The roles I play - Part 12. Chorus

Today is the last day of April 2015 and I found it fitting to end this series at the end of the month.


 Part 12. Chorus

A Greek chorus (Greek: χορός, khoros) is a homogeneous, non-individualised group of performers in the plays of classical Greece, who comment with a collective voice on the dramatic action

- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_chorus

We are assigned a large variety of roles and stereotypes just by being alive. Everyone who looks at us gives us a category, a role, and most of the time we are unaware of these roles. At the moment we are born, we are given a set of roles to which others are later added. Those first ones are usually the hardest ones to break out of, not rarely causing suffering for the individual.

The gender-queer person born with male genitalia.
The male identifying person born with female attributes.
Basically anyone born as inter-sex and assigned the wrong gender by doctors and parents.

For me these roles were
- Female
- Daughter
- First-born
- Heterosexual
- Child

As I grew older, I gathered more role titles. It is as if we are individual black holes and the simplified definitions are drawn to us, flung towards us, by the force that is our existence.

Older sister. Student. Good Reader. Victim. Quiet one. Distant. Imaginative. Different. Freak. Musician. Writer. Swimmer. Nerd. Linguist. Helper. Reliable.

Most of the roles I have been given are true in one way or another, but none of them describe ME. They describe the idea of who I am, a simplistic take on a complex being.
 A role in a chorus, designed to blend in with the rest given the same role. Shakespeare wrote

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts

Just as people are actors in their own plays, we also need to be the lead actors. Not the chorus or the extras. It is incredibly hard to take charge of your life in a society that both demands that you're a free individual and that you adapt and blend in with your surroundings. (Check this video by Veritasium for a discussion on Learned Helplessness). It is hard and you will feel miserable and you will hurt. I know I did. Once you are through, though, you will feel free. Because taking charge of your life is not only about making your own decisions, I've noticed. It is also about shedding the parts of you that are false. It is about being true to yourself and to others.

It is about not hiding behind masks others have crafted for you.

This series of posts started with an idea I got when I was watching the documentary "Kink", and it evolved into something I never could have imagined. Writing forced me to think, and thinking forced me to realize that I can do much more than I give myself credit for. I am stronger now than I was just a few weeks ago and I am at peace with myself.

Ego sum qui sum. Intellectum tuum grata est sed non requiritur.



DFTBA 




Below are the previous posts in the series

Part 1. Sparkle
Part 2. Darkness
Part 3. Liberal Arts
Part 4. Heterosexual
Part 5. Wife
Part 6. "I'm OK"
Part 7. The Student
Part 8. The Good Girl
Part 9. Fearless And Strong
Part 10. Mother, Maybe
Part 11. Grown-Up 

Touching Energy

Have you ever just slowly moved your hands through the air around you?

Have you ever rested your fingertips on a surface of water no hotter or colder than your skin?

Have you ever closed your eyes and turned your face into the light of the sun on a bright Spring day?

The skin is an amazing organ, capable of sensing even the lightest touch and surviving harsh conditions. It encompasses every inch of the outer layer of our bodies. It changes depending on its use, from the incredibly sensitive pads of your fingertips and the creases of your lips, to the tough hide of the soles of our feet and the palms of our hands.

Skin is a basis for so much in our lives. Hugs, kisses, judgement, pain, hurt, arousal.

The skin covering my abs are striped purple with stretchmarks from yo-yo dieting, desperate exercise, neglect, and hunching my back to become invisible. I find these marks beautiful and fascinating. Tiger stripe scars. The purple lines feel very different to the rest of my skin.

And that's my point.

I live for sensations. New touch, new scent, new tastes, and new sounds. I don't have to chase these sensations, they are all around me at all times. All I have to do is stop for a moment and just exist in the present.
Today it was the scent of budding trees and freshly cut grass. The rattling sound of a bike chain in desperate need of some oil. The slight chafing touch of an Egyptian cotton scarf against my chin. The bright Spring sunlight in my hair.

When I pause and just breathe, I can feel energy moving through the air. It's a tingling feeling, gentler than warmth, quieter than the whisper of silk.

Staying quiet and just listening is helping me sate my curiosity. My mind needs the sensations, it needs the challenges, to function. To me, my senses and my curiosity are a inseparable couple, always closely connected.

The first law of thermodynamics state that energy can't be created or destroyed, it can only be transformed. One day, I will return to energy. No longer held together by the electricity of a living being, my body will break down into atoms and I will become pure energy. Until that day, I will continue to enjoy life and the sensations life provides. Because living is amazing.

DFTBA

The roles I play - Part 11. Grown-up

We're reaching the end of this series, mainly because I feel that I am starting to repeat myself. I just don't like repeating myself any more than I feel is necessary. Today, however, is not about that. Today, I want to take on the expectations and norms associated with how many times our Earth has wandered around the Sun since I was born.


Part 11. Grown-up

I was born in late 1985, which makes me 29 years old today. As I am approaching that magical threshold turning 30 seems to be, there are many things I am expected to do, to not do, and to feel. Things popping out of that automatically delivered box of Adult Female. I fit some of those descriptions, but there are also some that don't fit me at all.

I am 173 cm tall (5'8" for those not metric) and I haven't seen any scales in almost two years. I know that dieting and worrying about your weight, your looks, fashion, and feeling like you're not good enough is part of being an adult female, but I just don't care anymore. I am STILL in perfect physical health according to my doctor (who keeps insisting that it's weird. Thanks, doc. *eyeroll*) For more info on Body Positivism, check out this amazing woman.

I am 29 years old and I still sleep with a plush toy or two in my bed. Usually it's a toy racoon I got when I was six months old and a rat Boy gave me about five years ago. Even owning plush toys if you're older than 25 gets you judgement and condescending glances, or so I've noticed. Do I actually care about it? Not really, it's just not something I broadcast. There are only two people who are supposed to be in my bedroom, Boy and I, and neither of us is bothered by it. Boy sometimes complains that Rattington is invading his space, but that's it. We're both just happy that having a plush racoon helps me sleep easier (hi there, mental issues.)

I pay my bills, my rent, and other costs on time. I have student debts, but no other debts, loans, and no credit issues. I live on welfare mostly because my depression and social anxiety prevents me from working full time, and part time salary just doesn't cover all the bills.

My jeans are patched, my newest shirt is from last summer, and it was free because I volunteered at a music festival. Looking at Standard Living whatchamacallits, clothes are supposed to be included in Basic Living Standards for all adults in Sweden. It has not been a standard for me in almost five years. It doesn't bother me. I know my way around a sewing machine and I know what I look good in. So what if my jeans are patched and my hooded jumper is almost ten years old?

I still dress in black, listen to weird songs, and act like a loon when I'm out with friends. Ever seen Institution of Silly Walks? Yupp, exactly like that.

My sister is having a crisis of sorts when it comes to her age. She will be 28 years old this year and she's freaking out over the big 3 0. I, who will be 30 in late November, just don't give a hoot. Age is a number, nothing more.

My biological clock was crushed next to my old alarm clock. The box labeled The Good Wife has been used as a plant pot. The electronic scales I used to own are hopefully something actually useful by now and if you want to make a big deal out of me turning 30, it better be with Schwarzwald Torte and Campo Viejo.

DFTBA

The roles I play - Part 10. Mother, Maybe.

I have been privileged enough to identify as the sex I was born with (that is, born as female with female genitalia and female coded chromosomes and also identifying as female). My life partner is in the same situation (born male, with male coded chromosomes and male genitalia, and identifying as male).

Unfortunately, there are some disadvantages to be born as a female in today's society. Demands, expectations, and social norms can be a pain in the butt. In my life, human individuals in my social surroundings are particularly interested in my potential procreation, which is what prompted this post.


Part 10. Mother, Maybe.

I have written about this in the past. Many times. Because this is a topic close to my heart and something I get very excited about.

As a female, it is somehow assumed that the main goal in my life is to give birth to at least one child. Being childless is seen as a bad thing and more than once, I've been told how sorry people, often strangers, are that I am 29 years old and childless. It is seen as a personal tragedy that I do not have had children yet.

It is apparently even more of a tragedy to me that I am sterile and can't carry children of my own.

I really feel for those who wish for children and just can't have them. Those denied adoption rights, are barren due to illness or accidents, or just have a very hard time becoming pregnant and carrying a child to term. It is a tragedy when a person's dream of children is shattered by something out of their control.

That is not what happened to me.

I became pregnant in 2009, due to a malfunctioning condom. It was the second worst experience of my life. For two months, I was terrified. I cried in fear and frustration, I slept for 14-16 hours per day, I threw up everything I ate, and I was miserable. I did NOT want the bundle of cells growing inside me. The day after my abortion, I felt such profound relief, it was near heavenly.

I am sterile by choice. In 2013, I went through surgery to cut my fallopian tubes to make sure I can never get pregnant again.

- Pause for gasps and outrage -

We back? Good.

I have never wanted children of my own. When talking about my future, I never imagined myself having children. Sure, I entertained the notion of names for potential children, but the thought was one out of expectation, not out of desire for any offspring.

"Have at least two children" my Mom would say. "Being an only child was not fun."

As young as eight, grown-ups would start talking about how many children I wanted, what I would like to name them. If I wanted boys or girls (gender binary, another nasty invention). Not once was I asked if I actually wanted children.

When I started talking about sterilization, I was met by outrage.

- "You'll change your mind"
- "Don't be so selfish. There are women who can't have children"
- "What if your boyfriend wants kids?"
- "It's different when they're your own"

- Thank you for telling me how I'll feel. I'm totally incapable of making my own decisions... Oh, wait. So what if I'll change my mind years from now? There are millions of children in need of safe homes around the world. If I suddenly feel a need to have children, I'll try to adopt.

- So, because one woman who wants kids can't, I, who don't want them, have to procreate? The other woman still won't have the child she wants and I'll have a child I don't want. How is that fair to the child?

- Not his body. Not his decision. I am lucky that Boy doesn't want kids either, but even if he did, still not his call.

- I am not going to go through 9-10 months of misery on the off chance that my feelings will change enough to put up with a lifetime of worry. It's not like I can return the child if I still don't want it after it's born.

So, people, stop assuming that all female identifying humans in fertile age wants children. Sure, many really want them. There are some who dream of nothing else, and can't have them. There are also some who can have children, but really really don't want them. I am one of them. I have known for about 25 years that I don't want children. I will be 30 later this year and my life is satisfying, happy, and I feel totally fulfilled without a MiniMe in my life.

DFTBA

Quantum socializing

Humans are an interesting breed of animals. We believe that we know everything there is to to about each other and we immediately categorize everyone around us, especially strangers.

While I was cleaning the windows in my apartment yesterday, I drifted away in thought, as I tend to do while performing repetitive tasks, and that brought me to the concept of being present in the moment. I try really hard to be present in whatever situation I am in. One of the things BDSM has helped me with is just that, to stay focused on what I'm doing. The textures, scents, tastes, and emotions I experience in a particular moment. Through focusing on here-and-now I have found that I don't get bored as often and frustration is just fleeting.

Reading about quantum particles and watching documentaries on youtube had me thinking about how we interact with other humans.

Stay with me, I'll get to the point now.

Quantum particles have the curious trait of potentially being everywhere at any time, until they are observed. Wouldn't this be true for human interaction as well?

I would say yes.

Humans have this amazing capacity of being in one spot physically and a hundred places mentally. Because of this, you can only be sure where you yourself is at. As for someone you're interacting with, you can't know where that person is mentally unless you observe them closely. This in turn means that you have to be present in the interaction, because you can't properly observe someone unless you focus on that person.

Humans, just as quantum particles, have the potential to be anywhere at anytime, at least mentally, until called attention to.

TW: Why I chose life

It is very humbling to get taught a valuable lesson about yourself by a stranger five years your junior. Humbling and refreshing.


Trigger warnings apply for attempted suicide and bullying.
 

When I was a child, I was fearless.
I cannot tell you how many trees I've fallen out of, how many cliffs I've tumbled from, or how many times I have crashed in ski slopes over the years. I have sprained my left ankle, both knees, my right hip, and all but two fingers.
I would great everyone I met, from people working at the grocery store to the homeless man living by the parking lot, with a smile and happy chatter.

All that changed when I started school.
I remember being excited about school. About all the new possibilities. The teachers repeatedly told my parents that I was all over the place, eager to explore everything.

I was seven years old when I ended up in Hell.
I do not know what triggered it, why they targeted me, but suddenly, a big portion of the kids in my year turned on me. Words would rain down on me as soon as the adults were out of the way.

Stupid.
Fat.
Snail.
Worthless.
Waste of air.
Waste of space.
Disgusting.
Nasty.
Freak.

I had things destroyed, items stolen. Someone ripped apart a patchwork pillow I had made for my dad. I would get ice and rock stuffed snowballs flung at my head, balls kicked at me during PE.

Five years of continued abuse, and then suddenly, it stopped. I was left with a darkness where my laughter had been. My whole being had been reduced to a dying flicker and my world was just hurt and darkness and emptiness.

It took me almost two years to work myself up to being suicidal. I know it sounds odd, but I was at such a low point that I didn't care if I lived or died. It just didn't matter. I was 13 years old when I started caring about the world around me, and I hated it. I wanted nothing to do with it, I just wanted out.
So one day, I stole a pack of my mom's sleeping pills. I had planned it out perfectly. I would take them just before dinner. That way, I would be found when I didn't show up to eat. I popped out the ten pills that were left in the box, and swallowed them.
For years, I did not understand what possessed me to get up from my bed when mom called out that dinner was ready.

Until today.

Today, I got a hold of the "Bound Gods" video with Sebastian Keys, Van Darkholme, Master Avery, and Kieron Ryan. When Van was pushing Sebastian to the limit and Sebastian finally lets go, I finally understood.

I need to live. I WANT to live.

The hurt, the abuse, and the suffering had reduced my being to something barely resembling a living thing and my sense of self was fighting back. I looked around me and I hated what I saw. So I made the decision to end it, and in a sense I did.
When I closed my eyes, I said good bye to a world of hurt and cold and dark misery. When I opened my eyes 30 minutes later, I saw sunlight. I felt warmth. I felt the softness of my comforter under my fingers. I smelled the scent of detergent and soap.

I got up and threw up what I could. I had dinner with my family, and then I stayed awake for the entire night. I was beyond tired when I went to school that morning, more tired than I've been before or since.

I am addicted to BDSM because of that feeling. That feeling of absolute bliss, of resounding harmony, that I feel when I break through my limits. When I am focused on the present with absolute clarity.
It took me nearly dying to get that first taste. It took 16 years for me to understand, to finally understand on an instinctual level.

I want to live. I will live on my own terms. Because a wounded 13 year old girl chose to throw up instead of going to sleep, I stand here today and I stand proudly.

And I can shout THIS IS ME. This is MY life. This is how I will live it.

Thank you, Sebastian Keys, for tickling my curiosity into jumping down the rabbit's hole that is Kink dot com. Without you, I might have gone another 16 years before getting it.

Thank you, Sakuya and Jackson, for loving me, supporting me, laughing and crying with me.

Thank you, Boy, for sitting down next to a shell of a human and having the patience to support her as she climbed into the light.

The roles I play - Part 9. Fearless and strong

This post contain potential triggers for phobias

Not much to say about this, really. Countless movies and books have already taken on the this subject. This post is for my own benefit. Putting my fears down in writing makes it easier for me to face them and conquer them.


Part 9. Fearless and Strong

I have a multitude of fears and a few major phobias. For almost all my life I thought that I had to become completely fearless to be strong and independent. It wasn't until about a year and a half ago that I realized that admitting that I need people in my life meant that I became truly independent (hi there, contradiction. Just stay with me).

I pretended for so long that I could face anything head on. I laughed when I was dragged underwater, I would clench my teeth when watching people burning on TV. I would close my eyes and think about something else when seeing crane flies and using the vacuum cleaner. I would keep my fear of abandonment so close and hidden that the secret was burning me.

I do not do that anymore. Now I admit my fears. I am open and honest about them and I will rage at anyone making fun of me for being scared. I will harm anyone pulling me under water, putting flames to close to my body, or bringing a crane fly near me. I made a group of people's ears ring from screaming in terror straight into a microphone while on TeamSpeak. Reason? A crane fly landed on my computer screen.

My fears and phobias are:

- Drowning
- Burning alive
- Crane flies
- Abandonment
- Humiliation (this has evolved into a social phobia, or social anxiety disorder)

I also get antsy around cliffs and balconies high off the ground, but I am not afraid of heights. I am afraid of hitting the ground should I fall.

I have a deep respect for venomous spiders and snakes, carnivorous animals, and animals large enough to harm me.

I used to be extremely afraid of being choked, but that is one thing breath play has helped me conquer. I know I can hold my breath for almost a minute. I can swim almost 30 yards under water without needing to come up for air.

Every fear I can face and not run away from makes me stronger, makes me feel invincible.

Social phobia is my next big conquest.
Social situations with more than 10 people makes my heart beat faster, my breathing become labored, and cold sweats break out on my back. Panic rises in my chest and adrenaline is flooding my brain. However, every day, I push myself to be social, to talk to people I don't know at my work place, and every day, when I get home, I feel a sense of accomplishment. I have a long way to go, still, but I am on my way.

Strength is not being without fear. Strength is sharing your fears with people you trust, to accept their help, and to push yourself to face your fears.
This is beyond hard to do. Anyone claiming that it's just a matter of "buckle up and stop wimping out" needs a punch somewhere sensitive.

But, as I've learned, nothing worth doing is ever easy. So keep fighting, keep getting stronger, and
Don't Forget To Be Awesome.

The roles I play - Part 8. The Good Girl

This post contain potential triggers for self-harm, harm towards others, mental illness, mental abuse, and mental dissonance.

I write this piece to make a point. Do not copy my way of doing things. I was very destructive towards myself when I was younger and I had some very profound trust issues. I still have some trust issues, but now I have people to confide in, people I trust, and I force myself to write for this blog just to prove to myself that being honest and open feels better than lies and hiding.


Part 7. The Good Girl

In a previous part of this series, I mentioned that I thought that I was only liked because of my school performance. This thought bled over into all aspects of my life and I developed a fear of being abandoned so strong that I put up with abusive boyfriends, abusive people in my class, constant bitterness, hurt, and self-hatred just to keep people with me.

I developed and cultured an image of the well behaved, nice, kind, and generous girl who was always ready to help. In many ways, I still try to be kind and generous, but now it is on my terms. Before, I would drop what I was doing and help out, even if I wanted to be and do something else. I never engaged in conflicts, I never openly rebelled.
Mom sometimes still praises me for never going through a teenage rebellion, even though we clashed rather hard one day the summer of the year I turned 21. This day, we agreed that our relationship works best if we don't spend too much time under the same roof. Both of us are just too strong willed to work together for an extended period of time.

The big thing, though, is this fear I hold of being abandoned. I have no problems with spending time on my own. In fact, I need time to recharge every day, and I can't have other people around me during this time, partly because I feel I need to cater to them instead of myself. Another large part of me is my refusal to experience any more humiliation in my life.

You see, while I try my hardest to not cause undue discomfort or pain to other living beings, my biggest reason to "behave" is so I don't get humiliated. I stick to rules, laws and regulations, not because of a moral need, but to avoid getting caught and put through awkward questions. If I behave and stick to the rules for long enough, I can usually get away with some rule breaking.

I play the role of the Good Girl, because I've had enough humiliation to last the rest of my life. While I try to be kind, generous, and caring, there is a part of me most people have never seen.

It's the part of me who verbally eviscerates other players in MMORPGs if I get provoked. I have torn more than one person apart for being an ass hat and a bigot.

It's the part of me who feels no shame about daydreaming of ripping out a teacher's throat with my bare hands. I was bored and she was talking nonsense.

It's the part of me who, while grappling during martial art practice, took pride in defeating a guy twice my size by borderline cheating. I got my feet up on each side of his Precious and I just lifted him off of me, using said feet. It was the first time I heard a grown man whimper.

It's the part of me who, if threatened, will defend itself by any means necessary. I have been told that I have a devastating use of words and that I get scary when I get angry. I have never regretted what I say or do when I get angry. I just don't get angry that often. It's usually my actions when I get frustrated that causes me shame.

Another side of me not fitting the Good Girl standard would be the interests I have that my parents and sister probably don't want to know anything about.
The bondage addict side. The submissive masochist who loves to provoke her significant other into rough sex (like he would do anything against his will. Pssh. It's a game.) Who gets off on getting choked, slapped around, and caned within an inch of her sanity.

I can pick locks, smuggle things out of stores (yes, I was a shoplifter when I was 10-15 years old. I was bored and hurt and it was a challenge. I was never caught), and find just about any hidden object in a house.

I've passed oral exams without even opening the book, just by manipulating the other students. I have cheated on a fair share of pop quizzes and tests.

I have never lied to get others into trouble, but I have lied to get myself out of bad situations.

The only people who matter to me at all are my friends and relatives. The people I work with, the people I pass on the street, I really don't care about them at all.
That's not to say I won't help when I see someone in need. I'll help old people pick out groceries, I give beverages and food to the homeless when I can. I give my bus tickets to others if there's a lot of time left on them and I won't use them anymore. I am a LGBTQIA advocate, a Human Rights advocate, and a feminist.

If asked, though, I just don't care about strangers' opinions, lives, or issues. I have enough to deal with in my own life to care about people who are not part of said life.

Being selfish about what I care about makes it possible for me to focus my attention to what really matters to me. I am nice and kind, generous and giving towards those I like. I am not nasty or unkind towards strangers.

I am perverted, sometimes a liar, used to be a thief, and I have hurt others, or imagined hurting others, without remorse. I will defend myself and those I love by any means necessary. I play dirty and I fight dirty.

I am the Good Girl, but only when I choose to be. I love with all my heart. I am kind to those who are around me. I believe that everyone has good intentions, until proven wrong, and I will respond in kind.

At my core, I am a nice person, but don't mistake being nice for being Good Girl.

DFTBA

The roles I play - Part 7. The Student

Do not follow my example. Apply yourself in school, even if it's boring. It will help you later in life. I've discovered that most of the things I skipped in school now interests me on a whole new level and I wish I had payed more attention when I didn't have to pay for the books.

Part 7. The Student

School has always been easy for me. Obviously not the people in my class, but the subjects were always easy. It took me a while to learn how to read, but once I cracked it, I read everything I could get my hands on. My favorites were fantasy books. Thick volumes of enchanted lands, magic, strange creatures, and clear defined roles.

I loved learning things and I took every chance I got to sate my curiosity. This often lead to teachers calling me out for being distracted or zoning out. They couldn't know that I was already past what they were talking about and that I was getting bored. Maybe if I had voiced my ideas and what I knew, I could have learned even more, but I didn't.

I think I was nine or ten years old that I discovered that I could manipulate the teachers to get what I wanted. A whole different world opened up to me and suddenly everything became easy. I listened, I learned what the teachers wanted to hear and, as a trained parrot, I said what they wanted me to say.

I was the quiet one. Not the teacher's pet and not on the bad end. I coasted along in the Average group and I was content.

In ninth grade, a few teachers saw potential in me and started to challenge me. And I loved it. The more challenging the task, the more I learned and seemed to excel at it.

The feeling lasted for that school year, and then it was gone again. I slipped back into my old habits of mimicking what the teachers wanted and not really learning anything.

I graduated with B+ as a grade average without barely opening a book.

It was a community college teacher who finally helped me unlock the way I learn things, and I got the euphoric feeling of Gaining Knowledge back. She helped me understand how my mind works, and when I applied this understanding to studying instead of people, information cascaded through my head. And the knowledge stuck.

I stopped manipulating people and started creating with words.

I can see correlations everywhere. The world is a jigsaw puzzle stretching from the beginning of time into the future and I can see the pieces. It takes a little time for me, but I can usually find the link and how the pieces fit together.

I was never a good student. I was a master manipulator who played a role, and I was very good at it.

DFTBA

The Roles I Play - Part 6. "I'm OK"

This post contains massive amounts of potential triggers.

Trigger warnings apply for
- Attempted suicide
- Abuse, both mental and physical
- Mental illness
- Bullying
- Self-harm

If you or anyone you know need help, reach out to the hotlines in your area. They're always there to help and guide you. If you can't find the number for your local hotlines, drop me a message with your location (totally anonymous) and I will send you the information you need.


Part 6. "I'm OK"

Until three years ago, every time someone asked me how I was feeling, I would answer "I'm OK". It was just easier to claim that I was doing fine instead of explaining why I felt like someone had taken a steam roller to my mind and used my chest as maracas. I would smile, and I would say "I'm good. How are you?"

I wasn't fine or OK, though. It took me 16 years to get where I am today, from not caring enough about anything to even bother if I lived or died, to loving being alive and loving life with an intensity I didn't think myself capable of. It has been a hard journey and at times, I just wanted to give up.

My personal hell began in the second term of my first year in Elementary school. I can't remember much of the years in Elementary and Middle school, other than an emptiness that constantly squeezed my heart and a fog of hurt across my vision. I remember instances of physical abuse, of name calling, and humiliation, but very little of the actual classes.

And when people asked how I was doing, I would say "I'm good. How are you?" and I would smile. I learned early on how to smile with me eyes, so people would believe that I was fine.

The bullying ended when I was in the second term of my fifth year. Instead of days of hurt and humiliation, there was nothing. No one talked to me, no one touched me. No one even recognized my presence in a room. And I was relieved.

Everything changed when I started Junior High School. Suddenly, people in my class wanted to be my friends. Instead of hurtful words, I got compliments and kind greetings. I just didn't understand it. I started equating my sudden popularity with my school performance and I became an over-achiever. My family moved to a new house, I moved to a new school again, and my hard work continued.

Slowly, I started noticing the world around me, and I hated every second of it. I wanted nothing to do with it. I became suicidal and every night, I would wish I would die in my sleep.

And when people asked how I was doing, I would say "I'm good. How are you?" and I would smile.

I was 13 years old when I tried to kill myself.

I had stolen some of my mom's sleeping pills. I swallowed a handful of them and lay down on my bed, waiting to fall asleep. I still don't know what compelled me to get up when mom called that dinner was ready, but I did. I went to the bathroom, threw up, and went to eat. My legs were shaking and I was more tired than I had been before or since. At dinner that evening, I decided that I wanted to live. That I would fight with everything I had left to stay alive. I stayed awake for most of the following night, determined to not fall asleep, in case the pills I had taken would drag me down.
That's when my fight to get better began.

Instead of keeping the hurt inside, I turned it on my own body. When the pain I got from practicing a martial art wasn't enough, I took sharp objects and scratched and cut my own skin.

And when people asked how I was doing, I would say "I'm good. How are you?" and I would smile.

I met my first boyfriend when I was 16. He turned out to be an abusive asshole, and I was lucky to get out after only 9 months. Second boyfriend was more mentally abusive in the sense that he was hopeless to get hold of and never really cared. I'm not sure if number three even counts, because we dated for 2 weeks. It was more of a second-date-strike-out thing.

Number four was Boy. He's my support, my lover, and the love of my life. He has helped me more than years of therapy has ever done. And all he did was to tell me "I will support you, no matter what. You do the work and I will support you."

Now, when I get asked how I am doing or what's up, I am totally honest. I might not tell you "I feel like shit today" but I will say something like "It's cold" or "I am very busy". I will still smile, but only if I feel like it. I will not hide who I am to please anyone.
The hurt is gone, a memory of who I was. The scars are still there, but they're not a shameful secret anymore. They show me that I have endured a past of hurt and I am still standing.

This is the last scar I will ever cause myself. (No, I don't count tattoos to scars. Tattoos only scar if you mistreat them when they heal).

    A semi-colon indicates a sentence that could have ended, 

but that the writer chose to continue, often adding more information.

Whoever you are, wherever you are, lift your head, stand proudly, and refuse to hide. It is hard, very very hard, but the rewards when you succeed are beyond profound.

Don't Forget To Be Awesome

The roles I play - Part 5. Wife

This post is about my take on the stereotype of the "Perfect Wife". I do not endorse this kind of stereotype, or any kind of stereotype, and I do not look down on those who enjoy being house wives/stay at home mothers. If you find joy and happiness in your life, no one has the right to judge you for it and I hail your strength.


Part 5. Wife

Boy and I got married in September last year. At first it was just because it was easier to get married than to set up a domestic partnership contract, but now I've noticed that saying "my husband" about Boy feels really really good (let's not get into the discussion about the word 'husband', please).

The biggest problem is that the thought that I micro-manage Boy's life has become ever firmer in the minds of especially older people in my life. Somehow, there's this belief that just because we were dating and are now married, I know every little detail about what he does all day and that I somehow make all the decisions in our relationship. I have lost count of the times people have looked at me in disbelief when I refuse to make plans without talking to Boy first. The looks turn to something close to annoyance if I make plans without Boy if he happens to be away or busy. It's like because we're married, we're somehow attached, physically.

I am my own person. I am an independent, thinking individual who just happens to have found the love of my life. I married this person, but it didn't change who I am. It didn't change Boy's and my relationship other than on paper.

Thing is, Boy and I dated for eight and a half years before we got married. When my depression got to its worst point in 2011-2012, I didn't think we would last, but after I got help and on medication, I can't imagine a day without Boy in my life. He has been the support I needed to get through some of my darkest times and he never let me take the easy way out of improving myself.

We established a very good report early on and it hasn't changed. We talk about everything and anything we find interesting.

I am his wife and Boy is my husband. I am not his personal assistant, his calendar, or planner. I will not make decisions for him as I know that he won't make decisions for me.

I cook for him if he asks me, just as he cooks for me if I ask him. We make plans together, cook meals together, do the laundry and house cleaning according to plans we've made together.

We made the decision to not have children together. (I'll get to that later)

I will not play the part of a stereotypical Good Wife just to meet others' expectations, but I do expect others to respect that Boy and I are married. Mostly, if you want one, you get the other.

I wish that everyone could experience a relationship as loving, trusting, and encouraging as I have found with Boy.

DFTBA