a case of the lonelies

I am tired all of the time and have neglected my duties as a student and as a homeowner. This is not a rare occurrence for me; it seems as though it happens every year almost. Never closer to solving the problem, I struggle on to do what everyone wants me to do and what everyone sees fit to solving this dilemma.

I, myself, have no real explanation for this problem I go through. There are several theories going through my mind about it though. Some of them sound dumb and some of them are great explanations, but are missing the vital parts.

I could be lonely: Brent is almost always at work or off doing his own thing with his friends or video games and I only get to interact with people at school and when I take my weekly visit to my moms. I don’t see anyone else out of those three days and I don’t go with Brent to his friends house often because they’re okay people, just not like my friends. I have all the time in the world on my hands to do things like clean, homework, organize, draw, paint, etc. I don’t do that though. Nothing productive comes out of my days spent alone in my house. Ever. I think about things to do, I even plan my days before I go to bed, but nothing ever happens like that. I’m lucky I had enough motivation to type this post up.

I could be depressed: It would explain the lack of motivation to do anything, but when you’re depressed, being around people does not cheer you up like it does for me. I love going to school and to my moms because that means I’m not alone and I have someone to talk to. I felt better when I was watching my family’s dogs, even though they were just dogs, because I had someone to talk to. I don’t want to kill myself or anything close to that. I have no close-by friends to come and cheer me up when I feel like giving up on everything and just watch tv online or watch movies I’ve seen a million times.

Being a solitary person most of the time is killing me. Figuratively. Emotionally. Whatever my problem is, it’s not going to go away so easily because of my living situation. I want a dog to keep me occupied and out of my own mind, but we can’t afford food and toys. I would love to go hang out with friends, but no one lives by me.

It’s cold, rainy, and it’s time for me to get back to watching a tv show online.

Bullying

Every day I see more and more news articles about children committing suicide because they were bullied because of a disability, their sexual preference, a health issue, their religion, or even just because they are different than the others, thus easier to pick on.

I recently read an article that a friend on Google+ shared about a child with Muscular Dystrophy that committed suicide after he was attacked. He was defenseless and could not even stand up for himself because of his disability and fear. Sadly, nowadays people are picked on and bullied for even less, like I was.

From elementary school, I was basically an outcast. I had bullies torment me every time I went to school, even if I can’t remember it. My mom told me a story about how someone threw away my box of valentine cards just to be mean to me, and how upset I was over that. Though it was sad to hear how I was picked on from the start, I was not very surprised that it happened.

In junior high, a few of my friends and I were bullied every day. The boys who thought it would be fun to intentionally harm us would throw their football at us and steal our things when we weren’t paying attention. Once, one of my friends was even hit by the football. This spiraled downwards as we attempted to bring the principal and vice principal into our problem as to solve it, but they did nothing, either not thinking we were telling the truth or not caring. We were all outraged by this indifferent behavior and though we tried to solve it through less violent methods, that never helped, so we decided it was time to take it into our own hands and see if that would make a difference. It never did.

A few days after they started throwing food at us at lunch and before school, we confronted one of them, wanting to know why he threw an open carton of chocolate milk at us. He struck one of my friends on the face, and we all jumped to attack, enraged that he would dare hit a girl over being asked why he was bullying us. Before I lost all sight, my mind and eyes flooded by sheer red color, I remember throwing a punch. When I was snapped from my blind rage, another boy was holding me back as the guy I hit took off, my friends chasing after him. I cannot remember the words I screamed at him, but I was let go, only to find my friends being pinned to the lockers and restrained by the gym instructors. They were suspended but I was not. Why were they in such trouble after the principal, the whole school, knew we were being bullied for so long without any rest? We had dreaded coming to school for weeks because we knew the torment would not stop for anything. I was only suspended for not wanting to leave until I knew my friends were alright, the way that they were being held in a very uncomfortable and painful way. The principal was not convinced that I hit the bully though, so I was only gone for one day.

When I returned to school, I was plagued with curious students, wondering what happened and if I really did strike him. The day was peaceful, as if the bullying had stopped. That was short lived though. The boy I hit never showed himself to me again at the school, though the rest of the bullies had decided that their new target would be to get us all suspended again by aggravating us to the point that we snapped. This never happened as we suffered through the rest of the school year.

I never once thought of committing suicide because of that, but then again, I was not beat up and had stuff stolen from me. Occasionally they took jabs at my religion, which I have since left, but my sexuality would remain unknown to them until high school, not wanting to give them another way of hurting me. It broke my heart to see them treating my friends and I that way, though I now knew how to form a wall between myself and them, not showing anything more than anger and aggression. They would not know they hurt me and caused me to cry at night. Oh no, they would only feel the anger I had toward them. Some days I wished I could torture them as well, though that was only a daydream to get me through the rest of that day so I could go home and wish I was another person and that they did not bully me. Those days I hated who I was and what they had made me. Why did they choose me? What had I done to them to make them hate me so much?

Sometimes bullying is as simple as that. Other times it’s much more complex. From personal experience, I can say that it does effect the bullied in more ways that you may think and from the recent news articles, it can cause a child to take his or her own life. This is a problem that no one but people who have experienced first hand really understand how crucial it is to stop. Our youth has grown up thinking it’s okay to treat others like dirt, like they are below them. How many children have to die before America sees this as a major problem?

“no homo”

After a day in my English Composition I class, I had thoughts of the term “no homo” in mind. Now, this had settled in the back of my mind for days leaving me to press on and deal with more pressing matters, like school work, finding a job, and getting my writing inspiration back. This thought came to fruition today when I read a comment on a friend’s Facebook status.

“No homo [name]‘s an OK guy.”

What? Did something in the rest of her long lines of comments possess this person to put this? The only thing I saw that would put the thought of saying this back to her in her comments was this:

“And you can love [name] still. Hes very loveable. Just say no homo beforehand lol:)”

Again, I was floored that someone, whom I know personally to be a bisexual, would say something as offensive as this. Being outraged by this, I recently submitted my own Facebook status that asked why people would say something like that to another person. Some of my friends commented on it about how they thought it to be offensive as well, and I continued to display my utter shock and disgust for the term.

Why would people think that this isn’t offensive to homosexuals? Hell, we just got some states to allow gay marriage. What is so terrible about saying something nice to your fellow man that you have to include a term such as that? We should be comfortable with the sexuality of ourselves and our friends so there is no reason to clarify because they understand what we’re trying to tell them. If someone is so offended by telling someone else that they look good or that they’re an OK person, they deserve to be offended because of how intolerant the are of expressing emotions and personal beliefs. This is only pushing us back and not allowing us to move forward as a species. Also, how are homosexuals ever going to be fully accepted if everyone is so worried about coming off as gay?

All of this brought me around to thinking about the one person, besides myself, that has stood up to tell someone who said “no homo” that it is offensive and inappropriate that I have witnessed personally. I am so proud of her for standing up to blatant rudeness like that and she is such an inspirational person that I believe she should speak to everyone about things like that, because they [people] apparently don’t think about offending anyone before using terms like that.

A good friend summed up what might possibly be going through their minds when they use a term like that.

“Because everyone is so damn worried about offending people that they do it more to cover their own asses. Everyone wants to look perfect in the public eye.”

The girl who told the guy to say it has no problem with using it, but that does not mean it isn’t offensive to others. Like using the term “gay” for things that people think is dumb or annoying; not everyone gets offended by it, but there are people out there who do get offended, like myself. I hold nothing against anyone personally for saying it because it has infected everything that it is almost normal to expect everyone to follow suit and say it, but people do need to know that it does offend others and that it is only holding us back.

Now, I am not a very strong fighter for gay rights, as I have no way to help more that speak my mind and not be afraid to say, with pride, that I am a omnisexual, but I will tell everyone I know and everyone I meet that it is not appropriate to say things like that.Whatever happened to saying, “like a sister” or “like a brother”? Why do we have to use an offensive term to say that same exact thing when it was already there for our use? I don’t feel the pressure to tell someone that I don’t feel sexually or romantically attracted to them. If I feel that way about someone, I will tell them. Brent and his best friend Justin always kid around about being lovers and finding each other attractive, but that’s what it just is. They know they don’t feel that way about each other and they know they don’t need to say it because it’s only obvious and they are comfortable with their own sexuality.

Look it up. Many people are offended by this, and not only homosexuals.

Now I wanted to know where this term originated because I have no idea how anyone in their right mind got to using it. My search was a short and revealing one.

http://www.metrolyrics.com/no-homo-lyrics-the-lonely-island.html

I am officially disgusted, but Run This Town by Jay – Z is the one in which everyone says started this new “trend”. In his song he has only one verse in which this is in it, which says, “It’s crazy how you can go from being Joe Blow / To everybody on your dick, no homo”. It’s obvious why everyone is saying it; it came from a rap song by a well known hip-hop artist. Is everyone who writes songs so self conscious about sounding like a homosexual that they are willing to start a new phrase because of it? My friend was right after all…

Here is the link to the song:

http://www.lyricsreg.com/lyrics/jay-z/Run+This+Town/

love yourself

A friend on Facebook posted something as his status that got me thinking about myself. He said:

“Ladies if you can’t love yourself how can I love you”

The part about himself loving women did not catch my attention as much as the part about loving yourself. I don’t love myself in any way. I think I’m a liar, chubby, and not very good at anything I do. I hate my hair, my eyes, my legs, and my never ending back pain. I hate how angry I get at dumb shit and that I sometimes judge people when I know I shouldn’t. After knowing myself for twenty years now, I still haven’t found anything about myself that I enjoy, that gives me comfort when I’m feeling self conscious. The only thing I can say that I don’t hate about myself is bisexuality, but that’s only a small part of me. Maybe deep down inside of us [people] we all hate ourselves? That’s a bit of a comfort, but how can some of these people go by day after day enjoying themselves and acting as if they love who they are? It’s a possibility that they really do, after all, Brent is a bit of a narcissist…

So maybe, having a bit of narcissism is the way to feel better about yourself? It does mean “someone in love with themselves”. There’s a problem with that theory though; why do we associate it with bad things? Why is it not a good term for those who found a way to love who they are? I see people call each other narcissists every day with spite and anger in their voices. So why is it such a bad thing when we all want to subconsciously love ourselves and have others love themselves too? If anyone has the answers to that, feel free to reply with it.

I envision the first step to loving myself would be accepting the flaws. So what if I haven’t lost this baby fat? I have lost thirty pounds over the summer because of my strange and very slim diet because of my new living conditions. So what if my eyes are not as colorful as others? They’re a very nice shade of gray, and they do change color occasionally. Everyone else says I’m a phenomenal artist, so why do I think I still suck? Looking back, I’ve grown so much over the years as an artist that I can’t believe I’ve came this far this fast. Accepting the flaws may be hard, but if we try, I believe we can accomplish anything if we just put our minds to it..

A wonderful and very inspirational woman said in her own blog, “I choose to believe that anything is possible.”

Those words echoed through my mind as I wrote this, grateful that such a wonderful person is in my life that also believes that anything is possible.

I started this blog to help me grow as a writer and get more comfortable about writing about myself. Crossing over that comfort zone into this was hard, but it was something I felt I needed to do. With my head held high and a slight nervousness in my stomach, I will march on through the days, telling my wacky stories, insane thoughts, and a bond with horses that I still can’t explain. Maybe, just maybe, I will uncover the rest of this puzzle about learning to love yourself and how to do it.

a fear of age

Two days after my twentieth birthday, I am still feeling the excitement of no longer being a teenager, but also the fear of growing older and not having enough time to live my life the way I want to. There are still so many things I want to do, but as each day passes, I feel that I won’t be able to do them all in time or will not have enough patience or drive to do them.

I want to own horses, but a recent talk with a fellow college student, who in her life had owned many horses, has left me afraid of what might be (or not be) if I decide to get horses eventually. Those magnificent beasts with their shining coats and cascades of hair will always be a passion of mine…at least I hope they will be. There is some kind of feeling that is aroused in my chest every time I am around them or drawing them, and I fear loosing that as I “grow up” and age. I don’t know if it’s some kind of childhood fascination or the bond between people and the animals they were associated with in past lives, as some people think. The feeling is thrilling and every time I feel it I never want to leave it’s presence. What if I pursue this passion to find out that I no longer feel that bonded connection with them?

This hit home while Brent and I were grocery shopping last night and finally sunk in when I talked to my grandmother today. I disliked eating oatmeal as a child, that much I know. Occasionally my mother would buy a box of the Fruit ‘n Cream or Apple Cinnamon oatmeal and I would enjoy that maybe once every few weeks as a late night snack or breakfast. Yesterday, I had Brent buy me a box, and the whole time, I was eager to get the food home so I could enjoy my oatmeal. This has not been the only occurrence of my taste in foods changing. I now like peas, some sausage, and beans, all things that I hated to eat as a child.

Thinking about that brought a question to me: how many things about ourselves change when we age?

I suppose, in a way, I feel afraid of growing up. Responsibilities may be a factor in this, but at the same time, living with your fiancee on your own forces you to have responsibilities that not everyone at this age my have. Maybe I fear loosing those close to me, like my parents, as they are aging with me.

In the same aspect, I am thrilled to be an adult. Most teenagers don’t seem to realize this as they tend to dwell in their own oblivious worlds, but some adults look and speak down to them. Having shared many intellectual conversations with open-minded adults, I can now sense and hear it in their voices. It disgusts me that people can be so narcissistic with their own age group that they believe themselves to be better than younger people. A small internet argument between myself and a older female proved this to me even more, as she was more immature and close-minded that I was when stating her opinion about something personal to me. I knew from the moment that she posted her first comment that I was being talked down to, so instead of going on a rampage and cussing and getting angry, I proved myself to be above her with my words and calm demeanor.

Though my age may still be much younger than some people, I still feel this excitement. I, of course, will probably still be occasionally talked down to, hopefully not because of my age, but because that is how some people talk to others.

With the bittersweet taste of a twentieth birthday still lingering in my mouth and the remnants of the day still washing through my memories, I will stand tall and walk on, as if none of this was bothering me, because I will not succumb to the fear of growing older and not having the same interests in the future, and I will soak up every ounce of the excitement still contained in my body as to use on a rainy day or when I’m feeling down.