The Moment

I don't know why I'm writing this. I just kind of feel compelled to. It's something that needs to be shared, I guess. You know, working on that memoir still, may as well write down the memories that I have been having bubble up recently.

When I was young there was a lot of stress in my life (there is still a lot of stress in my life). Back then I didn't know how to deal with it (who am I kidding? I still don't know how to deal with it!). I was self-destructive because it was a way to express the turmoil inside me. I was cruel to my body because I perceived it as my enemy. I still perceive it as my enemy, sometimes. Depends on my mood of course.


My step-father's mother used to cook all the time. I don't know if she still does because I am not in contact with her really. She used to fill my plate to the brim any time I was there and I would be told to eat every bite because "there are children starving in Africa." God, I must've heard that SO many times. This, and my growing dissatisfaction with my appearance, ushered me into what I call the "bulimia stage."

I could never finish a whole plate. Ever. I would try, valiantly. But I just couldn't do it. At first I smuggled food in my napkin and excused myself to the bathroom, where I would dump it in the toilet and flush. This quickly got old. I could only carry so much in my napkin, after all.

That's where the moment happened. That moment when I realized that my aching stomach could be purged and then I'd eat more and purge later. I could eat everything, clean my plate and be free of guilt for those poor starving African children or Chinese children or whatever starving children. It wasn't truly a waste, because I did eat it. I just threw it up later.

I did this off and on for a few years. I didn't become what one would call a "full-fledged" bulimic because you can tell when I've been throwing up. The pressure is too much for my poor blood vessels and they burst when I throw up. In my face. So it looks like someone splattered my face with blood or that I suddenly have bloody freckles. This can also happen in my eyes (which I discovered when I was in high school. Rather unfortunate experience since I looked like a freakin' demon for a week or two).

Sometimes, though, when I became ridiculously stressed I would throw up to feel better. It was like purging out all the stress building up inside of me. I didn't do it often, but I always felt better. Even now I will sometimes force the point if I feel sick to my stomach. It's not hard.

The difference between now and then is that I don't need to throw up to feel better about my stress. I may still need to if I'm sick (which is the only time I'll push the proverbial envelope), but not to deal with the stress.

I tried to commit suicide at seven. Don't ask me why, because I can't remember. I just know that I was too afraid to continue living and I was so tired of everything. I overdosed on my inhaler. That wasn't the first time.

For that particular incident, I was punished. The head pastor at the church we went to told my step-father that I was in rebellion and needed discipline. I received a "spanking." For the record, I don't disagree with spankings. I am for a good spanking (both for discipline and sexual pleasure) in certain cases. I believe you should never spank a child in anger and that you should never use anything besides your hand. You feel the sting, if you use your hand. You can gauge how much pain you are delivering and I feel like this makes the difference between abuse and discipline. Personally speaking, of course. I was "spanked" with a switch by a man who enjoyed wielding it a little too much.

I became very good at lying about my overdoses. They were "accidents." Even the one time I emptied an entire inhaler, with my step-father in the room. I did this by sitting close to the speakers of our radio/tape player/record player while he was listening to a tape and waiting until it grew loud enough to cover the sound of the inhaler. I explained them all away. And they never did me any good anyway.

As I got older I realized that killing myself by inhaler was a bad idea. All it did was make me shaky. So I decided to cut my wrists.

We lived in a house by this time. A beautiful house, really. My room was the master bedroom upstairs (as my step-father changed the basement into another level of the house), complete with my own bathroom. Perfect for a teenage girl! One day, I locked myself in the bathroom, sat in front of the door and tried to drag a knife across my wrist (which I now know wouldn't actually work). I didn't even get so far as cutting, because the phone rang at that moment. Heaven only knows why I had it with me.

It was my best friend, Jo. At the time, I took that as a sign from God, because she said she didn't know why she was calling. She just suddenly had a bad feeling and called to see if something was wrong. I cried when I told her what I was trying to do. She talked me out of it and that was the end of that.

I am actually surprised that I didn't start cutting sooner than I did because of all the pent up anger (at myself, at my mother [I'm not mad at you anymore, Mom], at my father, at my step-father, at God, etc.), stress and previous suicide attempts. It just makes sense that I would cut. In the scheme of things, anyway.

The first time I cut myself on purpose, I was at church. My boyfriend (My Edward Cullens, if you will) had just broken up with me. This was a boyfriend I was keeping secret from my friends at school because he was eight years older than me and he was a convicted child molester. Actually, I was doing a poor job of keeping him a secret. I had mentioned him to a couple friends and they freaked out (rightly so, I might add). They told me it was a terrible idea and questioned my sanity (once again, rightly so. Also, you know who you are).

I lied and said I had made it up. He was a hypothetical boyfriend. Well, I guess I'm admitting that he wasn't a hypothetical. He was real. And yes, you were right. It was an awful idea. I'm sorry that I lied about lying, but panic set in and I hate conflict.

It wasn't so much that he broke up with me as it is that we decided to break up until I turned eighteen. Oh yeah, I was sixteen (a week from seventeen) when we met. Seventeen when we started dating. I, foolishly, believed I loved him. He was the only guy who seemed actually interested in being with ME not my BODY. He liked me for me, or so I thought. And things went way further with him than they should've.

I was devastated when we broke up. I hid myself in the Sabbath School room (because I was a Seventh Day Adventist at the time) and took out a little pocket knife a guy friend had given me for protection. I was wearing a skirt that day, with shorts underneath. I pulled up the skirt a little and sliced at my inner thigh until I saw blood. My ex came in right after I had put the knife back in my pocket.

He asked if I was okay. I lied and said I was fine, though I had been crying. He said we were still going to be friends. A week later we were going out again.

Dating him was self-destructive on three fronts:
1. I started cutting because of it.
2. I pushed myself, sexually, even when I knew I wasn't ready for it (and I knew he was a bad idea).
3. I was only dating him to get my step-father's attention.

We dated for another two weeks before I found out he was cheating on me (had been the whole time, by the way) and I broke up with him. Again. He came over to my house and tried to seduce me back to him. He played a stupid ICP (Insane Clown Posse) song while we were in his car. We made out a little bit, but I didn't say I'd go back out with him. Despite my "love" for him, I couldn't take him back after the cheating. Also, that ICP song was INCREDIBLY stupid and un-romantic. Bad choice in seduction music, dude.

He's in prison somewhere. I think.

I cut for a time after that. I cut until I was nineteen, if memory serves. Secretly, of course. And I attempted to convince everyone that they were cat scratches. That didn't work, by the way. Everyone tried to stop me, to their credit. I finally quit because I knew I couldn't keep doing that to myself. I also knew that my ass would get kicked if I continued. Plus, right around the time I finally stopped I "ran away" from home to deal with my issues. Which also didn't work.

A few major reasons for my various amounts of self-destruction:
1. My emerging sexuality. I'm bisexual. Anyone who has read this blog knows that. Anyone who knows me personally should know that. But I was very closeted at the time because of my step-father, because of my God, because of my church friends, etc. My desire to be with a woman sexually was reprehensible according to my beliefs. Another portion of this was my realization that I was not "vanilla," not just bisexually. This also seemed to clash with who I "was."

2. I was surrounded by death. A lot of my family, friends and people I knew were dying all around me. It was terrifying. And disheartening. It is rough when you have been to more funerals than you ever been to weddings or baby showers.

3. My step-father was abusive. Still is, but not to me and his ways have become more subtle. We carried on an emotionally incestuous relationship for most of my formative years. He was also physically and emotionally abusive to me and my brother. My own inability to protect my brother from him played a big role in it too.

4. I was being sexually abused. By several different people and for far longer than I should've been. Sexual abuse is usually perpetuated by someone you trust and know. My ex-boyfriend was only one perpetrator of this.

5. My step-father was emotionally distant from me. Looking back I realize that I just wanted to feel like he loved me. I know, now, that he probably never did. Which stings. I was trying so hard to get his attention. I was trying to get any kind of attention from him. Anything would've been better than nothing.

6. My mother was sick (I don't blame you anymore, Mom). A lot. My mom has a lot of health issues and sometimes she wasn't there when I really needed her. It wasn't her fault, but it pissed me off as well as depressed me. I have always had a close relationship with my mom, her being unavailable when I felt like I needed her was disheartening. Plus, her almost bleeding to death on our bathroom floor from a horrific miscarriage didn't help matters. Every time she got sick I was afraid she was going to die and I'd be alone with my brother, sister and step-father. This was combined with my desire that she die so that she wouldn't be in pain anymore, which lead to a tremendous amount of guilt. Why would I wish my mother dead when I loved her so much?

7. I was desperately lonely. I had friends, but they weren't around all the time. And I felt like I only had the one really close friend, Jo. I was also desperate for any sort of validation. Which is another reason why my step-father being so emotionally distant was destructive for me. I craved validation that I was pretty, smart, etc. That lack of validation has embedded in my brain that I'm useless and stupid so that, no matter what anyone says, I can't believe it.

8. Abandonment issues. My father and I stopped talking when I was thirteen. I sent him a letter telling him I never wanted to talk to him again, that I hated him and it was his fault my Memere was dead (she had died three years prior). His acquiescing to my demands has always felt like abandonment. Part of me wanted him to verbally slap me and continue writing me. I didn't actually hate him. I just missed my grandmother. And I was angry at her for dying, for missing so much of what was to come. I was angry that I didn't get to go to her funeral. I felt like she had abandoned me. My dad had abandoned me. My step-father was emotionally distant and my mother was physically unavailable. I just felt abandoned on all fronts.

So, what was the point of all this you may be asking? I don't know. Maybe it's going to help me realize that I don't have to be self-destructive to deal with my stress? Maybe it's a way of working out externally what has been going on inside me for years internally? Why post it?

Because it is part of what will eventually be written in the book of my life, when I am old and gray. Because it is who I was. I don't need pity, I don't need the attention. Not anymore. I just need to get it out of me, like I have always needed to get it out of me. This is a lot better than a knife, or throwing up dinner. Plus, maybe there are people out there who will read it and be able to diagnose what is going on in their lives too. Help them to see that you can come away from all that crap mostly intact.

Do I have scars? Yes. I have lots of them. I do not cover them up and I am not ashamed of them. They are what has made me ME. I would not be Sarai if not for the scars that have built Sarai.

Anyway, all for now. I should've gone to bed an hour ago because I have to get up early for work in the morning. Maybe I'll write more about my childhood and stuff like that later.

Hiding the Body

Kid: Who wants to help me hide a body?

Me: Whose body?

Kid: No questions, yes or no only.

Me: I can't help you. It's against my fiscal sensibilities.

Kid: You cannot help because you are afraid that it will hurt you in the money department in the future? What kind of help are you?

Me: I didn't say I was afraid it would hurt me in the money department later. I just mean that I have no money, therefore it offends my fiscal sensibilities. I'm hinting that you should pay...

Kid: I will give you a dollar.

Me: Not enough to risk jail time, I'm afraid.

Kid: Don't be a baby, I would help you if your ever fell into the situation.

Me: Well, when you put it that way... I guess I can help... But you have to buy me a White Chocolate Mocha from Starbuck's.

Denim Day

Today, April 25th, 2012, is Denim Day.

What is Denim Day? Denim Day is where people across the United States (and even the rest of the world) unite against a common evil: Sexual Assault. AKA: Rape.

How do we unite? Everyone wears jeans. Something you probably already do every day. Except that you wear jeans with a purpose for this day. It is a show of solidarity and that prove that Rape has NO EXCUSES and is never the victim's fault.

How do I sign up? Well you can go to this website: http://denimdayusa.org/ and sign up to be a part of it, or you can follow them on Facebook: http://facebook.com/denimdayinlaandusa

Please do this! It takes so little of your time! If you are curious still you can read the following article:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mariska-hargitay/denim-day_b_1445290.html

Unheard

"Because the victim wore very, very tight jeans," the Court notes in their decision, "she had to help him remove them, and by removing the jeans it was no longer rape but consensual sex."

MAKE IT STOP! RAPE IS A CRIME!! No matter what happens, a crime is committed against a woman. She DOESN'T deserve it and it is NOT consensual.

This young woman was under DURESS at the time that this crime occurred making it still a CRIME.

 How long do we have to go unheard?! My god, this makes me want to throw up.

All of Her: Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-Two

I don't go back to the apartment. Not even to pack everything when I find someone to take over my lease. I move in with Clark for a short time, unable to face the sympathy in my mother's face or the overwhelming sadness when I'm alone.

"Until you get back on your feet." he says, as he helps Noah and Kevin carry my stuff into his spare room. I sit in the middle of a pile of boxes, my knees pulled up to my chest and staring out the window. I stay like this for several days before Clark drags me out of the apartment for dinner. I have taken up smoking French cigarettes since Annabelle's death. Before we eat, I insist on standing outside the restaurant for a little while swallowing lungfuls of poison. Clark doesn't try to stop me, though he clearly wants to. Maybe he believes I'll stop on my own. Maybe he doesn't think it is his place to tell me what I should and shouldn't do.

I eat sparingly, much to his chagrin. When he thinks I'm not looking he slips an extra spoonful of whatever onto my plate. I, in turn, pretend not to notice this growing mound of uneaten food and continue to push it around my plate. He tries to engage me in conversation, but I have nothing to say. Nothing that I want to say. Nothing that I could bear to say. He eventually gives up and takes me back to his apartment.

Once we are inside I kiss him. He resists at first, but I know he hasn't had a steady girlfriend since me. I need the contact. And, in the end, he doesn't refuse. He is as gentle as he has ever been, but it doesn't really matter. I am too numb to really feel the difference between gentle and violent. I don't even orgasm, though I fake it splendidly. I didn't want to, I just wanted to feel something, skin on skin. Feel someone inside of me, a part of me.

While Clark is at work, I visit her grave. I lie beside her, watching the clouds chase the sun across the sky. I talk to her as though she was alive. I smoke. I watch mourners and lollygaggers march like ants through the cemetery. Loud wails and badly sung hymns become normality to me. I don't eat or even cry anymore. I just sit and smoke. I strain my ears for anything that may come from the corpse lying beside me. I have lost all sense of reason.

It is on one such day that Jae finds me. I don't see him, puffing on my cigarette completely zoned out. It isn't until he is next to me that I realize someone is there. He sits down and rests his elbows on his knees.

"When did you take that up?" he asks, nodding toward my cigarette.

"Maybe I've always smoked." I reply, taking another drag.

"You have never smelled like smoke and you never take a break to smoke when you are at the bar."

"You are observant." I say, mockingly. I stub out my cigarette and lay back on the grass. He lays back as well, propping his head up with his hands. "But maybe I am just really good at hiding it."

He just shakes his head, then turns to look at me. His eyes search my face, for what I'm not sure.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

"Because I have no where else to go." I say, simply. I have lost my job at the book store, though my boss said she would gladly take me back once my life gets "straightened out." I have lost Annabelle. I have lost my sanity. I have lost my self-respect. I have lost my hope.

"You could come with me." he says, sitting back up. His back has grass clinging to it and he runs a hand through his hair to dislodge the tiny pieces stuck there. He never seems to smile anymore, I wonder if I have destroyed him like I seem to be destroying everything else. He stands up, dusts off his backside and turns to me, one hand outstretched to help me up.

I don't take his hand, in fact I lie there and pretend to not see him. I stare into the endless sky, pretending I am on a cloud drifting away from everything here. This doesn't stop him. He continues to stand there, one hand outstretched. He looks like God reaching out to mankind, but I am too lazy to reach back. Isn't that the way of religion?

I don't know how long he stays there, waiting for me to acknowledge him. I don't sit up until he has given up and walking away. I stand then thinking I might follow him, maybe try to take back everything. Maybe I could make the attempt. He stops, as if he senses my conundrum, turns and looks at me. He let's a small smile float upon his Cupid's bow lips.

I turn away, though. I know the smile has faded as quickly as it appeared and I can't stand to think that it is my fault. I run to my car, careening like a drunkard on roller-skates. I go to a tiny bar a couple miles from the cemetery. The owners are capitalists, profiting from grief. They have a small dance floor, flashing lights and eclectic taste in music. I drink a shot of tequila to quiet the storm inside me and then I dance until my heart threatens to burst. I feel as though I was buried alive, though I am too tired to fight for air.

I drive slowly back to Clark's apartment. I feel like I am a wound rubbed with salt until I am raw. I park the car in the lot of the complex and I sit there, my cheek resting against the steering wheel. I stare out the window and wonder why I even wanted Annabelle. I wonder why she has such a hold on me, even though she is gone. It doesn't matter, because I can't ever have her. She has been eternally lost to me. I couldn't save her. I can't even save myself, what made me think I should try?

I pull myself from the car, feeling like I'm crawling away from the wreck of my life. I don't go into the apartment. Instead I wander the streets, chain smoking my fancy cigarettes, looking for something, anything. I don't even know what I'm looking for. I catch a glimpse of myself in a window, it makes me stop. I hardly recognize this reflection of myself, she is so different from the girl I used to be. A cigarette hangs from her mouth, her shoulders are hunched as though she were curling into herself. Her hands are stuffed into the pockets of her jacket and her hair is a dull blonde  in a mess of a chignon. Her eyes hold so much sorrow that I can't look her full in the face. It is hard to believe that this woman is me. We are nothing alike.

She looks worn from all the self-imposed tragedies, all the self-inflicted wounds. They aren't visible on the surface, but we both know they are there. I shake my head at her, she does the same. I pull the cigarette from my mouth and watch as she does the same. I touch the glass, but immediately recoil from her and begin to run. For a moment it was Annabelle in the glass and Abra had disappeared completely.

I run until I am too out of breath to continue. When I stop, I collapse to the sidewalk and cry. No one notices, no one stops to ask what is wrong. Its like I've already disappeared. I've become an invisible speed bump on a sidewalk.

He grabs my hands from my face and pulls me up and into his arms. I don't even have to look up. I know who it is. I just cry, two invisible people adrift in a sea of endless faces. He takes me to a cafe and orders a white chocolate mocha for me. He looks terrified as he presses the cup into my shaking hands. Its like he has seen a ghost or maybe he has seen what I've really become.

"Why is it," I say, once I have stopped sobbing and have taken a sip of my drink. "that you always know where to find me? Always know when I need rescuing?"

He smiles, a watery one compared to when we first met. He takes a sip of his drink and reaches across the table to hold one of my hands. His eyes dart across my face, searching for something.

"I don't know where to find you." He says, simply. He shrugs slightly and takes another sip of his drink. "Have you ever heard Plato's explanation of soul mates?"

"That we were once multi-limbed and Zeus split us in half?"

"Yes. Maybe it is that you and I are soul mates. My ability to find you again and again is because you draw me to you. Because you are my other face, the other half that makes me whole."

"Do you honestly believe that?" I ask, looking at our entwined hands.

"You asked for an explanation."

"You could be stalking me." I say, maliciously. I don't believe he is, but I am beginning to feel like a rabid dog, attacking anything near me. He is quiet, not defending himself. I'm not sure if that should make me nervous or not. After a few moments I mumble an apology for being so rude. He still doesn't say anything, his hand still holding mine.

We are quiet for a while, him still holding my hand. I don't resist, I don't try to pull away.

"Sometimes," he says, quietly, not looking at me. "when I run into you, I think I have found my other face. I think I've been lead to you by the half of my soul that begs to be whole. You won't let me in, however and then I begin to think that I am just in a dream. Dreams can be so deceiving when you believe you are awake."

He pauses a moment and then looks up at me, his eyes sparkling and dancing to some music I do not hear.

"I so want you to be my other face, Abra. The little time that I have spent with you has only made me want to spend more with you. I don't want to just sleep with you and then let you go. I couldn't. I want you to be with me, I want us to be whole, be one, and not broken anymore. I want you. I want to help you. Help you save yourself from this spiral you are in."

"I'm not worth saving. You should save yourself the pain and get out now, while you still can."

"I'm too far in to escape now." he says, taking a sip of his drink. He looks at me then, staring into my eyes until I am forced to look away. He grabs my other hand and holds them, gently, on the table. "Let me decide whether the pain I may or may not experience is worth it. You are worth saving, stop saying you aren't. Let me in, Abra."

"You'll be sorry you even tried." I say, pulling my hands out of his grasp. I stand up, thank him for the coffee and walk out of the cafe. I light a cigarette and puff angrily, determined to make us both as miserable as possible.

I return to the apartment to find it empty. There is a note from Clark that I don't read. I dress up and even use make-up. I style my hair for the first time in a long time. I stare at the girl I've become with a grim determination, a grim appreciation. She tries to smile at me, but I turn before she can. If I see her smile, I will break down, because it will be a broken smile. I am determined. It is too late to turn back from what I've become. I'm in too deep now.

I sleep with the first man that flirts with me at the bar. I don't resist as he leads me to his car. We go twice before he leaves me, standing in front of the bar and waiting for the next one. I drink until I can't see straight. I have sex with two more men and a cute girl with small breasts. I go home with her.

When I wake up in the morning it feels as if I have melted, like the Wicked Witch in Oz. I look over and cannot, for the life of me, remember the girl's name. She is pretty, her hair in tiny spirals, in varying colors, all over her head. Her skin is the color of dark chocolate and I feel terribly pale comparatively. I strain, but my brain refuses to remember anything about her or the other three I slept with last night. I can't even remember what the men looked like.

She stirs and I pretend I am asleep. She snuggles closer to me and sighs, softly.

"I know you're awake." she mumbles into my breast. I open one eye and glance down at her. She nuzzles me and looks up.

"You can't remember my name can you?" she says. I shake my head slowly.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't be," she says. "I wasn't expecting you to remember it anyway. You were quite wasted last night. So was I, now that I think about it. As it is, I barely remember your's."

"Abra." I say.

"Niya Bin." she says. "Short, and slightly distorted, for Vanilla Bean."

"Your parents named you Vanilla Bean?" I ask, stifling a giggle.

"Well, my mother loved the scent of vanilla and the way the word felt on her tongue. And my father thought it would be hilarious because of our last name being Bean. I have two sisters, so my father had a grand time naming us."

"What are their names?" I ask, my hand curling around one of her breasts.

"Coffee and Greene. Greene is the only one who can go by her first name in public. No one laughs until she says her full name. Coffee is like me and goes by a shortened, and slightly distorted, version." She laughs and mimics my hand movements, a hand curling around one of my breasts. She kisses me then, tasting like lavender and ginger.

We kiss for awhile, hands fluttering up and down each other's skin. Exploration begins in earnest and before we know it we are entangled. As we writhe, I think of Jae and having two faces. I look deep into Niya's amber eyes, searching her face as though I should recognize it as my own. Does Jae recognize me as part of him? Does he really believe that I could be his other face?

I thought David was my other half, the piece of a puzzle that made me whole. Without him, what was the point? He was my soul mate, my other face as Jae put it. At least, I thought so. But we can see where my thinking has gotten me, so far. I want to let Jae in, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid of being hurt again, afraid of being used again. Afraid of being in love with someone who sees me as a want not a need.

This whole situation, everything with Annabelle and my subsequent decent into madness, has shown me something. What was the point of all this? A revenge taken against my body, though my body wasn't the one at fault. A revenge against myself for being deceived? I haven't hurt David at all. I may have hurt Alice, the once, with my sleeping with her husband. Otherwise I haven't hurt anyone but myself. I realize that isn't true either. I have hurt all those around me, that love me and have tried to help me. You can't hold a knife to your own skin without cutting everyone around you.

I want to stop now. I want to find Abra again. I want to find out who I am after all this mess.

I finish with Niya, but I don't stay long. I kiss her goodbye and thank her for everything, before hailing a cab and returning to Clark's.

When I get there Clark is pacing. When he looks up he let's out a small sigh of relief and hugs me.

"What's wrong?" I say, slightly muffled by his chest.

"I was worried." he says, simply. Gently, I push away so that I can look at him.

"I'll be fine, now." I smile, kiss his cheek and collapse on the couch to sleep.

Instead of sleeping, however, I begin to think. Jae is drawn to me, but how am I to find him when I don't know if I'm drawn to him or not? He seemed so sure that we were meant to be together, at least for a time, but will my insecurities make it harder to find him?

Can you fall in love with someone just because you want to? It seemed so effortless when I loved David or Annabelle. There was no thought, nothing. I was in love. Is wanting to be in love with someone enough? Is wanting Jae enough to erase all the feelings still left in me for others?

Looking back on it, I remember how David and I began to forget the little things in our relationship. We didn't talk like we used to. We stopped randomly smiling at one another. We stopped communicating. We talked, but it was all bubblegum pop, nothing substantial, nothing real. I wonder if he ever thinks about those times when we genuinely seemed to love each other. I wonder if he ever misses those times, if any of them were even real. Its terrifying, actually, to even begin to think of trusting someone that much again, of putting myself out there like that again.

Is it worth it?

Do You Remember?

I stumbled upon this song whilst exploring a side of YouTube I've never been to before.

In many ways this experience is like stumbling into an older section of a magnificent library and suddenly discovering thousands of books you want to read. You are lost in this wonderland with absolutely no desire to leave it.

That's what happened when I came across this little appreciated part of YouTube.

How did I find these songs, you may ask? By following a friend of mine through the proverbial rabbit hole. She posted a song. A song by the young woman that I am about to post. I listened to it and liked it. I then clicked on like videos and the next thing I knew I was lost and in love with the feeling.

I found a group called Starfucker and one called Hungry Ghosts (which inspired a poem for my previous post). I have fallen in love with this little niche of music, so the next few days expect music you've probably never heard (unless you are my little sister who digs the indie scene).

For now, I would like to present Ane Brun with the song "Do You Remember?"

The Face of Zeus

In the beginning, we had four arms, four legs and two faces. When Zeus saw us he became afraid of our power. He split us asunder so that we had two arms, two legs and one face. Ever since we have searched for our other face, the other half of what once was whole. We search the whole world for our Soul Mate, the other half to a soul split by a jealous god. Our other half. Our other face.

Perhaps the reason Zeus was so afraid was because two faces can see more than one. Four eyes searching his flaws as a deity, silently criticizing and questioning his every act as God. Its interesting, really, to think about how frightened one god became of his "creation."

The Hungry Ghost

I stood alone. Drifting, dreamily sleeping, careening.
A hungry ghost asked me to dance, taking my hand in his.
He kissed me. Softly, hungrily tasting, touching.
A hungry ghost asked for my heart, touching my chest.
I gasped. A pretty face, twirling in a crowded place.
A hungry ghost asked me to love him, enchanting me.
He kissed me. Longingly, slowly taking, everything.
I did not deny him. I let him in. I gave what I could to him.
A hungry ghost devoured me, so lovingly and with care.
And so I became a hungry ghost, caught in sweet oblivion.

The Ship of Dreams

One hundred years ago, at 2:20AM on April 15th, 1912, RMS Titanic broke in half and sank into the depths of the North Atlantic Ocean. Only approximately 700 people were saved out of the 2,214 on board. It is considered one of the greatest non-conflict tragedies of the past century.

As many of you know "Titanic," the movie by James Cameron, celebrated the one hundredth anniversary of the famed ship's sinking by re-releasing the movie to theatres, this time in 3D.

On a whim, I decided it would be an experience to see "Titanic" at approximately the same time RMS Titanic was sinking a century ago. I had never seen the movie in theatres (as I mentioned in my last blog involving Titanic) so that would be an experience as well. For this whim, I recruited Kid, whom I take on many adventures with me.

The experience is one I will never forget, nor would I wish to change it for anything in the world.

It is hard to explain what an impact this experience had on me, really, but I shall try to explain.

Firstly, having had time to think about it since I decided to do it, I should've had this on my bucket list before now. So, after the fact, I christen that one of my bucket list items, now fulfilled. *Cheers and balloons*

My "Titanic" experiences began with the tickets. I purchased the tickets online and we picked them up when we arrived at the theatre. With our tickets was an "official" boarding pass. Pictorial evidence below.




Being the history buff/nerd that I am, the boarding pass really solidified the experience for me. I am in the movie, a part of the history. That's how it feels for me anyway.

Which brings me to the 3D part. Because the movie wasn't originally 3D it obviously didn't quite translate. It didn't "pop" quite like a 3D movie is supposed to, but it gave the whole thing a little more depth, a little more realism. That is one of the few things I like about 3D, is the feeling of being a part of the movie. I feel like it not quite "popping" out (like any other 3D movie) made it more substantial. Personal opinion of course.

During the movie there were shots of the skylight ceiling in the First Class portion of the ship. I have stood under a smaller reproduction of this skylight in the National Museum of History in Washington DC. In fact, pictorial evidence follows of that as well! It is a small reproduction, but a reproduction nonetheless!



That was a startling feeling, almost surreal. Thinking "Wow, I stood under something almost exactly like that." Not quite as earth shattering as seeing a face eerily similar to my own in the Holocaust Museum, but pretty damn close. Its one of those moments where you are so close to history you can almost reach out and touch it. And I love those moments!

I was in awe throughout the movie. So much so that I was too entranced to cry during parts that have always choked me up before. Granted, there were a few tears shed, but so few that I was surprised.

The "love" that Jack and Rose have for each other is really quite powerful, with a lot more substance than other movies with "love at first sight" type gimmicks. Jack understands Rose, he is attracted to her (of course, who wouldn't be?), but he doesn't try to take advantage of that. At least, not in my personal view. The person trying to take advantage of Rose is Cal. It's even strongly hinted that they are already occupying the marriage bed, even though they haven't been officially married.

Beside the point entirely. I just really like the romance of this movie, even though I don't generally like romantic movies. Exceptions being anything with Cary Grant or Clark Gable (or any other old movie star hotness).

I have come to appreciate this movie more as I've gotten older. When I was younger I always avoided romantic movies because they depressed me. I was alone and I hated everyone for being in love. I hated romance, I hated sex (because I wasn't having any), I hated love, I hated it all. Now that I am settled into my own committed relationship I can watch those movies and be happy for the character. That kind of unselfish happiness that comes when you already have it yourself.

The other thing I have come to appreciate is Leonardo DiCaprio. He is so handsome! How did I not think he was hot when I was younger? Of course, it helps that I now know his acting prowess... It took some time (because I am ALWAYS behind the trends), but I am a Leo fan! So seeing this as a Leo fan changed my perspective too.

Seeing the Titanic going down, knowing that One hundred years before it was going down, was the most powerful feeling. It was like being there. As close to reality as I can get. And it was amazing.

All in all, I had so much fun. I wondered if I might have some supernatural experiences, but if I did they were internalized. It was enough to be there. Enough to say I did it. To mark it off my bucket list as I put it there.

To all the people who were lost Rest in Peace, may you be as Rose was in the end of the movie. Happy and re-united with those you love.

A Memoir, of Sorts...

I am looking back over the pages of my life's story. Some things I will pass over, pretend they aren't there. Some I will read and re-read lovingly, the pages worn with care. Others I will pause to quietly cry over; things I lost, things I said, people I miss.

Today I am nostalgic. Sometimes this means I am yearning for a simpler time. Admittedly, I have always been kind of an adult. So a simpler time for me was before I realized there was such a thing as the internet and that it could inform me of all the horrors I was missing out on in the BFE. A time back when I believed in one God, who loved everyone. A time when Y2K and the election of George W. Bush were all I knew of the outside world. That and abortion...

It is times like this that I really want to write the whole story down. Finish that memoir I keep starting. I have started it many times over the years. However, it seems silly to write a memoir now while I am still young. Except I've never really felt young. To me, age has always been a number, a silly one at that. Age defines you when, really, it should be your maturity level that defines you. I have never been my biological age.

With that in mind, it makes sense to write that memoir. Get everything down before I am too bogged down to do it. The problem is every time I start it, I find myself bogged down. Too many memories go into a memoir. Both good and bad. If I made a memoir of only the good things I'd be leaving out half the story, which would be unfair to the reader. At the same time, I am afraid to reveal so much of myself.

What if no one likes me? What if no one wants to read about me? What if I leave absolutely no trace of myself on history's pages? What if all I am is a Facebook page of worthless nothingness?

When I was younger I believed I would have a bunch of children (this number varied from 20 to 16 to 5 to none) and they would be my legacy. As I got older, I thought I would do something great with my life and leave my mark that way. Now I don't know how I will leave my mark. Will history remember this blog? Will history remember my story ideas? My poems? Will history be so kind as to remember that I even existed?

Think of all the people who left no mark in the book the history. There have been billions of people on this world. We know so few of them! I don't want to be one of the forgotten masses. Is that wrong?

Am I what is left in the hearts of my friends and family?

I guess part of the reason I am thinking like this is because I have been thinking of the people on the RMS Titanic. I am thinking a lot of history right now, because I love history. Because I love my memories entwined with history's.

I've rambled long enough I suppose. I will have to revisit this idea sometime later... For now, I need sleep.

Ron Paul?

I have a few friends who seem to believe that Ron Paul is a good choice for President. However, I feel that Ron Paul is kind of insane. Personally. Of course, my fears for his sanity were completely realized whilst reading the following article:

http://www.littleredumbrella.com/2012/01/lets-be-clear-ron-paul-fucking-sucks.html

Granted, this person seems to really dislike Paul, so I suppose a little prejudice is to be expected. But then you start reading the articles and its all very frightening. Whether its true, I don't know.

I'm still voting for Barack Obama. I'm still standing behind the decision I made in 2008. I am still proud of that decision.

Obama 2012

Santorum Aborts.

Well Ladies and Gents, it has happened. God or whomever exists out there be praised. Rick Santorum has left the raise for President!!

In memory of this momentous moment I stumbled across an article chronicling all the wonderfulness that Santorum has left us.

http://thinkprogress.org/special/2012/04/10/461929/rick-santorum-look-back/

Oh, and one thing that I thought was the funniest was this:

- In 1994, Santorum said single moms are just “breeding more criminals.”

I think the funniest thing about that is going back and reading what he says about Rape Victims. They should be forced to not only carry to term a "horrible gift," but then are ENTIRELY to blame if said child becomes some sort of criminal because she is a single mom. Proof, yet again, that Santorum has NO effing clue what he is saying...

I can't believe that this video is real, but it is... Terrifying.



There are many reasons why I am ecstatic that Santorum has dropped out, too many to actually list here. Let's just all thank our lucky stars and pray that Romney and Gingrich are the next to go.

In the meantime, continue to support http://blog.spreadingsantorum.com/ in all their endeavours.

The One Hundred Years of Titanic

One hundred years ago today the RMS Titanic departed on a maiden voyage from Southampton, England, on a fated journey to New York City, New York. It never reached it's destination, colliding with an iceberg in the North Atlantic Ocean killing 1,514 people.

Now, if you grew up in the 1990's at all, then you are probably aware of Titanic, if only for the movie starring Leo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet. Or the song from the movie by Celine Dion (which I'm going to post because of the following: 1. The video makes me cry every time, just like the actual movie and 2. I actually really like the song. Views not shared with me by my husband OR Ms. Winslet).

For me, I have a variety of sweet and interesting memories related to RMS Titanic.

The very first memory I have of Titanic is seeing the movie when I was ten. The year would've been 1998 by my recollection. My younger brother was eight and my little sister was a two-year-old Shirley Temple look-a-like. The reason that we ended up seeing this movie (because all three of us did) was because my mother had a migraine headache.

When I was younger my mom was prone to debilitating migraines. This would induce nausea, tremendous sensitivity to light and sound, and sometimes the only cure was for her to try and sleep it off. This often left me in charge (as my sister's father was never around) and us to our own devices.

At this time we lived just down a dirt and gravel path from my step-father's mother's house. I would go there for knitting lessons or to play with Brutus, one of the Cocker Spaniel dogs kept by Nana and Grand-dad (aka: My step-grandparents). On one such day, being bored, we children walked down to Nana's. When she got tired of us (which was quickly that day) she handed me a video cassette (yes, we had VCR's then!) and told me to take it home and watch it with my siblings so as to give my mother a break.

Have you ever tried explaining a sex scene to a two-year-old and an eight-year-old? Or why the pretty lady is naked? And why is that guy drawing her? What is happening to the ship? What is happening to Jack (Leo's character)? Let's just say it was VERY interesting for everyone involved because my siblings and I had many questions regarding the film, which neither of my parents had seen.

After this I became intrigued with the Titanic disaster. I read a few different books on the subject (it was one of my top ten most checked out subjects besides Jack the Ripper, Lizzie Borden and anything by Edgar Allan Poe. I was a rather morbid child). One of my favorites being "Voyage on the Great Titanic" by Ellen Emerson White as part of the "Dear America" series.

The next encounter I remember with Titanic was in Middle School at 14. In my reading class (the sole purpose of this class was to encourage reading, which I already did copious amounts of) we had a Titanic themed reading party. The classroom was transformed into the North Atlantic Ocean, we were all assigned an actual passenger from RMS Titanic's passenger list, we were visited by an author and we ate food similar to what was eaten on Titanic. And we read a book on it as well. Obviously.

Part of the reason this sticks out in my head is for petty reasons. I can't quite remember who I was on the Titanic, but I was married. And I was married to someone I couldn't actually stand. Hilarious, looking back at it now. It wasn't that he had ever been mean to me, but I was a teenage girl. We hate people because we can, not for any logical reason.

Also during that time a friend made a bet with me that I couldn't watch "Titanic" all the way to the credits without crying. I made it, barely. She didn't. I almost lost it during the part where the elderly couple is in bed, holding each other as the water rushes up to claim them. I remember thinking I wanted a love like that. Of course, part of the reason we were friends was because of our things in common. That was where she lost the bet.

I had an elderly gentleman friend when I was young, a friend of the family. His name was Mr. S. He was born the year the Titanic was launched and, subsequently, sank. He was born in July of that year. He would've been 100. And, on days like this where I am thinking about him, I miss him deeply.

One of the most recent memories I have of "Titanic" is sitting in the hotel room in Virginia, on our first trip to DC. L.E.D wasn't feeling well so Kid and I had gone to get Chinese food. When we got back we caught the last half hour of "Titanic." We quoted lines, making fun of Rose and Jack in their final moments. We laughed and laughed. Even though L.E.D didn't feel well we still had fun.

Another recent memory is from our second trip to DC, when L.E.D and I toured the National Museum of History. There was an exhibit partially dedicated to Titanic, with a reproduction of a skylight and some trunks with period clothing. It was interesting to look up and pretend that I was on the ocean, in Titanic, so near to fate and disaster I could taste it.

These memories are beloved, held close to my heart. They may not be the most beautiful or the most interesting, but they are my memories and, to me, it proves the lasting power of RMS Titanic through the years. Titanic has long outlived her passengers, in our imaginations and our memories. She has made her everlasting stamp on history. And a stamp on my memories.

Rest in Peace Passengers and Crew of the RMS Titanic, lost to the waters of the North Atlantic, April 15th 1912.

Do You Ever Wonder?

So I am on a Gotye kick right now. Don't know why, but it happened so innocently. I was listening to a song by VAST called "Pretty When You Cry" and then I started thinking about a song by Gotye I had been meaning to listen to that I hadn't. Next thing you know I found this song called "Wonder Why You Want Her." It is surreal. It is deep. It is sexually charged. And it kind of makes me think of Fawn. Don't know why. Well, except that Fawn and I are girlfriends maybe... Could that be the tenuous link?

At any rate, it is a great song. Deep, sexually surreal and I love it. And I love Fawn. That's all.

Burned

You burned the bridge. You stood there holding the torch.
How dare you blame this on me?
You love me still. You love me.
But you stood there, smiling, as the wood crackled with rose flame.

How dare you try to pin this on me?
You were my father, my friend. You were even a lover, of sorts.
You make me so sick. I want to throw up. I want to scream.
You burned the bridge, but I should be the one to re-build it.

You told me God is a gentleman. God loves everyone.
But you tried to teach me to hate.
You tried to cut me to fit the circles you had planned.
You loved me, but you tried to beat the depression out.

You loved us, but you starved us. Starved us for food,
love, attention. You forced your God down my throat.
You said that God loves me. You told me you were proud of me.
You are such a liar. And you burned everything down.

You abandoned us.
You abused us.
Your love was a rip-off, a ploy and a trap.
You made me wish I was dead.

I tried so many times to cut out the feelings,
vomit up the self-disgust because of what I felt, still feel.
And I hate having to identify myself by your last name,
because you tried to erase my real identity.

No one knows me by my true name.
No one knows me by any other mark than yours.
I am nothing.
I am just as much yours now as I ever was, because I can't escape.

You burned a bridge and I am left grasping the ashes,
trying to make sense of what you've done.
God is a gentleman. God knows everything.
God loves everyone. God loves me. You are so proud.

If God is a gentleman, I wish he would leave me alone.
If God knows everything, I wish He had used that power.
If God loves everyone, why can't He love them as they are?
If God loves me, why can't He love me as I am?

I gave you the matches. I didn't know who I was.
I can't stay in the cage you built around me.
I simply am.
And you burned the bridge, so I have to let you go.

A Few Verses to Ponder

Some of you may be wondering why I am about to post "verses to ponder" and what that means. Do I mean song verses? Bible verses? Or did I misspell "versus" and I'm about to blog about him versus her type stuff?

I mean Bible verses. I've had it up to here with people who claim to know the Bible and don't. I'm tired of people picking and choosing which verses they should follow because they are willfully blind to others. So, here are my arguments for my views, as "proven" by the holy scriptures.

"Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit yourselves: for they watch for your souls, as they that must give account, that they may do it with joy, and not with grief: for that is unprofitable for you." - Hebrews 13:17

This is to mean that no matter what we are to OBEY those above us. That means presidents, spiritual leaders, anyone who is in charge over us.

"But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;" - Matthew 5:44

We are to love each other. No matter what they have done to us. And they are to do the same, no matter what we have done to them. It is one of the hardest things we are told to do as Christians.

"Whoever hates his brother is a murderer: and you know that no murderer has eternal life abiding in him." - I John 3:15

Hate is not what Jesus wants us to do. I say Jesus, because God hates everyone in the Old Testament. Don't believe me? Go ahead, go read it for yourself. You will be surprised.

"If anyone says, I love God, but hates the brothers or sisters, he is a liar...Whoever loves God must also love the brothers and sisters." - I John 3:20, 21

You CANNOT say that you hate someone and Love God. It doesn't work that way, as we are charged to love one another as we love ourselves.

"These things I command you, that ye love one another." - John 15:17

See! What did I just say about loving one another?

"There is one Lawgiver, who is able to save and to destroy. Who are you to judge another?" - James 4:12

We are not to judge someone for their actions. We are to examine our own actions before even beginning to look at someone else's. Examine the log in your own eye before bitching about the speck in your brother's.

"Honour all men. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honour the king." - 1 Peter 2:17

Honouring someone is showing respect. We are to respect ALL men. Not those we like or those we know. We are to show respect and love to ALL. Oh and that last part? We are to show respect to those in authority. AKA: The president, the pastor, the teacher, etc.

"Submit yourselves to every ordinance of man for the Lord's sake: whether it be to the king, as supreme; Or unto governors, as unto them that are sent by him for the punishment of evildoers, and for the praise of them that do well." - 1 Peter 2:13-14

We are to submit to the laws. We are to obey those in authority. You know what that means? Not going out of your way to curse a president or anyone else just because you don't agree with them. They are who God has allowed to be in authority and you are to SUBMIT.

I hate fighting with people, but I am tired of people being two-faced. If you are a Christian, you are to follow the WORD OF GOD. And last I checked, those were the words of God.

Oh also, here are a few words from the Qur'an. Don't they seem familiar?

"O mankind! Allah created you from a single (pair) of a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes, that you may know each other (not that you despise each other). Verily the most honored of you in the sight of Allah is (he who is) the most righteous of you. And Allah has full knowledge and is well acquainted (with all things)." (The Nobel Qur'an 49:13)

“If thou dost stretch thy hand against me, to slay me, it is not for me to stretch my hand against thee to slay thee: for I do fear God, the cherisher of the worlds. (The Noble Qur'an, 5:28)"

"when the angels said, "O Mary, indeed Allah gives you good tidings of a word from Him, whose name will be the Messiah, Jesus, the son of Mary - distinguished in this world and the Hereafter and among those brought near" 'Āli `Imrān 3:45

An Experiment

In her song, "Xizi She Knows," Imogen Heap says something that resonates with me every time.

You're pretty damn good as you are.
That is something that seems to get lost in the shuffle of things sometimes. Like romantic relationships or friendships. We are never made to believe that we are "damn good" as we are. We are, in fact, made to believe that we aren't good enough. Ever. Because we aren't beautiful. Because we aren't smart enough. Because we aren't what someone wants.

Xizi, she knows, that once its gone, then its gone.
I think that is a metaphor for being damn good as you are. Once you change for someone else and you completely lose yourself, its gone. You may get back some modicum of what you were, but you'll never be fully YOU again. You've lost it. You've let it go.

You may be wondering what this has to do with the title of this blog, but bear with me a moment.

I talked about being hit on, in my last blog. About not being hit on because I'm intelligent or well-read (which, as Donnie pointed out, is never the reason anyone is hit on), but because I have rather large breasts and a so-so face (at least, in my opinion). About how it must be freeing to be completely covered, so that someone has no choice but to get to know you for who you are, instead of how you look.

Can you imagine, for a moment, what it would be like for no one to think your hair is a mess or your make-up is wrong? Or that you aren't wearing the latest styles, your butt is too big or too flat? Can imagine how nice that would be? Not to feel the pressure to please with skin and fashion?

I was talking to Donnie about it and he suggested I try it. Though, he did say he thinks I'll get ignored more than anything.

He suggested I try being covered and then write about the experience. And I think I'm going to do it. It falls into my desire to experiment with different religions as well. I am both excited and trepidatious.

Pros:
1. I'll get to experience a culture other than my own. One that I actually know a fair bit about.

2. I can write about the experiences, because I'll have a rather constant inspiration.

3. My husband supports me in whatever I choose to do.

Cons:
1. The last time I dressed as an Islamic woman (back when I was in high school) I brought the Klan out of hiding.

2. This experiment may have serious ramifications regarding my job, my social life and my family life.

3. I am really shy, so I may very well not gain anything from this experiment except heartache from all the ignorance and stupidity around me.

'Tis better to try and to fail, than to never try at all. How will I know what happens until I try it? Well, I can't. I can't know what will happen or who I will meet unless I try it.

This experiment will take preparation. Partially because I do not currently own a burqa, niqab, hijab or any other such covering. Partially because I need to define the boundaries for myself and a time frame. This experiment is going to take longer than a week or two. And partially, because this is going to take my full concentration and desire. I can't go into this experiment half-heartedly. I have to be fully behind it and fully invested before it will work.

In the meantime, I think I should do some more research into Islam. I need to re-read the Qur'an. I need to slowly wean myself away from Alcohol... Unfortunately. I need to re-read the Bible. If you are wondering about that please refer to my blog "The Christianity/Islam Dichotomy" (which you can find at the following link: http://saraicrazyblog.blogspot.com/2011/12/christianityislam-dichotomy.html). And I need to re-affirm who I am.

I am still searching for who I am, in the midst of all the insanity that is called Life. I am still young, so I have time to figure it out. Maybe this will change me. Maybe this experience will change who and what I am. Maybe it won't. I guess I won't find out until I do it.

I feel like I'm rambling a little so I will stop for now. Expect updates sometime in the near (or far) future.

Something to Say

Someone said to me once that I am beautiful. That I am beautiful and that is why people hit on me all the time. You know who you are and I'm going to tell you something very important.

I partially want to be Muslim because I would have an excuse to be covered. I would have an excuse to ignore my body and my face. I envy women who choose to cover themselves. It must be so freeing to not be constantly judged by your face and your weight, how large your breasts are and how much skin you show.

You know why the few people that hit on me do? Because I have large breasts. Sad, but true. No one tries to go out with me because I am intelligent or well read. No one tries to talk to me because I enjoy the theatre or writing. They come over and "hit on" me because I have large breasts and because I am heavier set. They think because of these things I'll sleep with them. I am overweight so I must have ridiculously low self-esteem (which I do, but that is beside the point). I have large breasts so I must be a slut.

If I was covered, no one would take me at face value. Anyone who talked to me would have to ACTUALLY talk to me. Get to know me, not my body. Get to know what's in my head, not what's on it.

So, darling, the truth isn't that I'm beautiful. The truth is that God/Allah/Buddha/Krishna/whomever gave me a large chest and unfortunately that is all I'll ever be to some people. Its not always a compliment to be hit on.