I am feeling particularly shitty tonight. I'm not certain why this is
bothering me so much lately, but I cannot get it out of my frakking
head. I'll be honest, in the end it doesn't matter, but right now it's
gnawing at my brain like some festering parasite.
Two
months ago a "friend" of mine decided to completely delete me from her
life. I'm not really one to speak on this matter too much, because I do
this to people a lot. If I feel the friendship is dead, I will "weed"
people out of my Facebook friend list. It's honestly nothing personal,
and only has to do 100% with the amount I associate with or talk to that
person. Also, having key interests is a must and a plus in staying on
my list. It wasn't so much the fact that she deleted me as a "Facebook
friend", but she blocked me too.
A little back story
for you... In the summer of 2013, this person told me she had gone to a
writer's conference and met up with some really neat people. She was
going to be attending a writing workshop every Thursday and told me she
wanted me to come. It wasn't until October or so that I received any
details on this workshop. Unfortunately, I had just started a new job as
a secretary for the state and Ian, my fiance, had also just started a
new job with completely conflicting hours. Since we were a poor young
couple struggling in the economy of the time, we shared a vehicle. There
was literally no way I could make it to the workshops and get back in
time for Ian to go to work. I was really bummed and my friend seemed
bummed too. It wasn't a huge deal to me, though. I could always go to
these things with her in the future! Moving along...
She
and a few of the people she met at this workshop decided to create a
Writing Group together. She was very kind and asked me to join. As a
writer, this was HUGE! I was so excited to meet like people and be able
to discuss ideas. I actually really liked the people I met in the group,
but I guess they didn't feel mutually. The group would meet weekly
after work about two hours away from where I worked. The timing was
incredibly horrible, because the weather was absolutely atrocious that
winter. I wasn't able to make most of the meetings, but I was certain to
keep up with the group on the Facebook page we had created. I also
tried numerous times to do video chat with the other members, but they
never seemed interested. My friend and one other member were the only
exceptions. There are two instances are recall calling and asking if the
group was still meeting when I got off work and my friend said she had
just packed up to leave but the others were still going strong. When I
called them to try and meet up, they told me not to bother, as they were
packing up as well. I have to say, considering my personal
circumstance, I did my best to make it to the meetings I could have.
In
early May of 2014, the other group member who I had developed an
"actual" friendship with informed me the group was seriously pissed off
at me and they were going to kick me out if I didn't show up to the next
meeting. The next meeting consisted of buying expensive tickets to a
Comicon, which I could not afford, and spending the weekend with them.
This was the same weekend of my cousin's wedding and there was no way I
could go to Comicon AND be a bridesmaid to my cousin. I plead with this
member to let the other group mates know I didn't want to be removed,
but there was no way I could make it to Comicon. A few days later he
text me and told me he had spoken out of turn and was on thin ice for
saying anything to me. Apparently, it was too late and I should stay
away.
I had actually planned to attend the meeting
after the convencion and I was super excited. I packed my laptop in my
bag early that morning and prepared to go to the coffeeshop the group
frequented. That was when I received the text. I was so confused and
hurt. This member was the only one who had said anything to me. I had
never received any prior warning and worst of all... my friend never
talked to me about any of it. I actually cried myself to sleep two
nights in a row because of this turmoil. I didn't know why it hurt so
much and, really, I still don't. I guess there was a definite feeling of
rejection, but there was also the fear that I was losing my only
"writer" friend who I cared much about.
After being
officially removed from the group, I sent this friend a message on
Facebook asking her if we could talk. She had ignored my phone calls and
texts up to this point, so I guess I should have seen this whole ordeal
coming, but I liked to believe the little lies she told me. In short,
she told me "It's not you, it's us. We're moving in different
directions. You have other things going on in your life and we're very
serious about our writing..." She ended our conversation by telling me
that she wanted to remain friends because our friendship had come first
and really hoped none of this hurt my feelings. I lied and told her I
was fine and that I was mostly worried about our friendship, but glad to
hear her say we would keep things the way they were before. Of course I
wasn't fine, but I wasn't going to let this damned situation destroy
six years of friendship!
In June, her husband, my
fiance, and the two of us went to an art fare. It became painfully
obvious she was hanging out with me out of obligation and not because
she was enjoying herself. She would wander away with her husband while
we were all admiring something and she rushed the four of us through the
entire event. We went back to the house and talked about maybe catching
a movie or getting dinner, but there was always an excuse. They left
fairly early.
She and I talked a bit on Facebook, but
nothing like we did before. In October I asked if she wanted to get some
coffee together, like old times. I thought she and I could have some
alone time and I could talk to her about my feelings. We were making
plans and things seemed to be going really well again. She was
incredibly busy, which I understood. She was preparing for another month
of NANO. I knew last year had really taken a toll on her, but she was
excited for it. I decided to leave the ball in her court, telling her to
pick a date and I'd be there.
On November 1, 2014, she
posted something on Facebook regarding her writing successes. I shared
the post to my wall in promotion of her accomplishments and when I went
to tag her to it, I couldn't. I was confused at first and decided to
check her Facebook. An error appeared when I checked stating, "This page
no longer exists!" An ill feeling crumpled me. I asked Ian if he could
check his account for me and... the truth revealed itself. My friend had
blocked me. Not a word. No reason. Just poof! Six years of friendship
out the window.
I'm a fairly private person. I have a
very hard time getting close to people. My Facebook account consists of
mostly family, church-family, and my closest friends. I have removed
anyone I did not feel a connection with. The people on my list are
people I genuinely care about and love. They're all family in my heart.
To be discarded like that was one of the most painful things I have ever
felt. Maybe it was retribution for someone who felt that was when I
deleted them? Maybe I thought more of this person than I should have? I
will never know. I sent her an email and a text asking for, at least,
some closure. I never received a response, nor do I ever intend to. I
cried that day. I felt so stupid for crying, but I did. I don't have
many friends left after years of socially isolating myself. This
exclusion hurt so deeply. It felt like being broken up with, I guess.
That's really the best way to describe it. What did I do wrong?
I
read a few articles on how to cope, but they didn't really help. The
answers usually chalked it up to the person being "a slutty bitch who
deserves to burn!" or other similar nonsense. In the end, the best way I
have found to cope with this loss was to play the role of the "victim"
and place blame on her. "Obviously she wasn't a good friend, since she
didn't even have the common decency to give me a reason or talk to me
about her problems with me. She clearly thought very little of me as a
human being with real feelings and emotions. In the end, I didn't matter
to her, so she shouldn't matter to me."
I can say
these things, but are they true? I always thought she was a really nice
person and we were like-minded people. I wanted to be couple friends
with her and her husband. I wanted to have double dates, game nights,
and the works! It's hard to think I was wrong for six years. I can't
really accept it yet.
It taught me you can never know
which friends are there for a "reason, a season, or a life time"...
because the ones you thought were always going to be there... may or may
not decide to disappear one day.
I did really well
over this busy holiday season. There were enough distractions in my
life, I didn't think about the situation as much as I feared I would.
When I came around to sending out my Christmas cards, I struggled with
whether or not I should send her and her family one (like I have for
four years now). I decided not to send it. Now that the holidays have
subsided, I guess these untended emotions are rearing up again.
I
am getting married in May 2015. I am struggling again with the idea of
sending her and her husband an invitation. There is a huge part of me
that wants to keep that door of opportunity open... but for what reason?
EDIT: This was actually posted January 6, 2015. For some reason, it was deleted? Not sure how that happened, but I was able to pull this file from the cache. Lucky me! I was about to be PIIIIISSED!
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Fairytales and Anguish
I think you chose poorly. I think you should have picked me. I was always there, waiting... and you abandoned what we could have had. You burned the memories, shunned the present, and destroyed the future. All of it, murdered by your sharp tongue and quick fingers. The pain and sorrow was all inflicted by you.
Maybe if I had worn my pretty blue dresses or sang openly for you. Would you have stayed then? If I had written a million stories for you, would you be at my side? Every tale could detail the love we shared, instead of the friendship we lost. Every pitch perfect note, an aria written in your name. Perhaps, had I only invited you over that night.... or if I had stolen those kisses?
Maybe, just maybe, if I had let you hold me, if I had agreed to steal away in the night? Would everything be alright then? Would I still get to see you? Look into your eyes, hear your nervous chuckle, feel your breath... Would we still be friends, then?
I never asked you to be mine. I never told you to change who you were. I never begged you to stay... but, what if I had? Would you? Would you have stayed for me?
Things changed so very quickly, I didn't even have the chance to blink. We grew up and you forsook all that I was. You lied, cheated, and betrayed me. I forgave you for that, by the way. I never held it against you, but I couldn't go there. It wasn't because I hated you. It wasn't because I stopped caring. It was because I loved you and I cared too much. I couldn't see you give your soul to another. I didn't want to play a fool anymore. I was scared to bear witness to a beautiful end. I wanted nothing more but for you to be happy, so I stayed away. I'm sorry if I hurt you.
You were my everything. My reason for being. I found solace. I thought, with years and another, I would forget, but I haven't. I wonder now if I ever will. Will I be eternally plagued with these memories? Are you? Do you look back or is that the curse of someone like me? Truthfully, I wish I could taste the fruit to forget. I wish nothing more, now, than to be rid of the emptiness I feel when I remember you; hear your name, see your face...
A fairytale ending is not what the universe had in store for us.
Maybe if I had worn my pretty blue dresses or sang openly for you. Would you have stayed then? If I had written a million stories for you, would you be at my side? Every tale could detail the love we shared, instead of the friendship we lost. Every pitch perfect note, an aria written in your name. Perhaps, had I only invited you over that night.... or if I had stolen those kisses?
Maybe, just maybe, if I had let you hold me, if I had agreed to steal away in the night? Would everything be alright then? Would I still get to see you? Look into your eyes, hear your nervous chuckle, feel your breath... Would we still be friends, then?
I never asked you to be mine. I never told you to change who you were. I never begged you to stay... but, what if I had? Would you? Would you have stayed for me?
Things changed so very quickly, I didn't even have the chance to blink. We grew up and you forsook all that I was. You lied, cheated, and betrayed me. I forgave you for that, by the way. I never held it against you, but I couldn't go there. It wasn't because I hated you. It wasn't because I stopped caring. It was because I loved you and I cared too much. I couldn't see you give your soul to another. I didn't want to play a fool anymore. I was scared to bear witness to a beautiful end. I wanted nothing more but for you to be happy, so I stayed away. I'm sorry if I hurt you.
You were my everything. My reason for being. I found solace. I thought, with years and another, I would forget, but I haven't. I wonder now if I ever will. Will I be eternally plagued with these memories? Are you? Do you look back or is that the curse of someone like me? Truthfully, I wish I could taste the fruit to forget. I wish nothing more, now, than to be rid of the emptiness I feel when I remember you; hear your name, see your face...
A fairytale ending is not what the universe had in store for us.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Cupid's Joke
I guess I'm a little bit bitter about Valentine's Day... Even though I'm in a relationship and have been for the passed few V. Days, it never seems to strike a good chord in my heart. Cupid never hits me with an arrow of love or something...
I have few memorable February 14ths and most of them are depressing. My first memory was when my mother gave my sister and me a beta fish. This is probably my favorite Valentine's Day ever and I will hopefully never forget how wonderful it was. My second is the year a friend of mine got many carnations for V day and I got none... She plucked a petal from her carnation and gave it to me... the sentiment was sweet, but it was a depressing reminder I didn't have any secret admirers or friends who liked me enough to spend $3.00 on me. That same year, I sent a pink carnation to the boy I liked and watched him toss it in the trashcan... Thank God I didn't put my name on it!
The last Valentine's Day I can remember vividly was the first V Day I spent with my horrid ex, Matt. He had me close my eyes the Christmas before, got down on one knee and procured a velvet box which contained cheap gold earrings with fake rubies in them... How sweet. >_> The following Valentine's Day I spent sitting on his bed watching him play WoW, eating chocolates I bought. He gave me two wine toppers, knowing very well I didn't drink alcohol and swore I never would.
So, needless to say, even though I'm in a relationship, I never put ANY stock into V Day and I never expect anything... because anytime I ever hoped my hopes were always crushed, anytime I ever expected, my expectations were dashed. I will never like Valentine's Day and my heart goes out to all of the adolescent girls and boys who are destroyed year after year by their various crushes. I know for most of you this time is just a painful phase and will pass... and I also know, from witnessing obsessive adults sob over their lack of a love life on this day, for the rest of you this day will only get harder and harder as you get older. I wish you all a Happy Valentine's Day and hope you know there is someone out there who loves you, even if you don't know who they are.
I have few memorable February 14ths and most of them are depressing. My first memory was when my mother gave my sister and me a beta fish. This is probably my favorite Valentine's Day ever and I will hopefully never forget how wonderful it was. My second is the year a friend of mine got many carnations for V day and I got none... She plucked a petal from her carnation and gave it to me... the sentiment was sweet, but it was a depressing reminder I didn't have any secret admirers or friends who liked me enough to spend $3.00 on me. That same year, I sent a pink carnation to the boy I liked and watched him toss it in the trashcan... Thank God I didn't put my name on it!
The last Valentine's Day I can remember vividly was the first V Day I spent with my horrid ex, Matt. He had me close my eyes the Christmas before, got down on one knee and procured a velvet box which contained cheap gold earrings with fake rubies in them... How sweet. >_> The following Valentine's Day I spent sitting on his bed watching him play WoW, eating chocolates I bought. He gave me two wine toppers, knowing very well I didn't drink alcohol and swore I never would.
So, needless to say, even though I'm in a relationship, I never put ANY stock into V Day and I never expect anything... because anytime I ever hoped my hopes were always crushed, anytime I ever expected, my expectations were dashed. I will never like Valentine's Day and my heart goes out to all of the adolescent girls and boys who are destroyed year after year by their various crushes. I know for most of you this time is just a painful phase and will pass... and I also know, from witnessing obsessive adults sob over their lack of a love life on this day, for the rest of you this day will only get harder and harder as you get older. I wish you all a Happy Valentine's Day and hope you know there is someone out there who loves you, even if you don't know who they are.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Himo Nailo
Why do you always do this to me? Just when I begin to think I can go on without you, you come creeping back into my life like a poison, reminding me how much I miss you and wish things had turned differently. Why can't you just leave me alone? Why do you always do this?!
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Sanctuary
Sanctuary
It wasn't just a home,
it was rehabilitation
from those horrid years
filled with torment and humiliation.
It wasn't just a roof,
it was a shelter
pulling us from the mud
and helping us feel better.
I know this poem is full of weak rhymes,
completely not in synced
and failing in time.
I just wanted you to know...
what you did in your part,
you not only raped our sanctuary
but you broke our heart.
It wasn't just a home,
it was rehabilitation
from those horrid years
filled with torment and humiliation.
It wasn't just a roof,
it was a shelter
pulling us from the mud
and helping us feel better.
I know this poem is full of weak rhymes,
completely not in synced
and failing in time.
I just wanted you to know...
what you did in your part,
you not only raped our sanctuary
but you broke our heart.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Pray for sight
What if instead of asking God to cure all or to bring back what is lost... you, instead, ask him to give you strength to accept what he has done and give you sight so you can understand what he has in store for you?
Friday, January 21, 2011
Death
La mort, la muerte, kamatayan, tod, shi...
In whatever tongue you speak, it elicits the same emotions. The largest of these being curiosity. Death is the most famous topic in human culture, to that of love, and has been since our very beginnings and people first roamed this Earth. Regardless of who you are, death has crossed your mind at one point in time.
Let me ask you then, what happens after you die? Religious zealots, of course, will adamantly claim, based on lifestyles, despite true biblical evidence or word, a glorious kingdom awaits those deserving. Those who do not, can count on an eternity in hell and lakes of fire. Atheists and non-believers with no faith in the omnipotent, super-being, God, say nothing happens. Our minds reside in a dreamless, sleep-like state, in which our bodies return to the earth.
Looking at this from an objective, non-biased, anatomical point of view; your mind and all thought process is composed of your brain firing neurons and transmitting electricity. A "brain-dead" person ceases to have these firings and a "dead-dead" person does too. With this inactivity, I ask with open ears, an eager mind, and honest hope... how does one continue to think? Know? Believe?
This is where soul comes into play. What is the soul? An imaginary floaty that no one can hear, see, smell, taste, or feel? An entity in which resides in only the "heart" and mind/brain of humans? Our inner being, which no human sense can comprehend? (Keeping in mind, if the soul comes from the imaginations of humans and imagination comes from the brain, then once the brain stops, so does the imagination. The soul.)
Believe me when I say I want there to be a god. I want an after-life, an eternity of happiness for the good I have done. Hell, I would gladly accept a timeless end of damnation, torture, and punishment, if only I could know something beyond death existed. Faith, the size of a grain of mustard seed, the tiniest spec on the tip of a grown man's finger, can move mountains... Faith, everyone has... and I will be ridiculed, chastised, and berated for not.
I ask, though... of my religious friends, how can you be so certain? You tell me grand things await, but science and law betrays your faith. You tell me I need faith... but I lost faith. How do I regain what time and time again has proven a farce? How is heaven such a certainty?
And of my atheist friends, you may laugh and scoff at my pitiful pleading or lame logic, but to you I ask how? How do you continue, knowing there is a nothingness for you? What is the point in life at all? You can't relish in what you do or see your rewards... there is no one waiting and nothing there... and you will surely be forgotten. How do you pull yourselves out of bed with these thoughts?
I am a torn and tortured soul. I seek answers I cannot receive, and I know this... but perhaps words of comfort will suffice.
Thank you,
Jess
Monday, October 25, 2010
A Very Dark Spring and Religious Hypocrites II
Religion is a funny thing. Without it, you discover you're alone and any minute purpose in life is completely invalidated because there is no ending reward. With it, you have to follow strict and outdated rules, which within the norms of society, don't fit. All religious people "cherry pick from the bible", as you put it. It's true.
I begin this portion by stating what I have already said once. To an extent, I believe I would be happier with God in my life. If I had fallen into a devout radical religion, like my father's, I probably would still be a blind worshiping fool; however, I have lost my faith in a higher being. If there is a man sitting in the clouds above, he has long since turned his back on me and therefore, I don't give him any credit in existence.
I would rant and rave again about how I was a good devout christian girl. Steered clear of drugs, sex, and violence... but inevitably, it did not matter. But this isn't about me. It is, but not really. It's about you. Both of you.
I will state first names, to avoid any confusion, finger pointing, or hurt feelings for those who are not being targeted. Alex, and Anthony, are my sole quarries and these are those who I will speak about, while, yes, alluding to others as well. My family is very conservative, on both sides, and both sides are born into Christian households. Of course, they have differing Christian views (which probably didn't help my departure.) and sometimes this caused conflicts. Regardless, I was raised Christian, and BOY! Was I ever Christian. I carried a bible to school. I cried and wept for those who I knew died without being saved, (Timothy McVeigh) I prayed every night, before every meal, in public, in private, with friends, for friends... for STRANGERS! I swore, with my God, I could do anything.
Now, with every Christian view, comes more fights than are necessary. (YOU'RE CHRISTIANS!!!) It amazes me, to this day, how many Christians are quick to point judgmental fingers, "Oh, you're going to hell!", ridicule each other, or will turn their backs on their fellow men. Even after leaving my faith behind, I am still as caring as ever. I see a person crying, coddling their legs, I will reach out to them, hug them, tell them they're loved by someone and if they need an ear, shoulder, or anything, I am willing to help them to the best of my abilities. Both of you turned your backs on me in the most horrific way.
We'll just cut right into business now and begin with Pre-Marital Sex. A big sin, resembling adultry. (Regardless of your intentions.) To Christians, this sin is the most jaw dropping obvious, slap in the face, no no. I never wanted to lose my virginity in the way it was lost. I had vowed to myself, my body is sacred, and I won't allow anyone to enter unless I have devoted myself to them... I wanted to wait until marriage. I was naive, even though I was smart enough to know better, my heart wanted to believe those sweet deceitful words. I will not lie anymore... I regret things often. I live with my regret, using it to benefit me: knowledge, power, wisdom... Regrets are experiences learned. But sometimes these regrets do rise up and haunt me. This is one of those. I regretted it immediately, but there was no turning back. What had been done was done.
Now, from a scientific point of view, virginity is nothing more than religious jargon utilized in scaring prepubescent Christian girls into avoiding men and sheathing them in ignorance. The hymen is easily broken and often times is broken before the penis ever enters the vagina. I just thought everyone should know that. Your virginity can be stolen from you by WALKING, EXERCISING! Doing daily activities...
But still, there is a dawning moment once you have sex for the first time. I think for most people NOT in my shoes, it is mediocre to amazing... but not horrific. For many, it's an achievement, a goal reached and realized, for some, it's a meh experience where neither party reaches climax, but nothing went horribly wrong. For others, it's romantic, it's pure love, it's ecstasy. Not something to look back on and bow your head in shame and bitter anger. It was un-pleasurable. It hurt. He was apathetic to my hesitations, concerns, and reserves. He didn't listen to what I wanted and needed... I felt unloved, uncared for, and in the end hated myself for giving my devotion to this piece of... scum. (I would much rather utilize another four letter S word... but my father believes I swear too much in these blogs.)
We'll start there, Alex: you seemed to think I glorified my premarital sex. You often times brought it up and shoved it in my face. Using it against me in every argument, in every stance... Telling me I was doomed to an eternity of hell, no matter how I repented. No matter how I tried to make it up... I had already regretted the decision to open my legs to this man, and now I was going to hell forever because he had convinced me we would marry so it wouldn't matter. But of course, we would never marry. I was left with broken promises and a stolen virginity... a hideous reminder of the biggest mistake I ever made. And no matter how many times I cried, no matter how much I prayed for forgiveness, you wouldn't let it go. You used it against me every chance you got.
In the end, you broke up with me because I wasn't a virgin and you were.
The only thing my father had to say about this... was you were right. I was so scorned. I couldn't shower enough, I couldn't cry enough, purge enough... nothing would empty my body of the disgusting reminder.
Now, let's move to Anthony. You, my friend, called me a prude. I *was* a prude. I was naive, I was scared of sex. Scared of being hurt, and letting someone into my heart. You made me feel like I should be ashamed for being sexually inactive. I worked so hard to gain your attention, and I was met with that.
I thought I could impress you. If I could be sexy, like the loose girls you tended to chase, perhaps you would look my way and find me attractive or worthy. We never spoke directly about sex aside from these moments when you called me a prude; however, you were a hypocrite from the start. You were a virgin too! I was so stupid to think you weren't. I lost my virginity before you. I just wonder if yours was half as bad.
Somewhere along the line, you became religious too. You repented and made up for your pre marital sins... but for some reason I was still incapable of doing this, in your eyes. No matter how many times I swore off sex until marriage and prayed and asked for grace, I was still doomed to hell. The joke became, "------ can have butt-sex and still be saved. But the rest of us are going to hell." You pious...
You fluctuated though. I could tell your religion was insincere, right away. It was alarming. When I was at my most religious, I never thought to be so judgmental. I never would have told someone they were going to hell, and I was most certainly never a hypocrite. If I knew I didn't want others to be doing it, and I knew I shouldn't be doing it, I wouldn't. I was never going to be caught dead doing something, just to turn around and say, "Hey! You can't do that!" It gets better though.
On both accounts. :)
With Alex, I thought he had a point. He was right. My dad thought so. God thought so... and deep in my heart I knew so. Anthony, though... was wrong. He continued with sex, and would go and ask for immediate forgiveness, promising to swear off sex until marriage... yet never stopped. I don't know how many times you broke a promise to God. I don't know about you, but seriously, I would be terrified to break a promise to the big white robed man upstairs. That just seems like a hugely bad idea. Even now, I can't imagine doing something so bold and dangerous. That's like asking for a freight train ticket on the next boarding straight to hell.
I kept one thing, though. I never had loose, scandalous sex with just anyone. No one night stands, no three-somes, no polygamous deviations... What I did in bed with the man I loved and devoted myself to, was my choice and his... His body belonged to me and mine to him... That's how it works with sex. You don't sex every moving thing, every woman you have interest in, etc...
Men are men, though. Aren't they? When you first told me you weren't a virgin anymore, I was shocked. I really had no idea how to reply. Then, I will admit, I laughed. You poor sorry soul, I said. You've doomed yourself to hell- your own words, remember? Oh Alex... I asked you then, "So, are you not religious anymore?" and your reply... to be frank, it pissed me off. I lost every ounce of respect I had ever held for you. "Of course I am." ARE YOU SERIOUS!? How can you be?! And you had the nerve to blow off sex like it was no big deal.
You. Are. A. Hypocrite. Thank you for the months of torturing reminders I wasn't good enough for you or God. Thank you for making me feel smaller than even Ryan had. At least you never said I was going to hell. Thank you for being a Christian.
Oh, and for the record, you're probably going to hell. :) If hell exists, that is.
Now, let's return to Anthony. Ahh Anthony. I gave myself to you. I thought you would carry me from my dark place. Rescue me on a bright steed... You told me you loved me and wanted to marry me. You made me believe you, just the same as Ryan. And the day after, the very next day, after I had loved you for FOUR years, waited for you to stop dating whores and come sweep me off my feet, the very next day after you finally give me everything I ever wanted from you, you tell me you were leading me on and immediately I found you in a relationship with someone my sister's age who had a newborn baby. And then it started again. I was going to hell for having premarital sex... You were living with a young teenager, who had a child, and slept in your bed with you... and you tell me I'm going to hell, AGAIN?!
You... You are probably the biggest most infuriating hypocrite I know.
The Golden Rule is to treat others how you would like to be treated and I believe Jesus said himself, "Those without sin, may cast the first stone..."
"Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measure to you again...
Thou hypocrite, cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye."
I begin this portion by stating what I have already said once. To an extent, I believe I would be happier with God in my life. If I had fallen into a devout radical religion, like my father's, I probably would still be a blind worshiping fool; however, I have lost my faith in a higher being. If there is a man sitting in the clouds above, he has long since turned his back on me and therefore, I don't give him any credit in existence.
I would rant and rave again about how I was a good devout christian girl. Steered clear of drugs, sex, and violence... but inevitably, it did not matter. But this isn't about me. It is, but not really. It's about you. Both of you.
I will state first names, to avoid any confusion, finger pointing, or hurt feelings for those who are not being targeted. Alex, and Anthony, are my sole quarries and these are those who I will speak about, while, yes, alluding to others as well. My family is very conservative, on both sides, and both sides are born into Christian households. Of course, they have differing Christian views (which probably didn't help my departure.) and sometimes this caused conflicts. Regardless, I was raised Christian, and BOY! Was I ever Christian. I carried a bible to school. I cried and wept for those who I knew died without being saved, (Timothy McVeigh) I prayed every night, before every meal, in public, in private, with friends, for friends... for STRANGERS! I swore, with my God, I could do anything.
Now, with every Christian view, comes more fights than are necessary. (YOU'RE CHRISTIANS!!!) It amazes me, to this day, how many Christians are quick to point judgmental fingers, "Oh, you're going to hell!", ridicule each other, or will turn their backs on their fellow men. Even after leaving my faith behind, I am still as caring as ever. I see a person crying, coddling their legs, I will reach out to them, hug them, tell them they're loved by someone and if they need an ear, shoulder, or anything, I am willing to help them to the best of my abilities. Both of you turned your backs on me in the most horrific way.
We'll just cut right into business now and begin with Pre-Marital Sex. A big sin, resembling adultry. (Regardless of your intentions.) To Christians, this sin is the most jaw dropping obvious, slap in the face, no no. I never wanted to lose my virginity in the way it was lost. I had vowed to myself, my body is sacred, and I won't allow anyone to enter unless I have devoted myself to them... I wanted to wait until marriage. I was naive, even though I was smart enough to know better, my heart wanted to believe those sweet deceitful words. I will not lie anymore... I regret things often. I live with my regret, using it to benefit me: knowledge, power, wisdom... Regrets are experiences learned. But sometimes these regrets do rise up and haunt me. This is one of those. I regretted it immediately, but there was no turning back. What had been done was done.
Now, from a scientific point of view, virginity is nothing more than religious jargon utilized in scaring prepubescent Christian girls into avoiding men and sheathing them in ignorance. The hymen is easily broken and often times is broken before the penis ever enters the vagina. I just thought everyone should know that. Your virginity can be stolen from you by WALKING, EXERCISING! Doing daily activities...
But still, there is a dawning moment once you have sex for the first time. I think for most people NOT in my shoes, it is mediocre to amazing... but not horrific. For many, it's an achievement, a goal reached and realized, for some, it's a meh experience where neither party reaches climax, but nothing went horribly wrong. For others, it's romantic, it's pure love, it's ecstasy. Not something to look back on and bow your head in shame and bitter anger. It was un-pleasurable. It hurt. He was apathetic to my hesitations, concerns, and reserves. He didn't listen to what I wanted and needed... I felt unloved, uncared for, and in the end hated myself for giving my devotion to this piece of... scum. (I would much rather utilize another four letter S word... but my father believes I swear too much in these blogs.)
We'll start there, Alex: you seemed to think I glorified my premarital sex. You often times brought it up and shoved it in my face. Using it against me in every argument, in every stance... Telling me I was doomed to an eternity of hell, no matter how I repented. No matter how I tried to make it up... I had already regretted the decision to open my legs to this man, and now I was going to hell forever because he had convinced me we would marry so it wouldn't matter. But of course, we would never marry. I was left with broken promises and a stolen virginity... a hideous reminder of the biggest mistake I ever made. And no matter how many times I cried, no matter how much I prayed for forgiveness, you wouldn't let it go. You used it against me every chance you got.
In the end, you broke up with me because I wasn't a virgin and you were.
The only thing my father had to say about this... was you were right. I was so scorned. I couldn't shower enough, I couldn't cry enough, purge enough... nothing would empty my body of the disgusting reminder.
Now, let's move to Anthony. You, my friend, called me a prude. I *was* a prude. I was naive, I was scared of sex. Scared of being hurt, and letting someone into my heart. You made me feel like I should be ashamed for being sexually inactive. I worked so hard to gain your attention, and I was met with that.
I thought I could impress you. If I could be sexy, like the loose girls you tended to chase, perhaps you would look my way and find me attractive or worthy. We never spoke directly about sex aside from these moments when you called me a prude; however, you were a hypocrite from the start. You were a virgin too! I was so stupid to think you weren't. I lost my virginity before you. I just wonder if yours was half as bad.
Somewhere along the line, you became religious too. You repented and made up for your pre marital sins... but for some reason I was still incapable of doing this, in your eyes. No matter how many times I swore off sex until marriage and prayed and asked for grace, I was still doomed to hell. The joke became, "------ can have butt-sex and still be saved. But the rest of us are going to hell." You pious...
You fluctuated though. I could tell your religion was insincere, right away. It was alarming. When I was at my most religious, I never thought to be so judgmental. I never would have told someone they were going to hell, and I was most certainly never a hypocrite. If I knew I didn't want others to be doing it, and I knew I shouldn't be doing it, I wouldn't. I was never going to be caught dead doing something, just to turn around and say, "Hey! You can't do that!" It gets better though.
On both accounts. :)
With Alex, I thought he had a point. He was right. My dad thought so. God thought so... and deep in my heart I knew so. Anthony, though... was wrong. He continued with sex, and would go and ask for immediate forgiveness, promising to swear off sex until marriage... yet never stopped. I don't know how many times you broke a promise to God. I don't know about you, but seriously, I would be terrified to break a promise to the big white robed man upstairs. That just seems like a hugely bad idea. Even now, I can't imagine doing something so bold and dangerous. That's like asking for a freight train ticket on the next boarding straight to hell.
I kept one thing, though. I never had loose, scandalous sex with just anyone. No one night stands, no three-somes, no polygamous deviations... What I did in bed with the man I loved and devoted myself to, was my choice and his... His body belonged to me and mine to him... That's how it works with sex. You don't sex every moving thing, every woman you have interest in, etc...
Men are men, though. Aren't they? When you first told me you weren't a virgin anymore, I was shocked. I really had no idea how to reply. Then, I will admit, I laughed. You poor sorry soul, I said. You've doomed yourself to hell- your own words, remember? Oh Alex... I asked you then, "So, are you not religious anymore?" and your reply... to be frank, it pissed me off. I lost every ounce of respect I had ever held for you. "Of course I am." ARE YOU SERIOUS!? How can you be?! And you had the nerve to blow off sex like it was no big deal.
You. Are. A. Hypocrite. Thank you for the months of torturing reminders I wasn't good enough for you or God. Thank you for making me feel smaller than even Ryan had. At least you never said I was going to hell. Thank you for being a Christian.
Oh, and for the record, you're probably going to hell. :) If hell exists, that is.
Now, let's return to Anthony. Ahh Anthony. I gave myself to you. I thought you would carry me from my dark place. Rescue me on a bright steed... You told me you loved me and wanted to marry me. You made me believe you, just the same as Ryan. And the day after, the very next day, after I had loved you for FOUR years, waited for you to stop dating whores and come sweep me off my feet, the very next day after you finally give me everything I ever wanted from you, you tell me you were leading me on and immediately I found you in a relationship with someone my sister's age who had a newborn baby. And then it started again. I was going to hell for having premarital sex... You were living with a young teenager, who had a child, and slept in your bed with you... and you tell me I'm going to hell, AGAIN?!
You... You are probably the biggest most infuriating hypocrite I know.
The Golden Rule is to treat others how you would like to be treated and I believe Jesus said himself, "Those without sin, may cast the first stone..."
"Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measure to you again...
Thou hypocrite, cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye."
Monday, August 16, 2010
A Very Dark Spring and Religious Hypocrites
Pulling into the small parking lot, floods of memories came rushing back to me all at once. I had been here many times before, and each time had varying emotions linked to the nostalgia that came with it. I grimaced and fumbled through my bag for the notebook and pen he had given me. Pulling these out, I exited the car and found my usual place in the swing facing the street. Opening the notebook, my fingers thumbed through the discarded stories and ideas, as I searched for a blank page.
Here, I began this...
Two years ago seems like a long time when deep in reflective thought. Even then, I knew we would not last. Yes, being here was fun, we had a lot of good times, but overall, you were not the one. Regardless of knowing this, I stuck around anyway. My paranoia in our relationship began pretty early. In my own mind, this should have been the biggest red-flag. They always say a woman's intuition is right, to go with your gut feeling, trust your instincts, etc... but I over thought the situation and decided I was just being paranoid.
True, but not true. I am a paranoid individual, but by every right. Or maybe I'm not paranoid at all, I just have a sixth sense for humans. Either of these could be accurate, or they could both be accurate, but all that remains now is why am I here?
I said my goodbyes to this place two months ago. I thought it would be easier to leave all of this behind... but it really isn't. I have a lot of bitter resentment towards you, towards myself... and the whole debacle. I will be heading to your place soon, to pick up the rest of my belongings. My stomach is churning and my heart is racing.
The drive here brought back so many memories. When laying them out on paper, I realized very quickly, most of those memories were bad. I was alone, and depressed. Often, I found myself wandering the streets aimlessly, wondering if you would come looking for me or if you would pay no mind to my erratic behavior. You never did look for me. Many of those times, I made my way to this park, and would sit on the same swing, waiting for you until it was too late and too cold to sit any longer. I thought of it as our place, but I didn't realize you never wanted to share anything with me.
That spring I should have been happy. I was with a man who I thought loved me exclusively. No, I lie... I never thought you loved me exclusively. I wanted you to. I wanted to be your one and only. I wanted you to put me on a pedestal, as you said you tended to do in relationships, but deep in my mind I worried you would leave me. You would find someone better or just become bored with me and then you would leave me. I know you looked at other women. You didn't really try very hard to hide it... I was insecure and you did nothing to reassert my position or my value to you.
It wasn't just that spring though. It was always. Every day, every season, every hour of my life. I worried about you. Who you were talking to, why you were being so distant and cold... Why I couldn't count on you for anything, but money. I shudder to think I sank so low in my life... to become blinded by success. I wanted you to pull me up and out of the mud, you only pushed me further. I didn't let myself become blinded though... It was masochistic. I couldn't trust you for anything.
Spring, my favorite season. The light at the end of a long dismal winter-filled tunnel... but that spring was a dark one. I found no strength to pull me from bed each morning and inevitably found myself falling deeper and deeper into a dark gray cloud. Spring turned to Summer and things worsened for me. I thought you were going to dump me because I asked if you still loved your ex. Eventually, you decided to forgive me for your actions and asked me to move in. I did, that fall... and again, things only became harder and I fell deeper. Your over-reactions to everything... you always had to be right.
Winter came again. I knew I would drown, because of my SAD, but you wouldn't listen or understand. You never comforted me. Despite struggling to stay afloat with my own depression in tow, I took on yours too. I tried everything, every damn thing, in my power to make you feel cared about, loved, happy... any positive emotion. Any flitting gleam of hope, just so you would know not all things are bad. You took it for granted, using what I had to offer to get ahead, and shoved me deep in the mud.
I guess it doesn't matter anymore, honestly.
It didn't take him long to pull me out and brush me off. I guess my head is glued on tighter than I thought, and I didn't really ever lose my senses. I'm less bitter than I was, but when I sit down and think about everything, those feelings of resentment seem to still course my veins, making me grow cold and angry. I try to be forgiving. I try to move on...
You did one thing though. You made me realize how hypocritical I am. Thank you.
See PART II
Here, I began this...
Two years ago seems like a long time when deep in reflective thought. Even then, I knew we would not last. Yes, being here was fun, we had a lot of good times, but overall, you were not the one. Regardless of knowing this, I stuck around anyway. My paranoia in our relationship began pretty early. In my own mind, this should have been the biggest red-flag. They always say a woman's intuition is right, to go with your gut feeling, trust your instincts, etc... but I over thought the situation and decided I was just being paranoid.
True, but not true. I am a paranoid individual, but by every right. Or maybe I'm not paranoid at all, I just have a sixth sense for humans. Either of these could be accurate, or they could both be accurate, but all that remains now is why am I here?
I said my goodbyes to this place two months ago. I thought it would be easier to leave all of this behind... but it really isn't. I have a lot of bitter resentment towards you, towards myself... and the whole debacle. I will be heading to your place soon, to pick up the rest of my belongings. My stomach is churning and my heart is racing.
The drive here brought back so many memories. When laying them out on paper, I realized very quickly, most of those memories were bad. I was alone, and depressed. Often, I found myself wandering the streets aimlessly, wondering if you would come looking for me or if you would pay no mind to my erratic behavior. You never did look for me. Many of those times, I made my way to this park, and would sit on the same swing, waiting for you until it was too late and too cold to sit any longer. I thought of it as our place, but I didn't realize you never wanted to share anything with me.
That spring I should have been happy. I was with a man who I thought loved me exclusively. No, I lie... I never thought you loved me exclusively. I wanted you to. I wanted to be your one and only. I wanted you to put me on a pedestal, as you said you tended to do in relationships, but deep in my mind I worried you would leave me. You would find someone better or just become bored with me and then you would leave me. I know you looked at other women. You didn't really try very hard to hide it... I was insecure and you did nothing to reassert my position or my value to you.
It wasn't just that spring though. It was always. Every day, every season, every hour of my life. I worried about you. Who you were talking to, why you were being so distant and cold... Why I couldn't count on you for anything, but money. I shudder to think I sank so low in my life... to become blinded by success. I wanted you to pull me up and out of the mud, you only pushed me further. I didn't let myself become blinded though... It was masochistic. I couldn't trust you for anything.
Spring, my favorite season. The light at the end of a long dismal winter-filled tunnel... but that spring was a dark one. I found no strength to pull me from bed each morning and inevitably found myself falling deeper and deeper into a dark gray cloud. Spring turned to Summer and things worsened for me. I thought you were going to dump me because I asked if you still loved your ex. Eventually, you decided to forgive me for your actions and asked me to move in. I did, that fall... and again, things only became harder and I fell deeper. Your over-reactions to everything... you always had to be right.
Winter came again. I knew I would drown, because of my SAD, but you wouldn't listen or understand. You never comforted me. Despite struggling to stay afloat with my own depression in tow, I took on yours too. I tried everything, every damn thing, in my power to make you feel cared about, loved, happy... any positive emotion. Any flitting gleam of hope, just so you would know not all things are bad. You took it for granted, using what I had to offer to get ahead, and shoved me deep in the mud.
I guess it doesn't matter anymore, honestly.
It didn't take him long to pull me out and brush me off. I guess my head is glued on tighter than I thought, and I didn't really ever lose my senses. I'm less bitter than I was, but when I sit down and think about everything, those feelings of resentment seem to still course my veins, making me grow cold and angry. I try to be forgiving. I try to move on...
You did one thing though. You made me realize how hypocritical I am. Thank you.
See PART II
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
~Robert Frost
Men of fire, burn with desire
Men of ice, are nothing nice.
You are cold, hard, and blue
I prefer a man of a more ember hue.
Enjoy the loss you cheap tease
because I'm fairly easy to please.
Words that are empty only go so far
They will leave wounds that heal and scar.
Remember this, you arrogant prick
I am the iciest, flame-ridden chick.
~Jessica Tracy
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
~Robert Frost
Men of fire, burn with desire
Men of ice, are nothing nice.
You are cold, hard, and blue
I prefer a man of a more ember hue.
Enjoy the loss you cheap tease
because I'm fairly easy to please.
Words that are empty only go so far
They will leave wounds that heal and scar.
Remember this, you arrogant prick
I am the iciest, flame-ridden chick.
~Jessica Tracy
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Insanity
I'm writing to vent. I'm livid. Today started out pretty damn rotten!
I woke up and readied myself, as I would do on any other weekday. Being a Tuesday, I knew I would have three classes: Math, French, and Aerobics. After class, today, I was going to bathe and prepare myself for a job interview.
Needless to say, none of that is important. What *is* pertinent for this blog is how pitiful I feel. 30 minutes before Math, like any other day, I went out to the car and started it... Alas, the POJ did not start, did not turn over, did nothing. I turned the key again, thinking perhaps I just didn't turn it far enough. Silence.
Horror crept itself over me, as I realized the car was not starting. I turned the key again and again, violently. Still, no amiable outcome.
I threw my head back, inhaled deeply, and snapped my eyes shut: tightly. For a moment, I focused all of my thoughts on my eyelids, and used my years of anger training to fight back the boiling seething scream as it inched towards my throat. No, I did not scream. I did not cuss. I just focused on breathing, like a normal human being.
In the end, I stomped back into the house and fought the angry tears back. Eventually, I vented to a few people...
I did not go to class. I would not have gone to my interview, but Ian is saving me. I do not know how I will go to class tomorrow... or work, if I get the job. I feel trapped and unhappy.
Anyway, that is all.
I woke up and readied myself, as I would do on any other weekday. Being a Tuesday, I knew I would have three classes: Math, French, and Aerobics. After class, today, I was going to bathe and prepare myself for a job interview.
Needless to say, none of that is important. What *is* pertinent for this blog is how pitiful I feel. 30 minutes before Math, like any other day, I went out to the car and started it... Alas, the POJ did not start, did not turn over, did nothing. I turned the key again, thinking perhaps I just didn't turn it far enough. Silence.
Horror crept itself over me, as I realized the car was not starting. I turned the key again and again, violently. Still, no amiable outcome.
I threw my head back, inhaled deeply, and snapped my eyes shut: tightly. For a moment, I focused all of my thoughts on my eyelids, and used my years of anger training to fight back the boiling seething scream as it inched towards my throat. No, I did not scream. I did not cuss. I just focused on breathing, like a normal human being.
In the end, I stomped back into the house and fought the angry tears back. Eventually, I vented to a few people...
I did not go to class. I would not have gone to my interview, but Ian is saving me. I do not know how I will go to class tomorrow... or work, if I get the job. I feel trapped and unhappy.
Anyway, that is all.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Dee Doubleyou
This is a letter to a former instructor of mine.
As a freshman, I idolized you. You were strict, but seemingly fair towards your students. I was an aspiring author, as I still am, and you were a language arts teacher. I assumed you could be my mentor and further my writing...
Instead, this is what happened:
My sophomore year, I approached you to further myself. You let my dreams sit on your desk for months, without even glancing at them. I was crushed. After finally getting my unfinished manuscript back from you, I took it home and I burned it. I lost my passion for writing and I fell into a depression.
You grew more and more bitter towards me every year, for reasons I knew naught. I excelled in all of your classes, I was a good patient student who rarely spoke unless speaking was needed, I didn't cause trouble, I did my assignments, and I was intelligent! You had no reason to treat me like the dirt you did.
I came to a realization my Senior year, you only liked a specific handful of students. The same sarcastic cynical brats, who idolized you, yet turned around and talked poorly about you behind your back. They were the gossiping pricks who took your "special" classes and did you "special" favors. They were your minions, your babies, and you were their God.
I graduated, inviting you to my party because you made a point to say if you had a time and place, you would be sure to go to everyone's party... You never came. It only edged my bitter anger deeper. Why didn't you go to my party? You picked me, the one person who for no reason at all, you hated more than any other student... Me. Probably the best student you will ever have had... and you didn't go.
I went to your play, the next year, to say "Hi, how are you?" and when you saw me, the first thing you said, "You were never my favorite student."
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why? What was the purpose of saying that to me?
I sat down, solemnly, gritting my teeth and fighting back the angry tears, my friend put me in his arms and said, "You know why he hates you, don't you?"
"No!" I cried out, the seething anger boiling and festering in my body.
"Because he was going to be an author, but his book sucked, so he was turned down. Now he's a bitter old man and no one likes him."
It hit me then. He was right. You are just a bitter man. You failed at your one dream, and I reminded you of yourself. An inspired filled young author, who knew where she was going and what she wanted to do. You wanted to kick the dirt off of your feet, but instead, you got stuck in the mud. You became a bitter High School teacher, so you could destroy the dreams of those after you.
You almost did it, you fucking bastard. You almost made me think I couldn't do it. I was about to take your road. I made jokes of taking your job even. I know, I would never be a good teacher... and you aren't a good teacher. You settled, and know this you raging pile of dog shit, I will not settle. I will become an author, because you failed. You did not dispirit me, you only made me stronger. If I can survive unnecessary scrutiny for four years, I can do anything.
You, old man, go on. Continue being bitter, continue being hateful towards your students, continue being the jerk you are... and know that you failed. I am going to be more successful than you could ever have imagined.
You gave up too easily. I hope you enjoy your the life you settled for, you bitter toad. To all the times you deliberately forgot I existed. To all of the down putting things you did to me. To everything you ever said to try and get under my skin or hurt my feelings, I give them all back to you now, you ugly fuck. I am going to become a renowned author, and you are going to continue being a penniless instructor for the school district.
Shame on you for trying to destroy a young girl's dreams.
Sincerely,
Jessica Dawn Tracy
P.S.
Fuck you. :)
As a freshman, I idolized you. You were strict, but seemingly fair towards your students. I was an aspiring author, as I still am, and you were a language arts teacher. I assumed you could be my mentor and further my writing...
Instead, this is what happened:
My sophomore year, I approached you to further myself. You let my dreams sit on your desk for months, without even glancing at them. I was crushed. After finally getting my unfinished manuscript back from you, I took it home and I burned it. I lost my passion for writing and I fell into a depression.
You grew more and more bitter towards me every year, for reasons I knew naught. I excelled in all of your classes, I was a good patient student who rarely spoke unless speaking was needed, I didn't cause trouble, I did my assignments, and I was intelligent! You had no reason to treat me like the dirt you did.
I came to a realization my Senior year, you only liked a specific handful of students. The same sarcastic cynical brats, who idolized you, yet turned around and talked poorly about you behind your back. They were the gossiping pricks who took your "special" classes and did you "special" favors. They were your minions, your babies, and you were their God.
I graduated, inviting you to my party because you made a point to say if you had a time and place, you would be sure to go to everyone's party... You never came. It only edged my bitter anger deeper. Why didn't you go to my party? You picked me, the one person who for no reason at all, you hated more than any other student... Me. Probably the best student you will ever have had... and you didn't go.
I went to your play, the next year, to say "Hi, how are you?" and when you saw me, the first thing you said, "You were never my favorite student."
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why? What was the purpose of saying that to me?
I sat down, solemnly, gritting my teeth and fighting back the angry tears, my friend put me in his arms and said, "You know why he hates you, don't you?"
"No!" I cried out, the seething anger boiling and festering in my body.
"Because he was going to be an author, but his book sucked, so he was turned down. Now he's a bitter old man and no one likes him."
It hit me then. He was right. You are just a bitter man. You failed at your one dream, and I reminded you of yourself. An inspired filled young author, who knew where she was going and what she wanted to do. You wanted to kick the dirt off of your feet, but instead, you got stuck in the mud. You became a bitter High School teacher, so you could destroy the dreams of those after you.
You almost did it, you fucking bastard. You almost made me think I couldn't do it. I was about to take your road. I made jokes of taking your job even. I know, I would never be a good teacher... and you aren't a good teacher. You settled, and know this you raging pile of dog shit, I will not settle. I will become an author, because you failed. You did not dispirit me, you only made me stronger. If I can survive unnecessary scrutiny for four years, I can do anything.
You, old man, go on. Continue being bitter, continue being hateful towards your students, continue being the jerk you are... and know that you failed. I am going to be more successful than you could ever have imagined.
You gave up too easily. I hope you enjoy your the life you settled for, you bitter toad. To all the times you deliberately forgot I existed. To all of the down putting things you did to me. To everything you ever said to try and get under my skin or hurt my feelings, I give them all back to you now, you ugly fuck. I am going to become a renowned author, and you are going to continue being a penniless instructor for the school district.
Shame on you for trying to destroy a young girl's dreams.
Sincerely,
Jessica Dawn Tracy
P.S.
Fuck you. :)
Monday, October 19, 2009
Why do I stick it out?
Giving up has clearly never been a relevant option, but everyday you see people questioning their own self worth. I have to say, even I do it.
Now, I'll tell you why I *don't* give up.
I have a loving family, who knows my potential sometimes better than I do. I have people who look up to me, and ask me for life's answers on a daily basis. If I gave up, what would I be telling these people?
I have no potential? I can't do it? The only way out, is down?
No, I refuse.
I will become successful, because I have set such ridiculously high goals for myself, there is no way to not succeed at *something*.
I implore everyone to do the same. Don't give up on your life. Set goals that are so high, you will have no where to go, but up. Nothing to do, but get better. That is what I ask of all of my friends today. Best yourselves! Don't compete with humanity or life, compete with yourself. You'll find everyone wins that way. :)
Now, I'll tell you why I *don't* give up.
I have a loving family, who knows my potential sometimes better than I do. I have people who look up to me, and ask me for life's answers on a daily basis. If I gave up, what would I be telling these people?
I have no potential? I can't do it? The only way out, is down?
No, I refuse.
I will become successful, because I have set such ridiculously high goals for myself, there is no way to not succeed at *something*.
I implore everyone to do the same. Don't give up on your life. Set goals that are so high, you will have no where to go, but up. Nothing to do, but get better. That is what I ask of all of my friends today. Best yourselves! Don't compete with humanity or life, compete with yourself. You'll find everyone wins that way. :)
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Cameron Hospital, you lethargic piece of shit!
I had an appointment for a CT Scan made for me about a month ago. Today was said scheduled appointment. Today, I walk in the doors at 6:55, and today I leave Cameron Hospital at 8:30...
In this time, I had to do MORE paperwork of sorts. Stamp my precious John Hancock on everything... and then, I am told to find the X-Ray room. Yeah, because I wander the hospital often enough to know where that is...
Anyway, after being lost and finding my way to stupid X-Ray and Laboratory, I am given the most horrid vile cream drink I have ever had the pleasure of ingesting. I literally had to plug my nose to keep from retching all over the waiting room. Not only did I get to drink one of these, but I got to drink TWO of them! Whole glasses full. A whole 16 ounces of what ever the fuck that was... sliding down my throat.
I swear I could feel the acidic sludge melting my organs away... or at least making them glow. Now, I understand how X-Rays work.
After an hour of sitting and waiting for the poison to make its way through my body, I am lead to a small room with an arc in it. I get to lay under the arc and wait while a woman undresses me, shit you not, and stabs my arm with an IV. (Hate those.)
In the "tube", hold breath, out the "tube", normal breathing. The nurse tells me to stretch my arm and let the fluid in the IV run in. It may do nothing to me, or it may make me feel warm.
Warm is a Goddamn understatement. My throat and chest were immediately engulfed in flames. My fingertips felt as if they would pop off.... and the worst of it all?! I felt as if I had pissed my own pants.
In and out the tube with "piss" in my pants.
Finish. IV is yanked out. I am told I have to wait "ten minutes" for the nurse to finish burning a CD for me. ?
30 minutes later, I get my CD and leave.
In this time, I had to do MORE paperwork of sorts. Stamp my precious John Hancock on everything... and then, I am told to find the X-Ray room. Yeah, because I wander the hospital often enough to know where that is...
Anyway, after being lost and finding my way to stupid X-Ray and Laboratory, I am given the most horrid vile cream drink I have ever had the pleasure of ingesting. I literally had to plug my nose to keep from retching all over the waiting room. Not only did I get to drink one of these, but I got to drink TWO of them! Whole glasses full. A whole 16 ounces of what ever the fuck that was... sliding down my throat.
I swear I could feel the acidic sludge melting my organs away... or at least making them glow. Now, I understand how X-Rays work.
After an hour of sitting and waiting for the poison to make its way through my body, I am lead to a small room with an arc in it. I get to lay under the arc and wait while a woman undresses me, shit you not, and stabs my arm with an IV. (Hate those.)
In the "tube", hold breath, out the "tube", normal breathing. The nurse tells me to stretch my arm and let the fluid in the IV run in. It may do nothing to me, or it may make me feel warm.
Warm is a Goddamn understatement. My throat and chest were immediately engulfed in flames. My fingertips felt as if they would pop off.... and the worst of it all?! I felt as if I had pissed my own pants.
In and out the tube with "piss" in my pants.
Finish. IV is yanked out. I am told I have to wait "ten minutes" for the nurse to finish burning a CD for me. ?
30 minutes later, I get my CD and leave.
Stories
If you, my avid reader, noticed a missing blog entitled Merry Christmas My Love, that is because I have moved it to my new blog spot.
I have decided to keep things organized for myself, I am going to maintain two blog spots: one for rants and vents, and the other for my stories and to-be-books.
I look forward to comments and what not on my "famous" works.
Oh, and for my Fang readers, I will be posting Fang in its entirety onto the new blog spot.
Here's a link for you lazy bastards: http://jezieneechan.blogspot.com/
Enjoy!
I have decided to keep things organized for myself, I am going to maintain two blog spots: one for rants and vents, and the other for my stories and to-be-books.
I look forward to comments and what not on my "famous" works.
Oh, and for my Fang readers, I will be posting Fang in its entirety onto the new blog spot.
Here's a link for you lazy bastards: http://jezieneechan.blogspot.com/
Enjoy!
Monday, August 24, 2009
Penn Valley, you lethargic piece of shit!
Oh. My. God.
I spent two hours... TWO hours waiting in a line watching as the faculty and staff at Penn Valley's Financial Aid office sluggishly helped people. If ever you were to see real life zombies... here they are.
Finally, I was helped, two hours after waiting, only to be slowly lead into the back office where a less than friendly woman tells me why my financial aid is screwed up and requires me to fill out a mountain full of paper work to fix it.
In any case, *points to title* Penn Valley is SLOW! You can't get anything accomplished in a timely fashion. Everything is confusing and... slow! I swear to God, these people are sedated before going to work every morning. I hate it, but it's one semester. I can do one semester.
*shudder*
I spent two hours... TWO hours waiting in a line watching as the faculty and staff at Penn Valley's Financial Aid office sluggishly helped people. If ever you were to see real life zombies... here they are.
Finally, I was helped, two hours after waiting, only to be slowly lead into the back office where a less than friendly woman tells me why my financial aid is screwed up and requires me to fill out a mountain full of paper work to fix it.
In any case, *points to title* Penn Valley is SLOW! You can't get anything accomplished in a timely fashion. Everything is confusing and... slow! I swear to God, these people are sedated before going to work every morning. I hate it, but it's one semester. I can do one semester.
*shudder*
Friday, July 17, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Another Blogsite about ME!
I can see it now, everyone is just oh so excited to read the many blogs I am sure to post: rantings, ravings, fantasies, stories, poems. Yes, lines come in the millions.
Seriously, though, why am I doing this again? Well, I'll tell you why!
Upon my recent family misfortunes, my previous "blogsites" have been raped and pillaged by none other than my dear ol' mammy! Yes, that's right! She has read every word, every DETAIL of my despise towards her and her affectionate lover.
So, here I am, once more, creating a blog under a new pseudonym.
For my first order of work, I have decided to write an "About Me" in detail.
HELLO-O-o-o, my Raz Daz Droogs!
My name is Jessica Dawn Tracy. When I was little, I used to think my name was Jessica Dawn Middle Tracy, but Cookie Monster ate the middle, and that is how I became just Jessica Dawn Tracy.
I have one biological sister, two half-siblings, and a step-cousin who I have been calling my step-sister from the beginning of time. So, in all, I have four siblings. I would have to say, I am pretty damn close with each of them, but my baby brother and I really aren't close, at all. He's an annoying little butt of a six year old, and I'm the stereo-typical all knowing teenage college student. It's a love hate relationship.
My biological sister, Elizabeth, and I have been through hell and back together, more than once. She is on the Principal's Honor Roll, and receives high marks on most everything she does. Her aspirations are to become a loving, caring nurse for the elderly, mentally impaired, or infants.
My half sister, Sabrina, is the epitome of a teenage punk. She has a cell-phone, and abuses this privilege. I don't know what she wants to be, because she is quite fickle. I think my step-mother will probably make her go into some medical field, because it pays well.
My step-"sister", Pauline, has become more estranged from me as the years move on. We used to be best friends and I knew every detail of her life. These days have changed us all, and now she reminds me of the people I used to despise in High School. Always trying to fit in, because there's nothing better to do than to feign popularity. I believe, at least this is what used to be, she wants to be a photojournalist.
My half-brother, Nathaniel, is, as I said, an annoying six year old. He used to be quite charming and adorable, but these days, he's a demon heathen. Our parents have let him get away with too much without repercussions. He's spoiled, he's mouthy, he's boring, and very typical-as it turns out- as to what most children his age are like. What a sad realization for American Society.
Now, I shall introduce myself properly. I am a first-born child who holds those delivered after me, dear. I would do absolutely anything for those numnuts. *Said with love*
My aspirations pull me in the direction of being an author, more than anything else. I have no real interest in fame, wealth, or any of these things... just the name on a book and an autobiography stating my life, to keep me in the minds and memories of those after me.
I have a mother, a maternal figure, and the woman I call my mom. My mother, is a drunken half-baked teenager who abandoned my sister and me what feels like two years ago. My maternal figure is my grandmother. She has practically done all of the real mothering and raising. Finally, the woman I call my mom, is my step-mother. She has been more of a mother to me than my real mother, and since she is married to my father, she gets the title.
My father is a Med-Tech who really should have furthered his degree and became a doctor, because he knows more than most doctors do about patients. He has recently been promoted to "Van-Driving" but God only knows how that is a promotion... His real line of duty, is computers. That man is a computer genius.
My maternal grandparents are God-Sends. They're what makes a home a home. My paternal grandparents and I have never been close. They've never liked my adamant family loyalty.
I have a million uncles and aunts who are all getting married and having babies. Regardless to say, I will never have a cousin my age to play with, like most kids get/got/have. My mother had Beth and me when she was a teenager and her siblings were mere kids, themselves. My aunt, Dawn, is only seven years older than me. We've always felt more like siblings.
I have two pets, but I never see either of them. It breaks my heart. My cat, Aeris, is living with my aunt, for safe keeping. My dog, Pablo, is now my horrible "mother's" property, and I will probably never see him living again. I have always felt a specific close-ness towards animals and nature. I love animals... and my pets were my absolute best friends.
I will always prefer the company of a loyal pet to a friend.
I have a few friends who are worthy enough to mention. They're a resource of something or another... and I must admit, no matter what I am sure they'll always be there. Kellie was my best friend throughout middle and most of high school. We also grew apart when I hooked up with the biggest sleaze bag in town. We talk more frequently now, than we had been, but we're definitely not near as close. Claude and I have been close friends since about fourth or fifth grade. He's like my twin. I don't think we have much that isn't in common. Hainey was like a big brother to me, and always looked out for me. -I was madly in love with him for the entirety of High School and still harbor those feelings. Lastly, Maria... Maria, Maria, Maria... She and I became best friends my Senior year of High School. I feel we have grown apart, but she pulled me out of the roughest and worst of times...
If I didn't mention you, that doesn't mean I dislike you or you're not my friend. It just means you haven't done anything particularly note worthy, and you should really work on that! :p (Kidding!)
Seriously, though, why am I doing this again? Well, I'll tell you why!
Upon my recent family misfortunes, my previous "blogsites" have been raped and pillaged by none other than my dear ol' mammy! Yes, that's right! She has read every word, every DETAIL of my despise towards her and her affectionate lover.
So, here I am, once more, creating a blog under a new pseudonym.
For my first order of work, I have decided to write an "About Me" in detail.
HELLO-O-o-o, my Raz Daz Droogs!
My name is Jessica Dawn Tracy. When I was little, I used to think my name was Jessica Dawn Middle Tracy, but Cookie Monster ate the middle, and that is how I became just Jessica Dawn Tracy.
I have one biological sister, two half-siblings, and a step-cousin who I have been calling my step-sister from the beginning of time. So, in all, I have four siblings. I would have to say, I am pretty damn close with each of them, but my baby brother and I really aren't close, at all. He's an annoying little butt of a six year old, and I'm the stereo-typical all knowing teenage college student. It's a love hate relationship.
My biological sister, Elizabeth, and I have been through hell and back together, more than once. She is on the Principal's Honor Roll, and receives high marks on most everything she does. Her aspirations are to become a loving, caring nurse for the elderly, mentally impaired, or infants.
My half sister, Sabrina, is the epitome of a teenage punk. She has a cell-phone, and abuses this privilege. I don't know what she wants to be, because she is quite fickle. I think my step-mother will probably make her go into some medical field, because it pays well.
My step-"sister", Pauline, has become more estranged from me as the years move on. We used to be best friends and I knew every detail of her life. These days have changed us all, and now she reminds me of the people I used to despise in High School. Always trying to fit in, because there's nothing better to do than to feign popularity. I believe, at least this is what used to be, she wants to be a photojournalist.
My half-brother, Nathaniel, is, as I said, an annoying six year old. He used to be quite charming and adorable, but these days, he's a demon heathen. Our parents have let him get away with too much without repercussions. He's spoiled, he's mouthy, he's boring, and very typical-as it turns out- as to what most children his age are like. What a sad realization for American Society.
Now, I shall introduce myself properly. I am a first-born child who holds those delivered after me, dear. I would do absolutely anything for those numnuts. *Said with love*
My aspirations pull me in the direction of being an author, more than anything else. I have no real interest in fame, wealth, or any of these things... just the name on a book and an autobiography stating my life, to keep me in the minds and memories of those after me.
I have a mother, a maternal figure, and the woman I call my mom. My mother, is a drunken half-baked teenager who abandoned my sister and me what feels like two years ago. My maternal figure is my grandmother. She has practically done all of the real mothering and raising. Finally, the woman I call my mom, is my step-mother. She has been more of a mother to me than my real mother, and since she is married to my father, she gets the title.
My father is a Med-Tech who really should have furthered his degree and became a doctor, because he knows more than most doctors do about patients. He has recently been promoted to "Van-Driving" but God only knows how that is a promotion... His real line of duty, is computers. That man is a computer genius.
My maternal grandparents are God-Sends. They're what makes a home a home. My paternal grandparents and I have never been close. They've never liked my adamant family loyalty.
I have a million uncles and aunts who are all getting married and having babies. Regardless to say, I will never have a cousin my age to play with, like most kids get/got/have. My mother had Beth and me when she was a teenager and her siblings were mere kids, themselves. My aunt, Dawn, is only seven years older than me. We've always felt more like siblings.
I have two pets, but I never see either of them. It breaks my heart. My cat, Aeris, is living with my aunt, for safe keeping. My dog, Pablo, is now my horrible "mother's" property, and I will probably never see him living again. I have always felt a specific close-ness towards animals and nature. I love animals... and my pets were my absolute best friends.
I will always prefer the company of a loyal pet to a friend.
I have a few friends who are worthy enough to mention. They're a resource of something or another... and I must admit, no matter what I am sure they'll always be there. Kellie was my best friend throughout middle and most of high school. We also grew apart when I hooked up with the biggest sleaze bag in town. We talk more frequently now, than we had been, but we're definitely not near as close. Claude and I have been close friends since about fourth or fifth grade. He's like my twin. I don't think we have much that isn't in common. Hainey was like a big brother to me, and always looked out for me. -I was madly in love with him for the entirety of High School and still harbor those feelings. Lastly, Maria... Maria, Maria, Maria... She and I became best friends my Senior year of High School. I feel we have grown apart, but she pulled me out of the roughest and worst of times...
If I didn't mention you, that doesn't mean I dislike you or you're not my friend. It just means you haven't done anything particularly note worthy, and you should really work on that! :p (Kidding!)
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