So, I haven’t been able to write for my blog in awhile. School has been really taking a toll on me and wearing me down, so I’ve been putting my full focus on that. However, I wanted to take the time to talk about how I’ve been handling things over the past 5 and a half months since I lost my dad. Continue reading
All of these anecdotes are true, and are things I have experienced or that I have seen the people I love experience. Some depictions may be triggering, so if you are easily triggered by retellings of sexual assaults – please don’t read. This is a serious issue in our world, and I sincerely hope we start treating it as seriously as it is.
I was fortunate. Luck smiled upon me because I knew what to look for, I knew the signs, and I realized what was happening before it had a chance to happen. That one time, I was lucky. There were other times, though, where I was not. Where I didn’t realize I had the power to make my own choices, for my voice to be heard. And there are millions of people everywhere – men and women both – who are not given the respect enough to be heard.
When I was 14 years old, my step-father told me that he had a dream he was dating me and not my mom, and not to tell her. I, of course, immediately told her what he said. She told me to let her know if he did anything else weird, but she stayed. Then, he’d ask me to come and lay in bed with him. I refused to get under the covers, but he would wrap his arms around me and hold me. I thought of it like the way I would cuddle with my actual dad, but suddenly it felt wrong. I was changing, maturing, and he wasn’t my dad. Then he’d start asking me to get under the covers, and I’d make up something to do. I would go into the back field and run and run laps, just trying to make myself less anxious.
It progressed from there to him listening to hear when I would leave the shower and try to come into my room while I was changing to “say goodnight.” I started carrying my clothes into the bathroom with me, changing in the tiny steam-filled area where I knew the lock worked, and then running to my room and locking that door. I couldn’t handle being under the covers, all the lights out, and him coming in at midnight asking “what ya doing?” another time. That same month I found a box of single edge razors in the garage, and took some.
Eventually I told my grandparents and they swept in to save me. Not before the guilt had set in, though. My mother even made it a point to tell me “if you weren’t so promiscuos grown men wouldn’t see you that way. If you’d act more like a child should, you’d be seen as a child.” Little did she know, I’d had to be the adult for myself for so long because she wouldn’t. I didn’t know then that he was already a registered sex offender for having sex with a 16 year old girl when he was in his mid 20s. I didn’t know that she brought him into our home with that knowledge. She made the excuse then that “the girl was slutty, and he didn’t see her as a child.” As if that should have made a difference.
The promiscuos behavior she attributed to me was the fact that at 14, I was not a virgin. I had slept with a boy who was 18. When everyone found out, no one stopped to ask how I felt. No one made sure I was safe, no one took me to the doctor. I was screamed at, told that I should have been smarter. That I was a liar. That I had disappointed God, my family. That I was shameful, disgraceful. They were furious that I refused to file a police report for statutory rape. I didn’t see it as an assault then, I didn’t see it as rape. I didn’t understand that I was a child and he was an adult, because I didn’t feel like a child. I didn’t think that the fact that I wanted to say no but didn’t would matter. The fact that I cried and he ignored it. The fact that he kicked me out after and made me walk through a dangerous neighborhood alone at 3 am. I thought because I had kissed him, I had made the decision to sneak out, that I had given the full consent for him to do whatever he wanted to me.
One of my close friend’s parents still don’t know to this very day that she was sexually assaulted by both her uncle and her brother. They don’t know that she never felt comfortable with her body because of it. They don’t know that it took the fun out of any high school relationships for her. They have no idea that she was chronically molested and even raped once by the men who were supposed to take care of her, and keep her safe. If they did know, would they even care? It was so long ago, and you have to keep up appearances in a small town. Would they believe her? The thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. Remembering all the times I held her as she cried because her body felt foreign, disgusting even. All the times I saw her be forced to sit next to her uncle at a family dinner, the way she cringed away from him.
One of my family members was molested in my house, while I was in another room and I didn’t even realize it. A little girl that we were all friends with had come over for a sleepover. An adult caught her in the bathroom with my family member, years younger than her, with her pants down. She told her that they were playing a game called “touch the tee tee.” I was a child, there was nothing I could have done. But I stop and think sometimes, what if an adult hadn’t intervened?
Another of my best friends was raped by his father as a young boy. He had an incredibly hard time with it, especially in his teenage years. He felt guilty, thinking he had ruined the marriage for his mother. There was as since of guilt that he sent his own father to prison. The fear in his eyes when he told me he had to see him at a funeral haunts me even now. Or how tears streamed down his face as he explained to me how badly he had wanted to punch him for what he did to him when he saw him…
We live in a society where people still think rape and molestation are things to joke about. Victims are still judged and blamed by those who have sworn and have a duty to protect them. Men who were raped are shamed, invalidated, and even made fun of. Our world likes to focus on the good things that these people had done before, making something so life altering for the victim seen as something small. “It was one time, they made one mistake, should they have to lose their freedom for that?” Yes, they should. Why should a rapist get to return to a normal life when their victim can’t look in the mirror anymore without crying. Why should they get to be happy when the person they touched is afraid of leaving their home? It’s infuriating, and sickening. We need to stand up for victims, and make a real change. Rape is not a joke. Molestation is not a joke. Touching another person against their will is not a “lapse of judgement” or a “mistake.” It is a serious offense, and should be treated as such for EVERY perpetrator.
Incase you haven’t kept up to date with the rest of my blogposts – it’s been quite the interesting summer. I’ve been through a lot of heartache, I’ve experienced new things, and overall I’ve learned a lot about life, about God, and about myself. Now, it’s time to begin a new portion of my life – as well as a new school year (yay for sophomore year of college!).
Last Thursday, August 17, I moved into my first apartment with my boyfriend of a year and five months. It has been more exciting for me than I ever could have expected. Leaving the small town that I have lived in my whole life and signing a year lease felt like the biggest weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. Everything big that has ever happened in my life has happened in that area. So, that means all of the good things and – more importantly – all of the bad could be left there
It hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows, though. We’ve had countless maintenance issues; our washing machine doesn’t work, our air conditioner runs constantly without ever getting down to the set temperature, our hot water heater is terrible, we’ve had to fix the garbage disposal, there is a huge football sized wasp nest on our balcony, the balcony floor boards are uneven and rotting, our sink leaks, our outlet covers are all broken, one outlet doesn’t even work, and who knows what else we’ll find. A ton of money has been poured into furniture, bills, curtains, bed stuff, hangers, groceries…
On the bright side, though, I feel so independent and empowered. We made it to church and had an awesome service on our first Sunday here, which really lifted my spirits. My boyfriend and I are learning to work together, even through very tough situations. I’m learning how to be completely independent from my grandparents for the first time in my life, and I feel like I’m doing really really well with it. We get to pick how everything looks, we get to make all of the decisions ourselves. We FINALLY get to be adults without any parents shadowing over our shoulders, waiting to catch us.
Our dog has been an immense comfort, as well. He’s adjusted way better than I ever could have hoped. He goes to the door when he wants to go out, he’s on a good schedule for going out and waking up and going to bed. He met a new friend at the doggy park, and played his little heart out until he was exhausted and ready to crash on the couch (where he still is right now, 3 hours later).
I can’t lie, it’s been a lot. We’ve experienced more ups and downs in 5 days than I have felt in months, My excitement, though, has not been dampened. I am still positive and beyond ready to experience the rest of this journey with my boy and my dog. There is nowhere else I would rather be than this stuffy, too-hot apartment with a growing pile of dirty laundry.
This started off as long winded, and as I became more engulfed in the time I was spending there, I started to write less and less. These are just random personal thoughts, so I hope they’re somewhat interesting to someone other than myself. Enjoy! Continue reading
The cliche you hear most, especially in a small southern town, is that The Lord works in mysterious ways. That has proven to be true time and time again in my life, and for some reason it always comforts me in times of adversity and pain. Right now my life is full of adversity, and more than my fair share of pain, but I know that there will be purpose in it somewhere.
Today is Wednesday. One week ago today, my dad left the earth to be in heaven with his mom and dad. And the day after tomorrow, we bury him next to them. I never expected to find myself in this position, and I never knew it could hurt as bad as it does.
46 year old men are not supposed to suffer massive heart attacks and leave behind their three children. It just doesn’t seem right. At 23, 19, and especially 17; the last thing you expect to happen is losing a parent. Especially in such a sudden way. But, it happened. It cannot be undone.
Last Wednesday, my dad was just taking a shower. One minute he was cleaning himself after a long day at work – where he’d just received a promotion – and the next he was sprawled out in the living room floor waiting on an ambulance. Then in an ambulance waiting on a careflight. Then laying lifeless in a hospital bed…
Life doesn’t follow your expectations. God doesn’t follow your expectations. It’s never without meaning, though. I have to keep telling myself that there is a silver lining to be grasped, that it’s not all bleak. Without that glimmer of hope, I would not like to live in this world.
I’m broken inside. A lot of people are not seeing that part of me, but I am heart broken. I wish I would have called him more. I wish I would have told him I forgive him. I wish I would have made more trips out to see him. But there is no changing the past. I have to remember all of the card games, the times he sang to me and played the guitar when I was young, the moments of love and happiness.
I’m staying constantly busy. I’m planning his funeral, making phone calls, responding to messages. I’ve done almost every preparation by myself without even being asked. It’s the only way I can keep myself sane. I’m teaching myself to rely on the people who I love, something I’ve never been good at. I’m letting people help me and tell me everything will be okay.
I’m doing anything I can so that I can close my eyes and not picture him laying lifeless with a tube down his throat. Trying endlessly to remember him alive and happy. He was always full of life and playing around, joking and singing. That’s what I want to remember.
Death doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t seem real. I’ve dealt with it so many times in my short life, but it never gets easier to understand. It only ever gets more painful and causes more disdain and animosity, but it just keeps coming. Maybe someday I’ll learn to accept it better.
On Saturday, my boyfriend and I went to Tractor Supply Co. to see the puppies that the humane society had for their adoption event. We didn’t plan on adopting, just playing with puppies. What better to do on a Saturday, right?
For some reason, I was drawn to the adult dogs. There was a skinny yellow dog who was being held on a leash, not in a crate. He barked at me loudly until I pet him. The handler informed me that she’d waived his adoption fee, that he was free to whoever would take him.
I walked away, but I knew I couldn’t leave him. So, I came back and told her that we wanted to take Ranger home. My boyfriend signed the paperwork as I sat next to where he was now kenneled. All I could keep saying was “it’s okay, we’re gonna take you home.”
Later we found out that the reason he was free was because he was scheduled to be euthanized today. Monday. Just two days later. Every time I look into his beautiful brown eyes, it makes me both immensely happy I could save him, and immensely sad that he could have met that fate.
Because of Ranger, I know I will never buy a dog from a pet store or breeder. Through adopting a rescue dog, I have discovered a love and trust I didn’t know I could have with a dog. In these two and a half very short days, I have found a best friend, and a partner for life.
Ranger is inquisitive. He is loving. He smiles with his teeth. He loves all other animals, and craves affection and acceptance from them (he’ll cry if he’s ignored). He has never met a stranger, that is – unless they come near his house. He is so very intelligent. I’ve honestly never had a better dog, and I love him so much.
I write random poetry in my phone notes. Some are better than others. Enjoy!
When your arms no longer fight with your shirtsleeves,
And your eyes lose all the blue and give into the gray,
I will still be in love with you.
And not the you from before,
But the you that manifests itself in each current version;
With the truth in your soul,
And the fire in your heart.
Everyone who left before
Took a little of me with them
And it took finding you
To bring back the pieces
And fulfill me even more
I love him.
I love him so much that
Sometimes I want to hate him
For not expressing love
The same way I do
For not being one for
Grandeur and romantic gestures
For not always
Wanting to hold me
Like he said he would
When it all began
But I love him
And I know he loves me
So I cannot hate him
For expressing love
The way that only he can
For being one who
Cooks every meal
Being next to me
Like he promised
When it all began
He loves me
So I will love him
And never give up on him
For being more selfless
Than he seems
For being one who
Being there for me
Like he promised
When it all began
Today is not:
A day for what could have been.
A day for what is and is to be.
Every day is:
For you and I.
No day is:
For the past.
If ever you think
That your time
Here in this world
If you think –
Even for a second –
You made no impact;
No big change
Look back at me.
For you are my world,
And have changed
You’ll know when you find the one
When you finally find true love
And a mutual true love
You will just know
I can’t tell you for sure what it will feel like
I think it’s different for everyone
Some people claim a tingling
Or butterflies inside them
For me it was a total completion
And ultimate finality and fulfillment
Like when you fall asleep on a long ride
The feeling that tells you to wake up when you get home
7. Singing in the Shower
Sometimes I wonder
If one day we’ll wake up
And have been wrong
If there will be an end for us
And then I hear him singing
Idly in the shower
And I remember months ago
When he told me he couldn’t
And how he’s probably right
But how everything he does
Is exceptionally beautiful to me
In every way possible
I recall how vital he is to me
That I can’t imagine a life
If he’s not in every part of it
And how deeply empty it would be
He’s just so beautiful
The way he glides around the kitchen
Humming and happily cooking
How his brow furrows as he reads
Page after page of silence
There are so many things
About him and the way he exists
That entice and allure me
For no sensible reason at all
Here he sits just next to me,
King of all worlds & all times,
Silently bearing all burdens,
Weights of all worlds & all times.
It’s not time spent out
That I cherish the most,
But all the time spent in.
not material things
That draw me close,
But all the things within.
It’s not spontaneity
That brings me joy,
But routine and all night calls.
Not your ability to catch
That insights me,
But my willingness to fall.
Minds and Bodies, Hearts and Souls;
In the wilderness are wild.
Slightly shocked, but made aware
Now giddy as a child.
Bare just as is intended,
New expectations met,
Drenched by summer and eachother,
Moisture mixed with sweat.
Tucked away from any strangers,
So far from our small tent.
Just me, and you, and Mother Nature;
A summer’s eve well spent.
I’m in love with the way you
Can make memories
By doing nothing at all
13. Bonnie and Clyde
I can think of no pair to compare in the least
To the likes of our likely match.
First, I thought of us Belle and her Beast,
Yet you’re an obvious catch
Then, the infamous Bonnie and Clyde;
Their love ever stronger than prisons and guards.
Running, thoughtless, and desperate to hide
So far from our gentle hearts.
Two scholars and teachers entranced by romance
Make not a great love of legend or lore,
Yet our bond and effortless, natural occurrence
Entrances my thoughts all the more
I grew up in a small, semi-rural town in Texas. So, there are certain things that come as a kind of given. There definitely were kids that wore boots, jeans, and button ups EVERY day. Homecoming, and those Friday night lights were a big deal. People here are passionate, opinionated, and usually pretty vocal about it.
When you get close to graduating, everyone tells you to cherish it. That you’ll miss it when you’re gone. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t miss it. At all. I am being completely honest when I say, there is nothing from high school I wish I could get back. However, I did learn a lot and I loved a few things about it.
The first thing I should talk about is obvious if you know me – extra curricular activities. I participated in choir, debate, show choir, agriculture for a brief period, one act play, technical theater, theater productions for a semester, and one of the fall musicals. That may not sound like a lot, but I had virtually NO free time. Choir took two periods out of the day. Theater took a class period, and most of my afternoons. Debate took ALL of my weekends for two entire years. I was running myself ragged, and I was miserable.
My senior year, I decided to do what was best for me and quit theater. I stopped writing extra speeches for debate. I dropped out of AP calculus and took a teacher’s aid period. I spent a brief time taking stats for the Lady Panthers Varsity Soccer Team. I finally had enough time to stop and think about who I was outside of all of these things, and I loved it. I loved having time to hang out with friends, I loved eating dinner at home.
I was judged by my peers for the decision to take some time for myself. God forbid I get a break my senior year, right? People saw me as lazy, or said I was giving up. I let that get to me, until I saw the bags around their eyes. I no longer envied them. Those things were fun, but none of them are my passion like it is for some kids. And guess what? That’s okay.
Making “friends” in high school was easy, but making real connections was harder. There were, of course, a few. But the amount of friends I left with was way less than the amount I went in with. And that’s not a bad thing, either. I’m much happier not putting on airs. The people that have stayed with me are people who love me for who I truly am, and I don’t have to pretend.
High school makes it very difficult to authentically be yourself. Especially because you don’t even know who you really are yet. There are still so many things that are not set in stone, and so many things that are subject to change. It may be the place where it starts, but I don’t think high school is the place where you find yourself. At least, it wasn’t for me.
My experience with high school had a lot of pain. I mean, a lot. I hurt, and I put myself in positions to hurt even worse. There were, however, a lot of ups. I acheieved more than I ever thought I would. I became confident enough to continue my education. I started the process of learning myself. But I will never wish for those years back.
So long, MHS. One year down without you, hopefully a lot more to go.
So many little girls dream of their wedding day. I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t one of them, because I was. I pictured a solid white princess dress, silver and lilac as the colors, tables upon tables of people, an orchestra, some beautiful gothic church. Now, that couldn’t be any further from what I want for a variety of reasons.
First and foremost, I believe marriage has become more about extravagant weddings than the actual marriage. People don’t even think about their life together when they’re submerged in cake and wine tastings and filling scrapbooks with receipts and photos. I want the day I give my life to the person I love to be about the life we’re going to have, and about the love we share. I don’t want it to be about dresses or cakes or champagne, but about us.
Our life together isn’t going to be this picture perfect fairy tale. It’s going to be real life. We’re going to have struggles, and beautiful triumphs. We’re going to love eachother with everything we have, even when we feel we have nothing. We will have a life full of laughter and mishaps, but overflowing with love.
The second reason is the price. My significant other and I have spoken about it on multiple occasions, and we both feel that a big wedding is an unnecessary expenditure. There are so many more important things that the massive amount of money a wedding would cost can be spent on. For us, it will either go towards travel or towards our living situation. Those things are things we value much more than making a show of something we think is beautiful and personal.
The most important part of my reasoning for me, is the fact that I don’t have the best relationship with my family. My wedding day will be a special day for me and my boyfriend, and I don’t want those people to ruin it for me. I couldn’t bare the guilt I would feel to have a wedding without my family, but I would be miserable if they were there. It’s not so simple as just not inviting them, or having them there and ignoring them. I just don’t want to have one because it would make me uncomfortable.
I’m not settling. Going to the court house and signing the certificate with a witness is all I want. It’s the only way I can picture my wedding day going in a way I’d want to remember. I don’t feel like I’m giving anything up or missing anything. And if I do after, we’ll renew and have a ceremony. This is what I want, and I’m happy I have someone who agrees. I’m not a little girl anymore, and the fairy tales I believe in are of a more realistic nature.
Part of me will always hate you. I know that makes me awful, and it’s harsh, and it’s irrational. I’m sorry, but it’s just true. And it’s nothing personal. It’s nothing you’ve done, nothing about who you are. Just what you’ve done, and what you had.
I forget you exist, and then I see a photo of you two on the mantle of his mother’s fireplace and I remember you were the only girl he’s ever taken to prom. He’s never slow danced with me, and he has with you. We’ve never been the couple everyone watches on a dance floor. Or I’ll remember the other once in a life time things you’ve been present for. I’ll remember you walked across the stage on the same day as him, or that you were his first. And I hate you in those moments, because the jealousy is too much to handle.
The sound of your name will forever send a burst of pain through my chest. For what you had, and what I never got to experience. But then I remember all of the things I have that you never will. That isn’t to be boastful, it’s not to be selfish, and it’s not to hurt you. It’s just the truth.
You will never touch him the way I do again. You will never hear him say the words “I love you.” You will never hold him close to you. You will never again spend Christmas and Thanksgiving with his family. That makes me sad for you a bit, because it would kill me to let those things go.
It bothers me that you spent so much time with him. It shouldn’t, but it does. It was a very long time. Years. Which made it very intimidating coming in. It was terrifying, it hurt. But that time means nothing now. What matters is now.
It bothers me that his family still keeps in contact. It bothers me that you make an effort to see them. I hate that they interact with you on social media. There’s a huge part of me that hopes you all lose contact, or drift apart, and just stop talking. No more I love yous, I miss yous.. but that’s selfish. They love you, and they’re amazing, loving, thoughtful, caring people. You deserve people like them in your life. He, however, will never be a part of your life again.
As a person, we are very different. The relationship we have with him is very different. But I’m trying my hardest to be friends with you. I really do like you. None of my misgivings and animosities are really personal, just situational. But I honestly hope they pass.
I’m not asking permission to post this. I will not apologize for posting this. This is my honesty. My openness. I needed to do this to calm those angers inside of me. I know we’ve had our past problems, and I’m so happy we’ve made it past them.