure…to have more light within me. But light cannot exist without dark. And ignoring part of me places me like a 3 legged chair, which is broken.
I desire revenge upon my abuses and rejectors. I desire them to admit that they did what they did to only cover their own hides. Not out of love. But it won’t happen because they refuse to deal.
So all I can do, what only you can do…is to be mad. Tell yourself it’s okay to be mad. Be angry. Focus it into something positive. Say that what happened did happen.
Deal with it. Tell loved ones. Find out what you need to do to heal.
But don’t ever hold it in. Admit that it is there! Because what you do not admit can have power over you.
And don’t let some moron in a hat tell you what is right for you. If you need to cry, do it. If you need to scream, do it.
Because only you know how much it hurts. People can only sympathize.
And if you need to rest, rest. Please take care of you. Place your health first.
Say no to guilt concerning being angry. Say no to guilt in cutting off abusive relationships.
You have only one life.
So get to work.
So, I am finished with college. As of Monday at noon I am a college graduate(woo!). I didn’t think I’d say this, but I miss being in college already(grad school? yes.)
But I do not miss the insanity that I had to wade through with classmates. Because it’s followed me on facebook.
And I haven’t realized it until today, but I have been holding a lot of anger inside of me. I can honestly say it is automatic because I don’t notice it until I say something snippy or I am losing sleep.
I find myself desiring the ability to be blind, deaf, and dumb. But alas, it is not so. So I’ll just wring my heart out on here.
I’ve been wondering lately what the hell has possessed Republicans, and in a larger part most evangelical Christians. There is, yet again, a need or craving to force others into their world view. It can be something small as a girl bombarding her Facebook page with constant pro-life rants or something huge like Mr. Akin’s comment that abortion should not be allowed even in cases of rape because a woman’s body can reject the rapist’s sperm.
Erm, a word. Any person with a small amount of research will realize that a woman’s body is not that fantastical as to have an instant abort button when it comes to being raped. If that was the case, there would be many many women who would be child-free. There would be many kids that would be child-free also.
To me, it is as if people who think all abortions are bad would rather a kid go through a life of hell because the mom sees the face of her rapist/molestor and cannot do anything but hate said progeny. Because at least the child is alive, am I right?
And it doesn’t hit on that at all. Instead I am told that if I am raped that I either had it coming, should turn my rape into lemonade, or shut my mouth. I don’t like any of those choices. Especially since I didn’t pick them. I’d like to at least be able to speak on my own behalf in such cases. Because it would be me who carries the child, who may or may not die in childbirth, and who may or may not want to keep them. Am I to squash any revulsion I feel to my rapist’s kid growing in me? Am I to knit and just sing hymns until I am ripped open like a blood orange?
Because obviously I asked for it, since I have a vagina.
And no, I didn’t ask for it. What happened to the lessons we learned as kids, especially in the case of “Keep your hands to yourself.”? It is something that was told to me a lot.
And it makes me stabby that there are people who think that they have access to my body because I wear a low cut shirt. Here is a hint: no, you don’t have access. You may see it, but no touchy.
Heck, that argument is why I dress conservatively, because I don’t want to give anyone an entry point. And that’s messed up to say, but as a survivor of Child and Adult Sexual Abuse, I try to put up what walls I can so that I can be safe. And the sad thing? I don’t feel any safer.
Instead, I feel raw and exposed like I did on the night I tried to tell my mom that a fellow cell leader tried to rape me. She said it was my own damn fault because I was alone with him. I must have done something. I was wearing onsie pj’s and watching toonami. If that is not the dorkiest thing I do not know what is. I trusted him. I assumed that he was my brother in christ, emphasis on BROTHER, and that he would only have good towards me and not ill.
I cried after hearing her say that. I wanted a believer, any believer to negate the feeling that it was my fault. I wanted to have someone tell me that I wasn’t being a temptress just by having boobs. I needed to hear that.
I still do, honestly. Because I have had people pass judgement on me just for being female. Doubly so when you throw in black. Apparently black women are not child abuse survivors. We do not have to fight against being dominated sexually by men with more issues than Playboy. We are to keep our mouths shut, because we would send more black brothers to jail.
That’s some bull. And same thing in the Christian arena. That’s wrong, and forces the victim to make herself look as pitiful as possible in order to be believed by anyone. She is instead discredited and told she must have wanted it.
Because yes, I lie awake thinking to myself how I’d love for someone to try and knock me out cold and have their way with my body. Actually I don’t. I withdraw. I’m on medication for PTSD because apparently I waited too long to get help and I’m just a bundle of nerves.
And I tried prayer. I prayed and prayed for God to turn my ashes into something pretty. And it never got better. Instead, it just hurt a lot. I had to hold it in and only emote joy and happiness because anger was a sin. Feeling helpless was a sin also. It was as if in order to be appreciated in the church I needed to cut off my emotions, thank whoever paid attention to me, and not cause any waves. Because I’m just a woman. And the woman was deceived first, hence why I should just take any unwanted sexual offerings and just close my eyes. I could marry him if I guiled him enough. Because being strong is sinful, but manipulation is a’ok.
I should be allowed to cry for revenge if someone violates me. I should be able to turn to the law without fear. I shouldn’t hate being a female because there are people who think the natural use of my body is for pregnancy only and therefore I should be pregnant right now. I must have the ability to strike out against my accusers and not be told to keep quiet.
There shouldn’t be a rule for me and a totally different rule for a man. I should not be seen as less than because of my biological makeup! But yet I am.
I am told to not be so angry, to not let rage mottle my brow, or to not be so sensitive. Despite the fact that I should be allowed to control myself and they should control themselves and not me.
I’m tired of living for two. I should not bear responsibility for what a rapist did to me. I should not bear the responsibility of the spiritual abuse that was done to me. I should only have to be responsible with how I live my own life after such clusterf*%#%#^. I should not have to carry the world on my shoulders because some entitled idiot is lazy.
Control your loins. Don’t rape. Then I won’t have to spray you with mace.
So, I took the GRE. And I’m still waiting on my scores. Besides that, I’m trying not to cuss out believers again. It’s really hard when they start calling me a murderer or claim I eat fetuses.because that’s what all nonbelievers do.
So instead of cunt punching folks, I’ve taken two modes of action: posting their stupidity(yes I blur names) or make jewelry. So far, the latter is winning.
What also helps is that I talk to a tight knit group of ex-pk folks. We all have our religious baggage, so no one really pulls the “you didn’t try hard enough” bullshit. Because we really really tried. Hell, if my psychiatric bills point to anything…it’s that I tried too damn hard. But believers don’t want to admit we are out there. Because it blows their whole worldview out the water. If a person can love god so much and after so much time and effort, walk away, where does that leave them? If they weren’t dealing with some gross sin, or bitter, then who is really saved?
If they have legitimate concerns, do we have to listen? And then the fear sets in. will I catch their skepticism? Is this a phase? Are they sinning with their doubt?
And it hurts, because I question myself too. Is this the right choice? Is god really not real? Shit just happens?
As a former Charismatic, it’s hard not to slip into old modes of thinking. I have to constantly remind myself that no one “knows my sin” or is inside my head but me. To think of it, to see the damage, it breaks my heart. Because I inflicted this on myself and others. Just to please “god” and true believers. I wanted, no, craved that acceptance and love. I wanted that assurance that I’d be in heaven and that my broken life had redeeming value. I continually emptied myself because the church said I was just a vessel. That the self was sinful and not to be trusted. I cut myself in two, because I believed that I was sinful, awful, dirty. I was shit on god’s shoe. Nothing I’d do would be good enough.
So I subjected myself to abuse. The pain was my “will being broken” and god getting the glory. Whenever I’d think that I was going too far…I’d rebuke the devil and pray for hours.
By the time I got to where it felt like a literal fight for my soul, I started failing classes, having intrusive thoughts, and nervous tics. I was falling apart, and I did not know how to ask for help. So, I tried to kill myself. I thought that death would be a respite compared to the mental anguish I was facing. I wanted oblivion. I thought I’d be doing everyone a favor, especially my youth church. They got tired of my questioning, my doubt. So they gave me over to “Satan”. Because obviously I was in rebellion. That’s the only reason I could be so sad, twitchy, and not eating..right?
I received their judgement as rejection. And it got a whole lot worse before it got better. I still struggle with self-image/esteem and rejection, but on the flip, I stand up for myself more. I laugh more. I feel more. Yes it’s scary, but it’s a good scary. Therapy and medication are a freaking wonderful thing. That plus good friends has me where I am. I call myself strong now.
Sure I do what ifs, but life is worth living. Not over-guessing. I’m still learning, but I still have hope.
Thanks for staying with me folks,
So, with the therapy and weight loss, a few issues have come across my plate(see what I did there?). The first thing is my self image. If you ask any of my friends, I am cute. I of course think these people are INSANE. So them telling me over and over how much they loved me, how much they liked me,or how cute(adorable) I was fell on deaf ears.
It took me seeing it myself. I lie, it took a REALLY hot lesbian to drive it home.
See what had happen was(here she goes again) I have an awesome friend. Her name is Lor. Lor is possibly a superhero or saint and she just isn’t telling us weaker humans for fear that our tiny heads would explode. Anyway, a long time ago, Lor was dating Mari. And Mari, is a goddess. I mean, like cause guys to to drool and totally make fools of themselves type of woman. Let me put it to you this way:
She was the daydream I had of the “perfect woman” in high school that I said would never EVER exist in real life so therefore I was stuck with MEN. So! I found out she existed(yay!) but she lived in England(..yay?) and had a very very beautiful girlfriend(um..I’ll get back to you on that). So rightfully I thought to myself “No chance in hell”. And I was right.
But, BUT my fair folk…she thought me(yes me) was just so adorable she could eat me up(yes I did that on purpose). My boyfriend found out, and teased me(but he was all for it) about my obvious crush.
So it was like a kick in the back of the knees. I thought to myself “If she finds me attractive, maybe I should look at myself and see what I find beautiful about myself”. First day, I sat in my room with a notebook in my lap and just writing about what I liked about me. Which took forever. Day two, I looked in the mirror to really look at me. Not judge myself, not make a list of things that need to be covered up with makeup…but just look. I started bawling, quite hard actually. All I could think of was all the horrible things told me about myself. How I wouldn’t amount to anything, I was just good for a grope and a goodbye, or how I was the girl all guys only dated because no one would ever be serious about me, ever. And yes, those things I just said were said to me by people who supposedly had my best interests at heart.
So I started thinking about how what was said to me affected how I saw myself. And I found that I didn’t have any ideas on what I thought of myself. Everything that was said to me was just regurgitated into my brain by another person. I know I was supposed to go on and talk about how someone saved me, but the truth is..I saved myself. Yes Mari was the catalyst but I saw it through. Yes, focusing on me and building myself up is hard. I am so used to building up others and pining for someone to do the same for me that it becomes a battle of old vs. new. Do I get tired of having to be my own “best friend”? Yes, but this is how I see it. The girl I am now, she’s not forged in a crowd. She’s made in the shadows of the night when I am holding on to my penguin and weeping. She’s the woman who recites the people who love her as if they were prayers, because in a way they are.
She’s me,someone I can’t get away from.
Sorry I haven’t been writing/ranting.
I was feeling rundown and just thought I was depressed. Nope! My gallbladder was just infected(oops).
So i go in for surgery next week. Until then I’m on a steady stream of antibiotics and lortab.
And you guys will have to deal with my loopy butt
Thanks for being awesome,