There’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst… and then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life.
RELIGION IS NOT VIOLENT. PEOPLE ARE VIOLENT, if you are a violent person, you will practice your religion in a violent way.
People are violent.
Violent people come in all shapes, sizes, colours, sexualities, genders, and religions.
If someone bombs a building, it is because that person is violent, that person made a choice, that person had their reasons, and their perspective, and their personal justification for their actions, AND THAT IS A REFLECTION UPON THEM AS AN INDIVIDUAL.
That IS NOT a reflection upon their skin colour, upon their religion, or upon their country.
IT IS A REFLECTION UPON THEM.
If you choose to paint an entire religion one colour, if you choose to pass judgement on an entire race based on isolated events, THAT IS A REFLECTION OF YOU; of who YOU are, of how YOU act, and just like the people you sit there and hate because of their religion, their colour, their country, you become no different, because you have your reasons and your justifications as to why you feel as you do, and why you think what you do, and you are no different.
Hate is hate.
An eye for an eye only leaves the whole world blind.
When people decide to cut their hair, it’s cutting their hair, it’s not really a big deal, and when you ask them why, you will usually hear the response, “it was just time for a change.”
I cut my hair off yesterday, because it was time for change, but change within, not to my appearance.
Everyday I tell myself, and others, that true beauty is who you are, not how you look, and I genuinely believe that, I have met many beautiful and handsome people that were very ugly souls, but when I look in the mirror I find myself evaluating my hair, my face, and my body.
What if I lost my hair?
What if I burnt 90% of my body and was hardly recognizable?
What if I lost both my breasts to breast cancer?
How would I look at myself in the mirror then? Would I think I’m no longer desirable because my appearance ceases to fit into the socially acceptable standard of beauty?
I believe that we should all practice viewing ourselves everyday for who we are, because in a moment the way our bodies look could be forever altered.
I cut my hair because I associated my long hair with being beautiful, I cut my hair to challenge myself, and what I find comfortable aesthetically as to grow internally.
We must look in the mirror to seek the reflection of our souls, not of the body that holds them. That body can be cut, and burned, and broken; that body can be changed forever in an instant, but nothing can tarnish our stardust souls.
In changing the way we view ourselves, we may change the way we view others, in turn never allowing someone to feel less desired, or beautiful, simply because they look different.
I have no forgotten about you, I am currently caught up in midterms, and work, and am drowning in house work. (I wonder if it is considered drowning if you have simply given up completely on house work.) My last grocery trip consisted of ready made food and like, 6 boxes of cookies, and today I treated myself to an ice cream sandwich for simply being alive, and hey, I damn well deserved that ice cream sandwich.
So as I turn a blind eye to my disgusting kitchen, the overflowing garbage in the bathroom that nobody wants to change, the fact that we have missed garbage day 2 weeks in a row, and that there is so much cat hair on every surface of my house, my clothes, okay so my entire life is cat hair, I think I have a lint roller in every room… Maybe I am becoming a cat, oh that would be so nice! I could just lounge around all day, the fatter I got the more people would love me… Where was I going with this?
Basically, becoming a student has really made me a bad ‘mom’ (to my father, and roommate), did you know that last year I made a full Thanksgiving dinner, everything from scratch, including dessert, it was glorious; this year I asked my dad if he wanted KFC.
The other night my friend waited for me to get off work so we could spend time together, and I proceeded to fall asleep; I am getting A’s though, so everyone be proud.
I love you all, wait more me.
When I was younger I found this sombrero collection in our crawl space, because who doesn’t have a collection of different sized sombreros somewhere in their house right? One of the sizes was small enough to fit on like, a little doll, or a cat, which would be super cute and hilarious, but me being who I am, my first thought was that it was clearly the perfect size to fit on a penis; that night while I was fooling around with my boyfriend at the time (we are still friends, and I’m sure he will just love this throw back) I put this little sombrero on his dick and laughed forever.
Now this story is genuinely weird, but the best part was a few weeks later when we were all having dinner at my sister and her husband’s house, and my boyfriend felt it appropriate to tell my nephew-in-law that I like putting tiny sombreros on his dick as a strange form of foreplay, and I am not kidding you, I don’t think he had spoken to me since.
My life is one awkward moment after another, join the laughter.
I love getting my period, but it’s because I suffer from a serious case of pregnancy paranoia, in spite of always using protection.
Sometimes I worry about getting my period, even if I haven’t slept with anyone since my last period, even if I haven’t slept with someone in months.
There are 2 things I mark by the arrival of my period:
- Yay, no babies!
- Sweet, me and ‘insert boyfriends name’ aren’t knocked up
Or, if it’s the first period after a break up:
- Sweet, now I can actually move on from ‘insert ex-boyfriends name’ now that I know I’m not carrying his big, dumb child.
Although I said I love getting my period, loving actually having my period is a completely different story, and I know every single woman feels the same, so I asked a bunch of my friends to tell me what it’s like having their period and this is what I ended up with:
- “The worst experience in the world, well no, I’m sure there are worse things, but like absolute death.”
- “Like the most pressure you have ever felt inside your abdomen.”
- “Like someone is stabbing you in the stomach”
- “It’s like… This loving organ that wants you to have babies, and if you don’t have babies, it gets fucking pissed. Your period is your uterus raging on you, stabbing you, and screaming, “YOU LACK OF A WHORE, YOU’RE STILL NOT PREGNANT?!”
- “It’s like having children! It’s fucking annoying and when it’s not bugging you, and you forget about it, then you have a fucking mess to clean up!”
- “It’s your uterus rioting against you for not getting pregnant, for the thousandth month is a row…”
- “Like something kicked you in the uterus, than setting it on fire.”
- “Emotional turmoil ending in your uterus trying to kill you, but you’re happy about it.”
- “Like you’re dying.”
It feels like your uterus is trying to claw it’s way out of you via your vagina, angry little thing.
Having your period is like riding an emotional roller coaster that can only be slowed by chocolate cake, carbs, and snuggles, but eating those makes us feel like pudgy, sad, bloated losers, and sometimes you have nobody to snuggle, so the roller coaster takes off again; soon that subsides though, and you get to be in constant pain, but act as though you’re not, and your vagina starts crying bloody tears that are really only being held back by a giant cotton ball shoved up there.
Basically you’re just hanging by a thread for about 10 days.
Don’t ever make yourself small to fit someone’s comfort level.
You are funny.
You are beautiful.
You are likable.
You are enough, you are plenty.
Be your authentic self, without apology to anyone, because you should never have to apologize for who you are.
All my life I’ve been told I’m too loud, that I’m obnoxious, too sassy, too blunt, too emotional, that I should be more humble; to anyone who thinks I would be more manageable or likable if I was less of a certain quality I say, with the utmost respect, fuck you.
I chose instead, to be fucking brave; I will not adjust who I am to make someone more comfortable. I am comfortable being the loudest in a room, I am comfortable being the most sarcastic and sassy person, I am comfortable pouring my heart out onto the floor and having it stay there in messy vibrancy, but more than that, I am comfortable with someone not liking me.
In a world that tells you, you should be more like “this” to be liked, chose instead to declare your love for yourself regardless of anything.
Believe that you are funny, witty, beautiful, and smart, that you are good at what you love, a good friend, and a good person; know that none of this will change if someone doesn’t agree. You will not stop being any of these things simply because someone doesn’t happen to see it, your value does not decrease because they don’t see your worth.
Be fucking brave
Some people say their greatest fear is dying; for me, my greatest fear is losing control of my brain, because it would be as though I had died while my heart kept beating.
September 14th, 2015
Anyone who knows mental illness knows having a bad day, a down day; it’s not that you don’t know you’re fortunate, that you’re blessed and surrounded by love. You don’t forget any of this, you’re just low, you feel low, you feel lost, and even though you may know that love is there, you can’t feel it, you’re disconnected; then you feel bad that you can’t seem to climb out of this hole you have found yourself in.
It’s not always as simple as thinking about how blessed you are and being happy.
Sometimes you just have to survive it.
At the end of a terrible day I lay my head down and wait for sleep, knowing in the morning the world will be different.
My brain will rest from this trying day and start again anew tomorrow, after The Earth has spun enough to bring The Sun back.
I wonder if The Sun ever has a trying day, if she ever feels tired or beaten down; I wonder if even light itself can become exhausted and wish, if but for a moment, she could stop and sleep, and reset again anew.
She has never been so selfish to us, as to take a moment for herself; she has always stayed, steady and shining for her entire world. To feel worn and still have the strength to shed light on every surface seems like a beautiful existence, she will burn out eventually and join all the other stars long gone before her, but to have lived an existence so selfless and true, to have been light, and shared light and been remembered as the brightest, strongest star, seems to me to be simple perfection.
So now at the end of a terrible day I lay my head down and think about all the beauty I saw, all the laughter I heard, even though I’m worn and tired, I think about every smile I received in return of my smile; I think about how I am not perfect, but how perhaps I’m that much closer to The Sun.
To The Light.
Love and Hate are not opposites; Love and Hate are twins, both residing within one heart. They dress in matching red, and can make you feel so alive you could die from the pressure.
Tricking and teasing us, these mischievous twins. One stepping in to save the other when they can no longer withstand the relentless walls of the heart beating away at them.
Only when both Love and Hate have been beaten down beyond exhaustion, do we meet their opposite.
Hate is not the opposite of Love; the opposite of Love is Indifference, steel grey and unyielding, Indifference stills the beating walls and only silence remains.
I’m not really one for a one-night stands, but this one night out ‘celebrating’ the end of a terrible relationship, alcohol informed me, I was in fact into one-night stands on this particular occasion.
My friend introduces me to this guy, she says, “you guys both go to SAIT, you’re welcome”
Now.. I don’t really drink, so I get rather very extremely drunk.. This guy had the pleasure of listening to me puke, rubbing my back, and falling asleep beside me for a few hours; oh but don’t worry, he wasted no time in the morning. (I know you were worried, you were thinking, where is this going?)
I woke up to a boner pressed against my leg, super hung over, super disoriented, and before I could even start to form a thought that might lead to an audible sound, he is on top of me.
He is kissing my neck, my chest, biting my nipple.. Okay really biting it… OKAY TRYING TO BITE IT OFF?!
~~Oh my God did this guy just try and bite my nipple off? Who is this guy?~~
So I ask, “Are you trying to bite it off?!”
He says, “..wouldn’t it just grow back?”
I bluntly respond, “I need to go home now..”
So I experienced my first and last one-night stand. I value my nipples, we have been together for 23 years, I like the little guys.
No.. They don’t grow back