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Friday, February 22, 2013

I'm walking into spiderwebs

I know I need to blog I KNOW.  I just don't have the energy to right now.  So I'll just post this picture that a friend of mine put on facebook and let you imagine my reaction.



Makes me want to throw up.  For more than one reason.  ARGH.  Also I found this poem, I know nothing about the background, but it's raw and real and hit me like a semi.

By Coco Sandes

1.
when it’s dark
and late
and i’m walking alone
my body is
whirring in time with my frantic heartbeat
and in my mind
the news broadcaster is telling me that
one in three women will be a
victim 
of sexual assault in their lifetime -
well, i went out with two other girls tonight
so which one does that make me?
2.
arms crossed
head down
walk fast
no streetlights?
cross the street
keys between fingers
cell phone in hand
thinking,
it’s so hard to move quickly
in such a goddamn tight dress.
3.
numbers, figures, stories -
they roll off your tongue in conversation
and you sometimes forget that
each
statistic-victim-survivor-horrorstory
was
brutally
brutally
brutally
created
a third of women
will have something fucked from inside them,
adam cracking eve’s chest to pluck an excess rib for himself
taken just because he could
just to store away and rub and polish
4.
this feeling is the kind of unclean
that no amount of showers can fix.
5.
and then,
the questions -
why were you walking alone?
why didn’t you catch a cab?
why were you dressed the way you were dressed?
why didn’t you scream?
why didn’t you run?
why didn’t you fight?
and as you feel your tongue recoil with the hot blast of shame, you think -
why don’t you askthemwhy they burnt a part of me to the ground
and spat 
on the ashes?
6.
you don’t have to tell us
that not all men are
“like that” -we have fathers, brothers, male lovers too
but statistically,
more of you are
“like that”
than you care to admit
and sometimes, we do not know if we are stepping into
dante’s inferno
or
grandmother’s cottage
until we are well and truly through the door
7.
if you can try and feel me up
in a crowded train at peak hour
i shudder to think what you would do
had you come across me walking home alone
8.
if you claim that you are “neutral”
when it comes to rape culture -
that men shouldn’t rape
but women shouldn’t dress like sluts
and yes, rape is wrong, but what if it’s a misunderstanding -
then you are as far away from neutral
as i want to be from you
neutrality is something
that you can feel
when someone asks,
“do you like glee?”
or
“would you like some more cake?”
it is not, however
an appropriate response
- a humane response -
to the questions of
“do you think people ever ask to be raped?”
and
“if they didn’t say no, that means it’s ok, right?”
your silence
your “neutrality”
is as hurtful as the hands
that so many women have been
invaded by
held down by
pushed up a fence, fingers in mouth, torn apart by
9.
no, i’m not interested in giving you my number.
i hope you understand.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Saturday, February 9, 2013

These foolish games

Well...let's see.
I used to think I had issues at work just simply with personality clashes...I know I have a huge personality, and most of the time I embrace and love it, and I know a lot of people feel the same.  I learned to let go of resentment or anger over people who didn't like me simply because of who I am, because I know not everyone is going to like everyone.  People are people.  Fallible, flawed people.
Today, however, I found out that it is not just my personality that people take issue with, but the way I have been presenting myself.  That's not the right way to put it....I'm a different person at work than I am at home. I have been declared overbearing, domineering, bossy, annoying, self-righteous, bitch, martyr.
Let me take a step back.  There's a reason why I am two different people between work and personal life.  My personal life is in shambles.  I'm 26, living with my parents in a "broken home," and I hardly have much to be proud of when it comes to achievements and accomplishments.  I have my friends whom I love and who love me back, but I really don't like myself.  It's part of my illness....I don't just have little issues with myself, I go through periods where I LOATHE myself.  A lot of my self-harm has been related to emotional release, but most of it is because I hate myself and I feel that I deserve to be scarred, ugly, and in pain.  I have cut myself, I have even used scissors as you would to cut a piece of paper.  I have scratched my arms and hands raw to the point where I'll have scars for the rest of my life.  Sometimes these scars make me sad, but most of the time they remind me of how much I deserve it.  ((I am speaking in the first-person narrative of my sick mind, not my rational mind.))  Sometimes I'm embarrassed when people see or ask about my scars, but most of the time I wish I could just say "I'm a horrible person and this is nowhere near as much as I deserve."  My personal life is very close to being in shambles.
When I go to work, I pick up as many shifts as allowed so that I can be that person.  Work Julie is confident, bubbly and always smiling.  As my recovery falters, I throw myself into my job as much as possible, and it turns out I took that overboard.  Since our counter manager left, I have been delegated many of her duties, including delegating responsibilities to my fellow coworkers.  I don't let it show, but this makes me very uncomfortable, because in the end, who am I to tell anyone what to do?  I'm in no higher position than anyone else there.  I simply do what I am asked to do....and I do it with conviction.  I don't think anything should be done half-assed, and since I'm not in a position to tell this to others, I do this myself.  I've been given a LOT of responsibility over the last month or so, and I have taken it extremely seriously.  This makes me feel important, and when I am recognized for my work, I feel extremely proud, and it spurs on my conviction.  I'm a diva (duh), and I get upset when I am not recognized, so I'm most certainly not humble when it comes to the work I do.  I do a LOT, and though it should be enough just for me to know it (i.e. having character), it's not, and so I boast about it, and when I've done something really difficult, I act like a martyr about it.  It all comes down to my extreme insecurities about myself and my life and my lack of accomplishments, in my head I HAVE to be recognized for the hard work I do, NO MATTER WHAT.  That's sick Julie, not rational Julie.  Sick Julie pushes me to be the best that I can be, and I'm pretty fucking fantastic at my job, I know this.  It's the fact that I need everyone in the world to also know this, and remind them all the time, that is my fault.  I have hurt and upset some coworkers, one of whom is extremely dear to me, and it kills me to know that I forgot my values and morals and general sense of decency because of the feeling of the "power" that the responsibilities have given me.  Now I've heard, from multiple sources, that many many of my coworkers feel this way.  I can deal with people not liking my personality...but knowing that I have actually done something, even if it was not consciously, to upset people...I hate myself for it.  I'll probably get shit from someone for making this about me, but it IS about me...it's about me and my flaws.  Not only did I take on this leadership role, but I wanted the actual title so badly that I would stop at nothing to prove myself to who, in my sick mind, were the people that mattered.  In actuality, I hurt the person who matters most to me.
I still want this position, and I will still do my best to prove myself.  I just wish someone had brought this to my attention sooner, before I turned into an unstoppable monster.
So, to those of you reading whom I've upset...I'm sorry.  I'm sorry that I put my duty and ambition ahead of your personal feelings.  In the end, it's not the job or the position or the salary that defines who you are, and I lost sight of that.  I am truly sorry for who I've become.  Please bring it to my attention (sooner, not later!) if it happens again.
Just don't ever, EVER confront me ON the sales floor IN FRONT OF my coworkers.  So incredibly rude and unprofessional.

Big wheel keep on turnin'

BEST REUNION EVER!  Went to Moe's St. Baldrick's Day fundraiser event.  The bar was TERRIFYING.  NOT my typical crowd!  But I got to sing with my Peter for the first time in over a year, so it's all good :) PB&J reunited at last.  And hey, I won a free karaoke party and a gift card for a tattoo place! My head is reeling with the images of certain people's reactions to that....mom...Mark....bahahaha

Other than the pounding headache from people singing REALLY REALLY TERRIBLE heavy metal (seriously not even Mark would enjoy this), I'm really happy.  It was great to see Moe and win things, and so amazing to see Peter.  Yay!



Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Cut my life into pieces

Watch out motherfuckers, I'm bout to throw a fucking TANTRUM.  I never said that I expected my parents to understand how I feel, I would NEVER say that.  I DO, however, think it is reasonable that at THIS point in my recovery/treatment process that I expect them to UNDERSTAND THAT THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND.  Instead of snapping on me because you think I'm being lazy or difficult or whiny, take one goddamn second to remember all of the SHIT going on in my head, and how ONE of those things may make me act the way I am!  Yeah, I'm going to use my illness(es) as an excuse for my behavior.  Know why?  BECAUSE IT'S ALL I CAN POSSIBLY GET THROUGH TO YOU.
WHY WOULD I EVER WANT TO GO SHOPPING FOR "SHAPEWEAR" WITH ANYONE BUT MYSELF?  WHY WOULD I WANT TO TAKE SAID SHAPEWEAR TO THE BRIDAL SHOP TO TRY ON MY DRESS IN FRONT OF YOU AND WHO KNOWS HOW MANY STRANGERS JUST TO FIND OUT IT DOESN'T FIT?  SHOES DON'T FIT ME AND CARSON'S WON'T BE ABLE TO FIX THAT BECAUSE EVEN MY GODDAMN FEET ARE FAT.  FUCK YOUR COUPONS I DON'T GIVE A SHIT.
I CAN'T put up with ATTITUDE.  Your response isn't about me, it's about YOU.  FUCK.

I want to take a fucking hammer to the ugly fucking china cabinet and just hear things CRASH.

Mmm.  Catharsis.

Loading up on valium.  FUCK why can't I just be DONE!?