Pharaphernalia

“If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.”

— Zora Neale Hurston (via clash-official)

“You mean more to me than anyone else has. Love, Justin.” I’m so blessed. To make this sweet surprise even more rad, he left an orange sucker with a cricket, of sorts, frozen inside. Who does that? I think I’m in love.

wash it all away

I put my Galaxy S4 in the washing machine about a week ago. Clearly, it was an accident. I was ten kinds of fucked up over it. My parents got me this expensive phone for Christmas because they trusted me, they knew I wouldn’t pawn it like I have everything else in my life. It was the only thing I have that held any value. My mother and I took it to two different cell phone repair stores. Last night we had to give up and accept that the Galaxy was gone for good. It was time to let the grieving process begin but then low and behold my mother bought me another phone right there on the spot for my birthday! I love it. I love her, I love my family. I’m so blessed. Now, there’s more. I think. As the days go by I get more and more comfortable with who and where I am. That’s beautiful. My intensive out patient classes are getting to be more bearable. I’m coming to terms with the fact that I’m just not going to be allowed to work in a restaurant so I best get out there and do something because I can’t continue to let my parents pay for it all. Jess is Jess. I love him, he loves me. We’re trying to work it out where we can see one another more often. He obviously doesn’t handle life very well without me. Oh, wait. You don’t know. I’m too proud to even write it out for you. Why is it that I always get along with the guys better? I went out with a few the other night. One was weary because we’re not really supposed to hang out with other people in our program but by the end he said I was like one of the guys and okay to be brought out like that. Why, thank you, that’s really what I was looking for, your approval ha. No. It still felt nice I guess. Is it wrong to enjoy attention? There is this guy that pretended to be all brotherly at the convention and I found yesterday he’s been telling everyone that he just wanted to fuck me. Now that, I don’t appreciate. I was seeing red last night after being told about it. There was more said of course to make me so angry. I did the right thing, though. I was given that information in confidence so it was not my place to take care of it. I just know that I’m going to do everything I can to make sure he knows that I’m not going for that shit. Even talking about it fuck with me. I can’t count how many times that message has been delivered to me. That’s what’s sick about it. What do I do to attract that nasty and attention. You know, the wrong kind of attention. To be honest, I think it’s because men see and talk to me then automatically think I can be easily manipulated or taken advantage of. And I’ll give them that, that’s usually the case. However, I’m so oblivious to it when they’re doing it that they don’t really get the chance to take that vantage. Then I find out like this, typically from another guy trying to sneak his way into my pants. It’s sad really. Don’t pay me a compliment because I’ll never take you serious. Believing guys like that has helped get me to the torn to shit emotional state that I live in now. Thank you baby, thank you so much. I sound like I’m all negative. I’m not. I just need to make these things clear to myself, you know? When it’s written down it’s always easier to understand, to see what I’m doing wrong or right in their eyes, apparently. We’re going to play volleyball tonight. He will be there and so will he and so will he. Confusing, I know. We’ll see how it goes. It cant be that bad. Right?

“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal.”

— Jane Austen, Jane Austen’s Letters

Forgiveness

Church this morning was about “division.” The pastors discussed how division is brought on by our lack of forgiveness and how sometimes, we have to forgive people who aren’t sorry. When there are quarrels between me and someone who is less healthy than I am, then it’s up to me to make healthy choices and end the division. So, the opening song was “Forget You,” by Gnarls Barkley. The pastor came on stage asking if we all had someone in mind when that song played. I couldn’t think of anyone. The service progressed, and still, nothing besides the small disagreement my husband and I had the night before came to mind. Finally, it hit me. My utter disgust with the McGregors is such a part of me now, it doesn’t even stand out. I’ve lived with it for so long that I can’t see it. It’s like your nose. In reality, you can see it on your face. That’s why when you get some kind of debris on your nose, you see it. Your nose has been apart of your body for so long that your eyes are blind to it.

They showed a seen from a movie called “The Shack.” In the movie, God asks this man to forgive is daughter’s murderer. He tells God he doesn’t know how. God asks him to begin by saying it aloud. After he says it, he admits to God that he’s still angry. God consoles him by saying that’s all right. Now, if that’s how it really goes, I’m willing to give it a try.

Just because I forgive someone doesn’t mean that their actions were justified. Although I’m not sure why, God asks us to forgive just as we’ve been forgive. From experience, I know that forgiveness brings peace. I’m not sure how to explain it other than to say that it’s much easier liking someone than it is to hate them. I just can’t accept that to be the only reason he asks that of us. It doesn’t matter why, though. He asks us to forgive, so I must forgive.

Do I need to tell Him what I’m forgiving them for? What if I don’t know? I know I’m angry. I know I’ve unfollowed them all on Facebook to prevent me from letting one picture make me miserable, but why? Am I angry because they made me feel unworthy? Am I angry because they mislead me and my family? Am I angry because of how Brandon treated me and am blaming everyone that bears his last name?

Or is it deeper than that? Pastor taught about how confusion leads to division. He said we spend time being hurt over things that never happened. Grantross never told me that he disapproves of me as wife. I just assumed that because his aunt did, she taught him to do the same. It’s scary to give him a mind of his own, though. It’s easier to lump them all together. It leaves no room for mistakes.

Something worth documenting is the fact that all the things Elise, Brandon’s mother, said, she said with the understanding that I would never hear her. When she referred to where I slept as the “devil’s bed,” was that really any different than me referring to Kariston as a “dope whore?” You see, I said that in anger. I was angry with Kariston for hurting my husband. I was doing what I thought was best to console him. Was Elise not doing the same? Was she not trying to protect Brandon from falling into sin using language she thought he’d fear?

Doesn’t all of this sound silly now? Michelle, Melissa, Craig, George (etc. McGregors) have never done anything to hurt me. Here is a list of the guilty: Joann, Elise, Marie, Greg, Donovan, Chantelle, Yolunde, Emily, and Brandon. All the rest are only guilty because of their last name. I’ve turned this into much more than it’s worth. My brother is the one that actually began this healing. I was listing their offenses to him and he kept interrupting saying things like “Yes, but isn’t that your fault?” Now, his uninformed bias was wrong but what he was trying to tell me was not: none of it matters now. I will do what’s necessary to assure I soon feel the same.

*mistreated

Do you ever think about me?

Sometimes, I wonder if those who I made my world ever think of me. I think of them. It’s like anyone I ever thought I loved left a scar on my heart. I thought of it as somewhat of a curse at first but I’m pretty good at taking the bad and making it good or at least tolerable. I’ll try to start from the beginning. The first gift a boyfriend ever gave me was a necklace, and I was in elementary school. It had a single grain of rice inside it with my name written on it. Zack gave it to me. Anytime I see someone with extremely small handwriting, I tell them about that necklace. The first boy I kissed was called Matt. We kissed behind a couch. I was twelve. It was an older couch that folded out into a bed. I still think of him, and that night, when I come across a couch like that. Later that year, Matt’s bestfriend, Aaron, fingered me. It was the first time a boy touched me there and I hated it. He had longer hair and acne. Although it was eleven years ago, that hair cut is still popular. When I see boys with their hair styled that way, I am reminded that it is okay to say no. Dakota was the first boy to break my heart. My father was painting my room on the day he broke up with me, so I had to go cry in my sister’s room. The smell of paint reminds me that selfish boys don’t deserve my tears. Austin told me that he’d kill himself if I broke up with. I stayed with him two weeks longer than I wanted to. He’s popped into my mind during every break up I’ve expereinced. I lost my virginity when I was thirteen to a boy name Brandon. I wasn’t ready, but I didn’t want to disappoint him. John Mayer was his favorite artist. That was ten years ago, and I still won’t listen to Mayer’s music. When I was 17, Anthony convinced me to leave my boyfriend to be his girl. He broke up with me a month later. He had a golden retriver and seeing those dogs still reminds me that I should always go with my gut. Destiny was the first and only girl I ever fell in love with. She betrayed me. That was six years ago, and there’s not much that doesn’t make me think of her. I was the first girl Mitchell ever brought home to meet his family. Ever since then, anytime I meet a boyfriend’s family I am reminded how important first impressions are. I thought the relationship I had with Josh was healthy. I bought him a rosary for his birthday. After four months he took off to California with my debit card, and I haven’t seen him since. Men who wear rosaries remind me not to give my pin number out to anyone. Jeffrey broke my heart faster than anyone I’ve ever been with. He had somewhat of a receding hair line. When I see men who seem to be balding, I am reminded that sex is not the same thing as love. The most unhealthy relationship I’ve ever been in lasted two years. His name was Jess and I made him my god. He lived my life for me, and I loved it. When faced with a difficult decision, I am grateful that I am finally capable to think for myself. There are many other men I’ve crossed paths with in my twenty three years alive. Today I am grateful for the good, the bad, and the ugly. You hurt me. You made me believe my life would be nothing without you. Thank you. If it hadn’t been for all the people that mnistreated me in my life, I wouldn’t know what it means to really be loved. I’m sure I have many more hard lessons to learn but just for today, I am grateful for the scars you left beacuse they make me who I am today.

“Some people care too much. I think it’s called love.”

— A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

get out

I don’t like to shake. I don’t know why I always do.  Maybe it’s my heart or my asthma.  Either way I’d like to fix it.

It’s sad he got kicked out, but it makes me understand why I haven’t heard from him.  Mom was sweet offering our couch to him.  He’s got a lot going on inside.  He tries to hide it, but I see it.

Whyyy don’t you text me?

I didn’t expect you to reply, but it was nice talking to you.

God interviens right at the perfect time, which is good but not very much fun for little wild children.

I still don’t get you.  I know that I could get you talking if I really wanted to, but one, I don’t want to do things the way I used to; I like it happenstance, that way, it’s not my fault; and two, if I am too bold, it’s a temptation for him to revert to his insticntive boyish way, which is not what I need right now.  So, I’ll let him to the talking.  It makes things really slow but it’s me being somewhat careful.  So, we’ll see.

I need to stop looking at your pictures.  They can be infectious.

I want to, but I don’t feel like explaining myself, and they will see it.

Old friend, maybe I’ll give oneee more try.

I wonder if I’m strong enough to continue these friendships.  I don’t believe she’s changed.  I think she’d maybe think twice about doing it again but that wouldn’t be enough to stop her.  At first, going back was absolutely unthinkable.  The thought of it was sickening.  Then, I gave it a try.  It was still really hard but I bit my lip swallowed my pride and did it.  It was easier on everyone.  So for a little while, I just tried my very best to forget it ever happened.  That worked for about two months.  But it’s back again.  It gets worse everyday.  Sometimes such hatred boils beneath my skin that I never want to see her or anyone that reminds me of her ever again.  Which may not sound like a big deal but it is, to me at least.  He was wrong as well, but I have to remember he was single and half way convinced we wouldn’t get back together.  It was wrong for him to go after a friend of mine, but she threw herself at him.  But, how could they?  I laid sick in bed for months and they had a hay day faking love because I wasn’t around to give it.  After everything I've done for them, after everything we’ve been through.  I’m a pretty shady person, but I would never, ever, do that to anyone.  This has changed me.  It’s made me crazy.  My outlook on what’s “okay” and what’s not is twisted.  I feel that no matter what I do it will not add up to what they do.  Therefore, ruthless wrecklessness is as good as innocence to me.  I lie, because it them who took my truth and used it against me.  When I’m alone I convince myself that payback will make me feel better.  Maybe one day it will but so far that hasn’t worked.  And what’s wild is that they still have the nerve to speak to eachother in front of me.  God knows what they do when they have a few minutes alone, though I do my best to make sure that never happens.  After what they did to me, they are still comfortable speaking?  They should be ashamed.  They should feel awful for even glancing in eachother direction.  Anyway, my point is the way I live life now, I will never be able to escape them.  And I’m beginning to wonder how much longer I can stand this.  It’s madness.  It’s making me mad.  And the only solutions would drastically change everything I’ve ever known.  I hate you.

Maybe, everything is okay and I’m just thinking too much.  Trying to find a problem so that I can runaway again.  One of the songs he wrote a while ago said, “you runaway like you’ve got nothing to lose”.  I know that his last name makes me lucky to be associated with him in some places and he’s crazy talented but am I better than this?  Am I better than the way I’ve been treated by him and his family?  Part of me says I deserve less and wants no one.  The other part is convince I need something else.  Someone else.  He doesn’t hear me.  He doesn’t take me seriously.  He makes fun of the things I love, writing, my music, etc.  He thinks I owe him so much, and maybe I do but he’s such a pusher.  I’m not stupid.  But then theres how cute he is, how smart he is, just the way he is, I love it.  We’ve fought so hard for this, why throw it all away?  He swears to love me, and I swear the same but I just want to know what’s right, what’s best.

I wish I could move out without offending my parents.  I’m beginning to think I need it.

I’m beginning to have trouble breathing again.

*others

precipitation

It’s 1:41 am and it’s raining outside. No one will ever know what the sound of rain drops hitting the ground means to me, but I’ll try to explain. When I was on heroin, I drove a beat up Toyota with no drivers side window. Every morning I’d wake up hoping it was dry outside. Regardless of the weather, rain, sleet, or snow, I’d still have to drive downtown to cop. Otherwise, I’d be miserably dope sick, unable to get out of bed. Back then, I didn’t watch the news because regardless of what that weather man said, I still had to go out and drive in it. Today, however, is different. Today I can watch the news, see that a storm is coming and plan ahead. Today I have a choice as to whether or not I drive in the current conditions. Hearing the rain tap the asfalt over and over again reminds me that I have a choice. It reminds me that I don’t ever have to use again. It reminds me that I made bad choices, but I’m not a bad person. It reminds me to help overs in this journey of recovery. It reminds me I lived through many things I shouldn’t have. It reminds me that I’m a miracle. It reminds me that we do recover.

We went cliff jumping/diving, again. I climbed a tree and it was fucking epic. That is all.