Body Hatred

I learned to hate my body at a young age. I gained a few pounds in 3rd grade and was put on a diet. I was ignored in 4th and 5th grade. In Middle School I was molested twice. The first time it happened, I was walking with my class on my way back from lunch. A boy in the class passing us reached out, grabbed one of my developing breasts and yelled "Boob!" I didn't know how to react. I just fought back tears and felt dirty for a very long time. In 7th grade I was sitting on the bleachers during gym when this boy sat down behind me. He called other boys over to him and he would tell them to sit next to me. When they did, he would grab their hand and rub it all over my body. The boys would yell words of disgust and run off. I just sat there and cried. I was so shocked at what was happening that it didn't occur to me to move or to tell a teacher. For year I blamed myself for that day. I kept thinking "I should have moved," "I should have told somebody," "If I wasn't so fat and ugly it never would have happened in the first place." When I wasn't being made fun of or inappropriately touched I was invisible. I was just a thing that the popular boys and girls used to amuse themselves when they were bored. I lost weight going into High School but by then I felt my body was something that drew negative attention. I didn't think I deserved to be called beautiful. I still felt like a fat ass even though I was a very tiny person. I looked through my mom's Victoria Secret catalogs and hated myself for not having breasts like the models did (even though I was still a child), for not having small thighs like they did (even though I was wearing the smallest size of clothing they had). In 10th grade I basically started starving myself. I would eat a small bag of chips for lunch and nothing else for the rest of the day. I worked out when I got home from school and still felt disgusted when I looked in the mirror. I've always suffered with depression and self harm. If I became angry with myself, even at a young age, I would do something to harm my body. I would bite myself until it hurt too bad to continue. I would scratch my face with my nails or with a hard bristled brush. In 12th grade I started cutting. The first time I cut I used a safety pin, then I used scissors, then I found a razor blade and cherished it like my prized possession. I would carve words into my arm, crosses, rows of perfectly straight lines. I marveled at the way I would pull the blade across my skin and for a few seconds nothing. Then, blood would start flowing. I would let the blood drip down my arm, gathering into little beads on my fingertips. Sometimes I would lick it off, sometimes I would use it to draw pictures in my journal. It was always my body I punished, like it had done something wrong, let me down. Instead of loving my body for all the wonderful things it can do for me I've beaten it, carved it to pieces, pushed it to its limits just to feel the pain that it caused. I still have a problem with loving my body. Everywhere I look I see things telling me I'm too fat, too short, too brunette, too smart, too weird....well, fuck that. That's how I feel about all of the shit that has happened to me over my short life...that is how I feel about the people that have laughed at me, ignored me, called me names, acted like I wasn't good enough...Fuck it and fuck them.

Longings...

I would love to visit Japan.

Stone and Flesh

I want to be angry and throw things. In my anger there is familiarity. In my anger there is habit and complacency. It hurts to be angry. It burns my insides and makes my heart stone but for me to try and not be angry hurts even more. I have been so long in anger that I do not know what it means to forgive. I do not know the comfort and release of letting things go. I put up with shit for so long that I became hard and cynical, but I do not want to go back to putting up with shit. I just can't seem to find the balance between being walked over and being apathetic. Being too compassionate and being furious. Where is the middle ground that protects me from heartbreak but lets me help others? Maybe I have to have my heart broken. Maybe it will then turn from stone into flesh once more and I can live. I want to be free. Jesus, please help me. I want to hope again. I want to hope in You again.

2006...go away.

So...this year has been a horrible experience for me. So many negative memories. I can't even think of one good memory from this year. Maybe getting our dogs or celebrating our one year anniversary. Those were good times. But good times are few and far between down here. Down here where they hate and judge and condemn in the name of God and quote scriptures in class out of context to make themselves feel better about being a judgmental person (Mr. Dean). People suck and they can all kiss my ass. Good thing they can't read this. But you guys can...and hopefully soon we will be out of this place and away from this poison in the atmosphere. And maybe I won't be inclined to say things like "kiss my ass." Maybe I'll be all sunshine and flowers and rainbows...I doubt it...

How do you?

I went to see an old friend tonight. She wasn't home, so I sat around with her sister and waited for her to get back (she never did.) Their mother's boyfriend was home and as soon as the sister walks into the house he starts smarting off to her and calling her a stupid bitch (she's thirteen). So, he walks up to me, pats me on the shoulder and says "Sorry about that," and walks upstairs. I don't see him again. This is not the first asshole this woman has dated. This woman has children to think about but she is drawn to this hurtful, abusive type. I don't even want to know how this guy treats them when they are alone. It made my heart heavy and my head hurt. And it's in situations like this where I pray and ask God all the questions. Questions to which I don't receive answers quickly.

I am

Despised. Will you spit on me, too? As I walk by and catch your eyes that are glistening with hate. Your mouth, smiling with crooked teeth, out of pride, out of mockery, not out of kindness. Sizing me up (or down) as I walk by. Decide I am not good enough for a second glance and move on to the next person, pockets filled with cash, thousand dollar suit, black heart, dead soul. They are perfect. I am young, I am a woman. I am rebellious. I am a thinker. I am a threat. Purge me out...throw me up. Get rid of me as quickly as you can because I am destructive. I break all your molds, so you have to continually fix them. I am sad. I am quiet. I am a thinker. Yes, I am destructive. Yes, I am a threat. Wait and see.

Anger

It's a little dismaying that I feel like I have to hide my posts or be "less vocal" or "less opinionated". It makes me angry that I am expected to act like nothing is wrong, or if it is then it's something wrong with me. I'm angry that I'm made to feel like I am the one with a problem, that everybody else is innocent. Fuck it. Fuck it all.