Things I've learned

My views, opinions and thoughts have changed a lot since I was young. Some of what I believe has changed drastically from even just five years ago. Along this crazy ride called life, I've learned a bunch of things. And I've changed. I feel like I've changed quite a bit. Let's have a look at what I've learned.

A prime example of these changes are my views and opinions on abortions, marriage equality and circumcision. If you had asked me five years ago I would've told you that abortion was a heinous thing and that it was used, primarily, as a birth control. I would've told you that I was still not sold on the idea of Marriage Equality. I would've said that circumcision was much healthier than being uncircumcised.

Those who know me, however, know that I am open to new ideas and thoughts. I am open to anything someone has to say (unless it is uselessly hateful). Which is how my opinions have come to shift. The other thing people should know is that I do my research. I'm not going to just flip-flop like certain Republican candidates (I'm looking at you Mitt Romney and Rick Santorum) because someone says I should. I'm going to look into it.

Which is why my opinions are subject to fluidity and change.

* Never accept something at face value. Something ugly can be beautiful on the inside. Sometimes you have to look past the exterior. Beauty isn't the only thing that is skin deep. Ugliness can be only skin deep.

* Always be open to listening to new music, ideas, opinions and absurdities. Even if you end up disliking it you've at least tried it. The same goes for experiences and foods. Try it before you say you don't like it.

* Sex isn't the be all, end all. It is wonderful, it is fun, it is enjoyable. Don't let it control you.

* Virginity isn't a bad thing.

* Abortions should be legal. We are not walking in each other's shoes and don't know what the other person is going through. We should not be allowed to control the life choices of another.

* We are not equal until ALL of us are equal. Equality for some isn't equality at all.

* Reading is more important than we let on. What we read in books is what we base our lives on. Christians base themselves on the Bible, the Muslims on the Qur'an, the Jews on the Torah. If we read only one thing, we aren't reading at all. We aren't allowing our minds to expand. We are restricting ourselves to one small box. Open up and expand your world.

* Circumcision is wrong; no matter if it is a boy or a girl. Why should we cut away healthy flesh from a being that has no voice in the operation? Aren't we supposed to be protectors of our children?

* The people who say spankings didn't damage them are lying. Spankings damaged us all. Some of us just show less damage than others.

* Stumble Upon is a magnificent way to learn AND waste time.

* Being beautiful is in the eye of the beholder. No matter what anyone says, you are beautiful. Never forget that.

* You aren't too damaged to be loved.

* Barack Obama rocks. :)

* Knowing your history doesn't mean it has to dictate your future.

* Never be afraid to stand up for yourself. Stand up, be heard, stop letting people trample on you. You are a human being, you deserve respect and love. No matter where you come from or who you are.

* Marijuana should be legalized and taxed.

* Rapists should get absolutely NO sympathy from anyone. They committed a horrific crime and no one deserves to be raped. We live in a rape culture and that is wrong.

* Gun control is a thing that needs to happen. No matter what. And I don't care if I'm disliked for that opinion. I've always believed in gun control. That is something that HASN'T changed.

* Being ashamed of yourself because of your past is ridiculous. You can't change the past, so if you didn't like it, change it for tomorrow!

All of Her: Chapter Twenty-Three

I decide, at random, to go to the library and check out some movies. I have grown bored with most of Clark's avant garde collection, though I like some of them. I wander the aisles, browsing titles and remembering times I wish I could forget. I stumble upon "Titanic" and the memories bubble up before I can suppress them.

I had just turned sixteen. I was still a virgin, though David's pressure for us to have sex had been building. I felt like I was going to explode, because I wanted him just as badly. I was just nervous, a little afraid even. For my birthday that year my sister, Anna, bought me "Titanic," knowing my love for the main male protagonist. I decided that, after watching the movie, I would finally allow David to have my virginity.

I planned everything meticulously. I bought a new bra, a new pair of panties, a lubricant and condoms. I set up candles around my room for the "mood." My mother and Brad would be out of town for their anniversary and my younger sisters would be staying with Kevin. Anna would almost certainly be over at Greg's house all during the weekend; they were planning their wedding after all. I had the house to myself.

On the appointed day I invited David over, after confirming my sister's midnight blue Mazda was gone from the driveway. He showed up with my favorite flowers, white hyacinths. We put them in a vase and I fixed us dinner. It was the first time I made my fancy BLT's for him. Then I coaxed him into watching the movie with me. At first he refused, claiming it was such a "girl's" movie, but he eventually settled in and we snuggled. His hand would stray toward my breasts during and, instead of smacking his hands away like I usually did, I reveled in the sensation.

After the movie, I excused myself to the bathroom where I put on my new "lingerie," digging the lubricants and condoms out from behind the tampons and maxi pads under the sink. I re-entered my bedroom decked out and nervous. David looked shocked, though obviously aroused.

"Are you sure?" he said, as he gently pushed me back on the bed. I nodded meekly, allowing him to touch me in places I had never been touched.

"Promise me something," I moaned, his hands caressing.

"What?" he breathed, nipping the skin of my neck. I stopped him and looked deep in his eyes. I wanted him, but I wanted this promise more.

"Promise you will marry me someday." I said, a little breathless, tears welling up in my eyes. He looked at me, with an expression I took for serious sincerity at the time. His breathing slowed and I felt my legs being separated.

"I promise." he said. With those words my virginity was lost.

Staring at the cover of "Titanic," I know I have to watch it again. I haven't seen it since that night, almost eight years ago now. Maybe it is a way to come full circle, a way to heal. Or maybe I will be beset by memories the entire time and unable to enjoy any of it. I almost wish I would run into Jae so that I can make new memories with someone else. Instead I run into David.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, clearly surprised by my being out in public.

"Checking out movies, obviously." I reply, holding up my movie selection. His eyes snag on "Titanic" and linger. He looks at me and then back at the cover.

"I haven't seen that in years," he says, pointing to it.

"I know." I reply. "Its been eight almost."

"Yeah. It has been. I thought you didn't really like it. Why are you checking it out now?"

"I used to love this movie." I say, somewhat defensively. "I just never watched it after that night because the memories were too powerful."

"I would think you would have watched it more then, not now."

"What does it even matter to you what I do and do not watch, David?" I ask, irritated by his manner and tone. How could I ever love this man? Why did I love him? Why did I let him have all those years, all those secrets and trusts? He shrugs his shoulders, so nonchalantly.

"It doesn't. I was just curious. I suppose I'll leave you now." he says and as he walks away, I can't keep the acid from dripping off my tongue.

"You left me a long time ago." He stops, but doesn't turn, at first. Slowly, almost painfully, he turns and looks at me.

"We're in a library, so I won't make a scene." he says. "But you are wrong. I didn't leave you until that day at the altar. I suppose I just couldn't stomach you any more."

His words bite like a snake, quick and poisonous. I feel like I've just been slapped.

"You left the night I gave you my virginity." I whisper, vehemently. I check out my videos and head out the door, David close behind.

"No. I cared for you at that point." he says. I turn to face him, my eyes searching his face as though trying to see a chink in the armor. Anything to give me a chance to strike back.

"You never cared." I say, struggling to keep from yelling. "You may have cared for my body, but only when you wanted to use it. You never cared for my mind or my heart. If you had you never would've played with them like you did."

"Girls are like toys to be played with, really." He says, a cocky grin on his face. "Like living Barbie dolls. It's amusing. I watched you and Alice disintegrate like you'd been blasted with fire. I had Alice convinced that being with you was the right thing to do. That her love for you should let me stay with you, even as I kept professing my undying love and my desire to be with her. She put up no fight. No resistance."

I blink. Once, twice. Tears sting my lids. I have to force myself to start breathing again. My lungs feel like they are on fire. And, without thinking, I drop my movies, haul off and punch David right in the nose. He stumbles back, startled by the suddenness of it, and then clutches his nose which begins spouting blood. I pick up my movies again and walk away. No one tries to stop me and the only person that tries to help him is his unlucky wife, who screams profanity at me as I walk away.

I know that that was incredibly stupid. I know that I shouldn't have punched him and that I will pay for it. My hand is already throbbing. However, it felt so amazing to finally do that. To have my moment of feeling justified. To have my moment of, so-called, revenge. Its the only thing I've done that actually hurt him. Of course it hurt me too, but it still hurt him. Why didn't I just do that in the beginning? Why didn't I do that when he first tried to seduce my engagement ring away from me? Why didn't I do that when he tried to sleep with me? Why did I let him into me, no resistance, when I could've done what I did just now?

I know Alice will seek me out. I know her well enough to know that she will want to confront me. I almost turn around so that she can do it now, instead of having to wait. But I don't, I keep moving forward. I swear to myself that, from now on, that will be the only direction I move.

It takes some time, and convincing, but I convince my former boss, at the book store, to allow me to return to work. I move out of Clark's apartment and into a tiny apartment above the store, which my boss gives me a discount on. I take up painting, in my spare time. My favorite subject becomes Snuggles, who refuses to sit still for a portrait. I stop going to the bars, I stop having sex, though that part is a lot more difficult.

I do give in a couple of times, after running into Adam one day at the store. And once more after running into Niya at the library.

I know that my confrontation with Alice will happen eventually. Just because it hasn't yet, doesn't mean it won't. I know her better than that. Because of this, I am not at all surprised when she comes to see me at work.

At first she doesn't say anything. She ignores my presence and my attempts to assist her in finding a book. She wanders the store, never in a position where she can't glare at me. Finally she brings a book up to the counter and slams it down, in an attempt to gain my attention.

"May I help you?" I ask, politely. I don't look up, instead I continue to pretend to be fascinated with my tea.

"I'd like to purchase a book on how to get rid of a slut." she says. I look up at the book and see that it is a book of sexual positions.

"I'm afraid you won't find what you are looking for in that particular book." I say, seeming un-phased.

"This book is for me and my husband. Who recently got attacked and is still recovering from a broken nose." Being a bitch, I can't help but smile at that. My hand was tender for a few days, but I have fully recovered, physically, from our "encounter of the violent kind."

"Well then you won't want to try the position on page thirty-five. It may re-break his nose." I go back to stirring my tea, refusing to be riled by her insinuations. Did I whore it up? Yes. Did I break David's nose? Absolutely. Am I going to fight with her anymore over it? No. She fumes, silently for a while, but I don't care.

"You are a whore. I don't know what he ever saw in you." she spits.

"I don't believe he ever saw anything in me. Nor in you, really. He just knew how to manipulate us both. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of dancing like a puppet on a string with no choices or free will. You may continue dancing if you like, but kindly leave me out of it."

She doesn't say anything at first, letting the words sink in. Then she turns bright red. I look her in the eye, the first time I've done it since everything fell apart. She knows that what I said is true and that there are no words to redeem him at this point. She knows I am right and it pisses her off, even as it frightens her. She still loves him. She married him. Like me, she lost her virginity to him. I'm sure she can't help but wonder if I was a better lover or if he ever truly loved me.

"I'm leaving." she says, leaving the book on the counter. "I don't want to see you again, Abra. I will get a restraining order if I have to."

"Good luck." I say. "It isn't exactly the biggest town. We will run into each other by accident all the time. I have as much control over that as you do over the sun shining in the morning. I promise not to intentionally bother either of you anymore, however."

With a last sharp look, she turns on her heel and walks out. I sigh and sit back down, stirring my tea. I don't even look up when I hear the bell over the door jingle again.

"Forget one last cutting remark, did we?" I say, taking a sip of tea.

"No," she says. "I forgot this."

I look up just in time to see her hand flying toward me. The contact echoes and I can only look up at her in shock. She looks shocked as well, her hand reddened by the slap. My cheek throbs, tears well up and one slips down my cheek.

"Is this what we've come to, Allie?" I ask, using a nickname I haven't used since we were children. "We have lost everything for a man. A stupid man who probably never actually cared for either of us. He used us both, can't you see that? Don't you see what is happening here?"

A tear slips down her cheek as well, but she shakes her head at me.

"He loves me." she says. "You just can't handle that he never loved you."

She turns then and walks away. I don't stand to follow her, I don't move at all. I can't. We've broken beyond repair, corrupted from the inside out and there is no cure for it. I catch a glimpse of her face, she looks back at me before she opens the door and disappears into the outside world.

I wonder if she has any doubts about her husband now. I wonder if she will think about what I've said in the years to come. I wonder if it did any good. I doubt it, as I sip my tea. It was only after he left me that I realized how bad David was for me.

I lock the store up for the evening, a cool breeze whistling by. I am feeling down with all sorts of thoughts drifting through my head. I walk slowly, dreamily. I attempt to not let the anxiety, and depression, slowly creeping in get any foothold, but it is hard. I feel terribly alone and isolated. I haven't seen Noah in ages, my best friend and I have fallen completely apart, my ex-fiance is a tool and I don't know what I'm doing with my life. I'm actually a little terrified of what will happen to me.

I manage to find myself on a bridge, a couple miles from the store and my car. I stand on a rail, gazing into the midnight blue water and wonder. I wonder what it would be like to just jump. I wonder what it would be like to feel nothing ever again. I wonder if I would see Annabelle again. I feel like Rose in "Titanic." Nowhere else to go. I've never felt this overwhelmed, this lost.

No one else can save me, I have to save myself. I have to be my own saviour. And at this point I don't care that much about being saved. I lean forward, grasping the railings so that if I lose my balance I will still be hanging on. A still voice tells me to just let go, let everything go. I can't change anything, it says.

I could let go. I could let go and slip over, falling into the cool water below. I imagine the water slipping like poison into my lungs and filling me until I can take no more. I imagine the water like satin sheets, burying me in softness that erases any desire to leave. I imagine the darkness closing my eyes and I shiver when I realize I wouldn't fight it at that point.

I don't let myself think about David or Alice. I don't let myself think about Noah or Annabelle or Liam. I don't think about Jae. I don't think at all. I just dangle above the water wondering what will happen next. A car honks at me, startling me out of my reverie and I, guiltily, climb down. I go to a payphone and deposit my last two quarters, punching buttons like a madwoman.

"Hello?" he says. He sounds sleepy and stuffy. Probably from the broken nose I gave him.

"David, don't hang up." I say, lamely. I know I need to say something to him, or I'll never really heal.

"What the hell do you want?" he whispers, angrily.

"Who is it, darling?" says a soft voice in the background. He mumbles something, a lie of course.

"I have to talk to you. Will you meet me?"

"So you can re-break my nose?" he asks. He must've gone into another room, because I no longer hear Alice.

"No. Because I need to get something off my chest and I can't do it over the phone. Bring Alice, we'll make a party of it."

"We don't need to involve her." He says, hastily.

"Why? Are you afraid she'll see the truth and leave you without a plaything?"

He is quiet for a few moments and then I hear him sigh.

"Where do you want me to meet you?"

I give him directions as best I can, considering I walked here in a daze. He says he'll meet me in fifteen minutes and hangs up. I shiver as I replace the receiver. There is a slight chill in the air. Or maybe that is the fear of what will happen next. Maybe it's the exhilaration of finally getting to say what I have needed to say since the beginning of this soap opera.

Fifteen minutes passes quickly and I see him walking toward me, his black leather jacket and jeans recognizable even in the semi-darkness. I stand under a street light and wait. There is nothing else around, no sound. It's like the whole world has stopped to watch this newest drama unfold like rose petals in the moonlight. I try to stifle a smile, a nervous habit, as he approaches. He is scowling and his nose is swollen and bandaged. I don't feel guilty for it, though I know I should.

After what feels like years, we are both standing under the street lamp, only a foot or so of space between us. I look into his eyes and wonder if he ever really saw me. Did he ever know me? I can't help but want to kiss him right now. A silly attempt to erase all the time and distance between us. A romantic attempt to save us from the erosion and betrayal.

"I still love you."

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.

Popping the Cherry

I don't understand popular culture's views on virginity. Particularly the ones revolving around losing said virginity. Books, Movies, TV shows, etc... They make it seem like the most amazing experience. Worth all kinds of trouble and perfect every time it happens. No one ever admits that losing their virginity sucked hard core. No one ever wants to read about that. If they are reading about it, they want it to be beautiful so they can pretend that was their experience too.

Truth of the matter is this:

Losing your virginity (if you are a woman) is not really pleasant. It varies from woman to woman, but even if it doesn't hurt (the actual penetration that is) it is still super uncomfortable because your hips aren't used to it. There may be a little blood or a lot, depending, again, on who you are.

And sometimes we lose our virginity to someone who doesn't deserve it and that thing we've always been told is precious is gone. It makes the whole situation miserable to even think about. But when a book or a movie portrays losing your v-card as beautiful and romantic and pain/blood free, they are lying to you.

Yes, it may be romantic. I'll give you that. Mine wasn't super romantic (mostly by my choice, really). Yes it may be relatively pain/blood free. But it is still super awkward, uncomfortable and if you are unlucky with a partner, traumatizing.

Losing your virginity (if you are a man) is not like having sex later on, when you've learned to control yourself. You are probably not going to last more than a few minutes. Some men last longer, but, once again, it entirely relies on the individual. You are not going to be the best in stamina and sex and the world on your first try. Not how that works.

Also you aren't going to be "good" at sex the first time you do it. No one is. The books/movies/tv lie to you when they make it appear that you are the perfect lover right from the get go. Truly not the way it works. Like many other things, it takes practice to be a good lover/partner. Whilst you may be better than average, you aren't going to be the best right off the bat. It takes a couple tries to be really good at something.

I don't understand why we portray it in a better light, really. Are we afraid that young people are going to be scared off from sex forever and then we'll slowly die out? Because desire will win out in the end. It always does.

Also, I don't fully understand why women portray the loss of virginity as beautiful, pain free, etc... while men (who've never actually experienced it like we do) portray it exactly as it is. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Shouldn't the men be trying to make it seem better? I mean, because they are the "takers" in this situation. They are the ones removing said virginity, so wouldn't you think they'd want to make it seem like they are all wonderful and gentle lovers who make everything perfect every time? Nope. They are the ones being, brutally (sometimes), honest and women are the ones covering it up in flowery phrases and metaphors.

I suppose, on a cognitive level, I understand this. Especially if the particular virginity losing episode was traumatic/painful/bloody/weird/uncomfortable for the particular female writer. I can see that. Trying to make it better than it is. But shouldn't you also be realistic? I mean, because you are influencing the young women around you.

They are all going to be disappointed with their first time, because it will never be as wonderful as the books/movies/tv shows make it out to be. They are all going to be saddened by the experience because it wasn't what they had been lead to believe it would be.

I suppose I am also very much guilty of making it flowery in my own story... However, that was between two women and that makes things a little different. There is no actual hymen breaking, unless you go for a dildo. Which my characters didn't. Physically, Jahan leaves that relationship intact. Emotionally, sexually, mentally, she isn't so intact. But that is a different story all together.

Ladies, your first time is different depending on who you are. Everyone is different. Your first time may be everything the books/movies/tv shows promise it will be. If it is, congrats! You have discovered something wonderful.

Gentleman, your first time is different depending on who you are. Everyone is different. Your first time may be everything the books/movies/tv shows promise it will be. If it is, congrats! You aren't like a whole bunch of other guys.

To Do or Not...

Okay, as some of you know, I am on Twitter (@wicked_roses). One of the people I follow on there is Gackt (no, duh!). It just so happens that he (he is a God, have I mentioned this?) has his e-mail up there... I may or may not have mentioned it in a blog convo I had with Fawny Fawn. Anyway, I really, REALLY, want to e-mail him. I don't know what the hell I'd say or do if he, heaven forbid, actually wrote me back. (The President did it, so maybe he would too?)

I just want to do it. Just for the sake of doing it. To say, "I e-mailed Gackt Camui. For shits and giggles."

He wouldn't have enough time to read my e-mail, I'm sure. And it would probably be read by someone who wasn't Gackt, anyway.

Of course, there is still the problem of what would I say?

"Hey, Gackt, You are amazing! And I'm a little in love with you... like at least half of the female population that knows of your existence."

"Hey, Gackt, I wrote a poem about you with references to various songs by you in it... Thought you might like to read it. Maybe."

"Hey, Gackt, I fucking loved your movie 'Moon Child' with Hyde. Would you consider making a sequel?"

"You want my second virginity?"

"You were the Japanese version of Tin Man in my J-Rock Wizard of Oz, you should read it. You may want to try it sometime. With Miyavi and Yoshiki. And maybe me... and Pomme of course..."

"I just want to meet you."

"I promise I'm not a creepy stalker!"

"Can I have a job as your maid? I could do your laundry, wash your dishes, vacuum, etc."

Oh my god, I'm fucking pitiful...

All of Her: Chapter One

No one should find it surprising that the first person I go to, after this catastrophe of the heart, is Noah. Noah being the bestest best gay guy friend a confused and heartbroken girl could ask for.

When we were twelve he was my first kiss. I was his last, as far as women are concerned. Or girls, since I didn't yet qualify as a woman. When we were sixteen he came out to me in my parent's basement a week before Christmas. The next year, a week before Thanksgiving, I told him I was bisexual. Once again, in my parent's basement.

"He is in love with her." I cry, flopping into his arms before he even has a chance to register what I said.

"What? Who is in love with who?" He is stunned, obviously. Also I just flopped into his arms, so he is struggling to keep me up.

"My life is over!" I say, dramatically.

"Surely it can't be as bad as all that."

"Of course it can! This is me we are speaking of here. My life is one giant fuck you from the universe. I might as well give up now." Now, I'm just being dramatic for the effect and he knows it. He is getting annoyed and if I don't stand on my own he is going to drop me.

"Maybe you should start from the beginning."

When I was twelve, shortly after my first kiss from Noah, I met a boy. This boy was the most gorgeous, most intelligent, most wonderful boy I had ever met. And I quickly fell in love with him.

Fast forward ten years and I am sitting in the rectory of a pretty Catholic church. I am about to be married to the man of my dreams. A boy I have loved since I was twelve. A boy I have longed for with everything I have for so long I have nothing left to give. This beautiful, intelligent, wonderful boy leaves me waiting in the rectory. He leaves me waiting before the priest and God. He leaves me in my beautiful white dress and tiny white veil, my cream roses and baby's breath sprigs wilting.

He leaves me because I admitted to him that I was also in love with my best girl friend, Alice. I admit that I want her just as much, that I can't live without either of them. That I am falling into a beautiful insanity where she loves me too and we are happy forever.

He leaves because he has fallen just as in love with Alice as I have. And behind my back, as I planned my wedding and planned my beautiful life with him, he planned a beautiful life with her. The terriblest of terrible things is I should've seen it coming. I should've noticed how they often whispered to each other. Or gazed longingly at one another. But I was in love with two beautiful stars in orbit around my sun. I didn't know that I was a star orbiting their sunlight.

I hadn't confessed my love to Alice yet. I hadn't asked her to be a part of this beautiful life that I was hoping to have. I was waiting. I was a fool.

We fought. He and I. I was humiliated. The church took pity on me and gave me back the money I spent to have the ceremony there. The caterer was not so generous. Though I did get to keep all twenty-four pounds of chicken and six pounds of cake. Isn't that sad though? I demanded that he go through with his promise. That he marry me as he promised he would when we were young and I first gave myself to him. How foolish could I be?

Fast forward to just about fifteen minutes ago. We are standing on the beach. He tried to follow through. He tried to love me. I think so anyway. Maybe I'm wrong. I have been before. We tried again. It still didn't work. Its funny how if something doesn't work the first time it usually doesn't the second time. While we stand on the beach, both of us fighting our inner feelings, here comes Alice. My second love, my worst enemy and best friend. What a beautiful bitch. I hate her right now, truly I do.

And that's when he looks at me and confesses his true feelings. Now I feel like my heart just went through a trash compactor. I don't like that feeling.

"You do realize you didn't have to actually start from the beginning right? Because I mean, I knew all of that up to the last fifteen minutes."

"You know, you could be a little more supportive right now!" I begin to cry and I am all through with the theatrics. These are real, gut-wrenching tears. The only man I've ever been with, the only man I've ever loved just told me that he no longer loves me, but is in love with my best friend. Well, second best friend. And to be honest, I'm thinking that, at this point, I should probably stop calling her a friend at all. What kind of best friend steals your man on your wedding day?

"Oh honey, you knew he was a douchebag after he left you at the altar. Why in heaven's name did you think you could make it work after that?" He is right. I hate that. I don't want him to be right, I want him to hug me and tell me that David is going to come to his fucking senses and marry me.

"That isn't really what I was hoping you would say, Noah."

"I know. But at this moment you need sour honesty, not sugar coated lies." Once again, he is right. I hate him right now. I don't like anyone. Everyone can just go screw themselves.

He does hug me. Though, at this point, I'd like to take a bat to his knee-caps for being right. And, in fact, I'm imagining all the horrific things I would like to do to David and Alice. Some of it may or may not involve casks studded with nails, a rocky hill and gratutious amounts of nudity. Yes, that sounds like a Grimm vengenance.

"So what are you going to do now?" He asks. And to be honest, I have no freakin' clue. Blow something up? Assassinate margaritas until I burst with alcohol poisoning? I have to think a minute before I do something rash. In the meantime I guess I'll just listen to a bunch of sad break up songs and commiserate with a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

"I guess I'll just go home and drown myself in ice cream and music. I really don't know what else to do. I feel like I just lost a major limb or something."

He hugs me again, squeezing my hand in his. He wants to fix it, because we've been through everything together, but we both know he can't fix this one. Not even with dry wit and all the ice cream in the world.

"You want me to come with you?" He is holding me at arm's length. Searching my face for any signs that I'll fly off the handle and kill someone. Or myself. He doesn't need to worry. Yet.

"No. I just really want to be alone right now. I'll call you tomorrow." I hug him again, he kisses my cheek and I find myself driving toward my empty apartment.

When I get there, David has already been there getting some of his things. He has left a note taped to the refrigerator saying he'll be back to finish packing up. It says he's sorry. It says he can't love me with half of his heart. A John Mayer reference, how nice. I suppose I'll listen to that first.

I kick off my shoes and walk into the bedroom. Most of the drawers are still open as if a tornado came through and tore out all of his clothing. He left a few of his t-shirts though. I don't care if it is wrong, but I need to feel him in some way. I put on his Red Sox tee and slippy into some fuzzy pajama bottoms. I pad around the room picking up miscellanous items he has tossed to the floor. I see another shirt of his. The one he was wearing earlier. I can't help myself. I pick it up, press it against my face and begin to cry.

How can I live without him? How can I even begin to start over? I have devoted the past ten years of my life to this man. I've given him everything. My heart, my life, my virginity. I think that last stings the most too. How could I have been so wrong in my choice? I sink to the floor, still clutching his shirt to my tear soaked face. I don't care that my mascara is running and I have snot dripping from my bright red nose. I don't care that he may come in and see me falling completely apart. I don't care that I don't even have the strength to lie to him about it.

Somehow, and I'm not even sure how I found it, I find the strength to stand and put his dirty clothes in the washing machine. I find the courage to go into the living room and turn on some music. I wish I didn't, as soon as I start up the cd player. The very first song is "Not Over You" by Gavin DeGraw. What a jerk he is, to be singing my heart right now. Except, I don't even have the strength to lie to David. If he came in right now, I'd be forced to tell him that I'll never be over him. I could never possibly get over him, no matter how hard I would try. I can't be happy for him either. Not for him and most certainly not for Alice.

I spend my night with that particular song on repeat, trying to find some semblance of sanity to cling to. Trying to pull myself together. And failing miserably at it. I don't even know if I sleep. If I do, I don't dream of anything except of myself sitting with my knees pulled to my chest on the floor in front of my purple plaid couch. I dream of myself not moving, only tears streaming down my face and Gavin DeGraw ripping my heart out because he is feeling what I am right now.

Things have to get better eventually right?

It Happened in Indiana

This poem is based on the horrible things that happened to a young woman named Sylvia Likens. She was brutally tortured and abused, and murdered. That was in 1965.

She was 16.

Go here to learn more about the horrible things that happened to Sylvia [http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/notorious_murders/young/likens/8.html] and [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_Likens]

I don't know if it helps at all, but I can't help but believe that this young woman deserves to be remembered. Especially on this day, the day she died in 1965.

It Happened in Indiana
"I'm a prostitute and proud of it!" scrawled in burning letters across her skin,
bruises forming blue and purple spiders that can't scatter away from the light.
Tied to a filthy bed, naked and dying, she can't even avoid soiling herself.
"You can't ever get married... You can't ever undress in front of others..." the
words filter through the unending pain and the torturous days and nights.

The stench of urine and feces permeates her dreaming, the taste of shit in her
mouth makes her gag. Why do they hate her so? What did she ever do to
deserve this abuse? She is shaking, so hungry for real food, hungry for gentility,
hungry for escape. Could she run? Could she escape? Could she convince
someone to help her? She is terrified, because she hears them coming, like
thousands of venomous snakes tasting her fear, eager for her blood, for her pain.

She is swollen, bruised by the forced violations. She is naked again, their leering
eyes dancing over her skin, over the burns and wounds. They are laughing at her,
laughing as her abuser forces her to push the bottle further up. What will happen
next? More scalding baths? More salt in the wounds that they inflict? Or will it be
another forced tattoo?

Is this to be her fate, to die on this filthy mattress, locked in a cellar, in the dark?
She cries, cries for an imagined baby and a mutilated body, for burns and bruises,
for her sister and for herself. Forced into a tub full of scalding water, salt
viciously rubbed into the burns, skin falling off. Her bones jut out at odd angles,
the result of malnutrition. Welts from the belt rise to the surface, eager to show
themselves for what they are.

A 16 year old girl; tortured, submitted to a sexless sex crime and other horrors,
lies dead on a soiled mattress in the dark. The words "I'm a prostitute and proud
of it!" burned into her stomach, a 3 scarred into her chest. Bruises like blue and
purple spiders scattered across her pale flesh, naked and eyes fixed on oblivion.
Her name? Does she even have one? Or is she just a dead girl from Indiana?

Word of the Day (April 22 - May 4)

Sorry that I am so far behind guys!!! Here are the words of the day from where I left off to now! ^^

April 22nd: Empyrean
April 23rd: Ambisinister
April 24th: Oneiric
April 25th: Egregious
April 26th: Gelid
April 27th: Aubade
April 28th: Eschew
April 29th: Coquetry
April 30th: Billet-Doux
May 1st: Quixotic
May 2nd: Arcanum
May 3rd: Islet
May 4th: Trepidatious

Empyrean
The sky was a cloudless empyrean, dusted with silver stars. An ivory moon combed out her black hair, her children dancing. It was a perfect night. He smiled at her, a million diamonds reflected in the mirror of her eyes. He knelt before her, the small box tenderly held out. "Will you marry me?"

Ambisinister
It was difficult being ambisinister. Always so clumsy, always dropping stuff. Of course, it might be less difficult if you actually had hands to be ambisinister with. No, that just doesn't make sense! Having hands might make me less clumsy? I might drop less items that way?

Oneiric
The sands of time drip slowly through the hourglass for those whose outlook is oneiric. Often contemplative, they watch the sand sift down and psycho-analyze each grain. Dreamy, they see rainbows where there are blood streaked skies. They see stars through the smog, when the stars have all faded into non-existence. They do not see reality in black and white, but in shades of violet and cream. Maybe that is why they seem so much happier; existing in a dream world.

Egregious
"You're such an egregious liar, Persephone! As if anybody really believes Hades kidnapped you. And not only that, you ate something so you can't come back?! If you didn't want to do the play with us you could've at least said so! Now, because of this stunt, we have to find a replacement last minute! Zeus' genitalia, this is ridiculous!"

Gelid
That winter was particularly gelid; the roads coated in generous amounts of snow. Brian and Chelsea were sledding down the hill, racing. It was kind of a date, though neither had admitted their crush. Soon they were at the bottom, sprawled out and entangled. They didn't mean to kiss, it just happened. Snowflakes on eyelashes framing green eyes were not meant to be resisted.

Aubade
The muse awoke from her rose petal slumber, an aubade on her lips. The sun's birth approached, the sky opening itself to his fiery entrance. She picked up her lyre and found her way to the balcony of heaven. She sat on the ledge, draping her blue skirts about her. Today's song would be a lullaby, a lure for the dawn. As her fingers danced, the newborn ascended his thorn, bloody embers glowing softly.

Eschew
"To eschew sexuality, and its gifts, would be the worst kind of sin." The cult leader had been talking in this vein for days. "We must cast our virginity upon the altar of lust and love, giving it up as incense to the God of Heaven. We must lift up our rumpled clothes and rejoice in the good gift of sex." Women began stripping off their shirts and bras, men began to tug at their pants. A God induced sexual frenzy was in full swing before you could say "My penis' name is Boris".

Coquetry
The art of coquetry had not been entirely lost on her. It was just so subtle, too subtle for her tastes. She preferred boldly asserting herself to the subtle dalliance of coquetry. Her mother, however, wanted her to be quiet and meek. She was neither quiet nor meek, nor was she gentle and mild-mannered. She was wild and she intended to stay that way.

Billet-Doux
He had been up the entire night perfecting his billet-doux. His sweetheart deserved perfection in every way, especially in love letters. A sweet note to a sweet girl, he thought. Love was such a funny colored thing! One moment it flared red with passion, the next it was white with purity. This letter would never be finished, as love goes on forever.

Quixotic
It was a quixotic dance to them, rushing in, bullets flying. A damsel in distress was unnecessary for them. The sound of bullets ringing against concrete spurred fire through their blood. It was reckless and romantic, a modern fairy tale. They would go down swinging, rebels without a cause. Fighting only windmills on paper horses, they ride into destiny.

Arcanum
The professor was talking on and on about arcanum and long dead alchemists. Cindy was falling asleep. She began to dream as she drifted, the professor's words a lazy drone. She was lost in a cave, the walls rising high and glittering. She could feel secrets as old as time itself pressing down on her. This is what the professor meant by arcanum.

Islet
On a summer lit islet a girl watches as violets are gathered. She is a sacrifice to the heart of the small island. They fill the sea chest with the tiny flowers until it overflows with purple and green. They lead her to the box and force her down. Her eyes glimmer with fear as they prepare the knife. When the moon rises it rises over a murdered mermaid and bloody violets.

Trepidatious
Trepidatious, she crawled out of the vault. Everything was so big! There was a blinding light coming out of the sky, at least she thought it was a sky. The first thing she came in contact with was a small building with a woman named Silver living in it. All fear gone, she spoke with Silver for a time and headed for a place called Megaton. The search for her father had now begun in earnest.

Sleeping Beauty

Current mood: Angry

http://news.yahoo.com/video/health-15749655/real-life-sleeping-beauty-tells-tale-18048539

By the way, DO NOT watch "Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Lightning Thief". Why? Well because they claim that one of the "Olympians" or demigods is the daughter of Athena.

Think about that for a minute...

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Okay, done thinking? No?

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...

Okay, let me spell it out for you. Athena was a VIRGIN GODDESS. Nowhere in her mythology ANYWHERE is she EVER anything but a virgin. Now don't bring up that "virgin mary" bullshit with me.

Athena was NOT a mortal woman filled with the seed of God. She WAS a Virgin. I CANNOT stand people who RUIN mythology like that. READ YOUR FUCKING MYTHOLOGY YOU BASTARDS!