As a woman in a happy, healthy relationship - Valentine’s day sucks. It’s sexist, it’s needy, it’s impersonal and it’s commercialized love. I don’t know why women want it or why men put up with it.
After all the progress that women have made in women’s rights in the past 100 years, the fact that Valentine’s day is such a huge deal tells me that we still have so much further to go. “But Valentine’s day is for men, too!” Yeah, men LOVE pink teddy bears holding hearts that say “I love you” in the curviest cursive imaginable. Valentine’s day is for women and we all know it and while I’m all for some sexist jokes, the only “place” a woman belongs is where she wants to be even if it’s not in the kitchen. But an entire holiday dedicated to all the stereotypical things that women love is beyond ridiculous.
And women, really? You tell your men that you don’t want anything but get upset if he doesn’t get you anything. Grow up. There’s this new trend in relationships called communication. Guys tend to have this little quirk where they can’t decipher your clues and they only hear exactly what you say so when you say “nothing” but you mean “a card, a necklace and some roses,” it’s a sure bet that he’s going to hear “nothing” and act accordingly. But my question is why do you even need anything? Why are you so easily impressed that he managed to remember a holiday that turns all stores red, white and pink? Congratulations, you’ve been successfully brainwashed by the commercial holiday world.
Worse than that are the women who are single and bitter. They NEED a man for this one day a year and I have witnessed too many women basically race to find a guy to be with. Or they get a bunch of girls together and go man hunting so they have a hook up for the night. If you really need to get laid that badly, they make these awesome things called vibrators. They’re a good investment and they come in all shapes, sizes, speeds and colors. I’m sure that you can find your perfect match so that you don’t end up going home with the first guy who shows you attention at a bar. If you can’t find a man in time, you complain about how awful this day is even though everybody who knows you knows that you would have the exact opposite opinion if you were in a relationship of any sort.
Men, you feed this monster. Do I like getting cute/sweet/romantic gifts from the man I’m with? Yes, absolutely. But what I like more is when he thinks of it on his own instead of being reminded anytime he steps in a store for over a month before Valentine’s day. A bar of my favorite chocolate will always win out over a giant box of mystery chocolates that will either be half eaten and spit out or given away after all the good ones are eaten. A random card on a random day or a day that is specific to my relationship is infinitely sweeter than a card that 500 other women opened on the same day as I did. Heck, a piece of paper folded to make a card with stick figures and a bad pick up line would mean more to me if given randomly than a diamond bracelet could ever mean when given on Valentine's day.
“But Valentine’s day is about love and romance.” You’re so right, it is. And generic cards and bears are not romantic. You know what IS romantic though? Cooking something with your sweetie. Going on a walk and talking while enjoying the scenery. Making something together. Going to a shelter and playing with all the homeless cats and dogs for a couple hours (that one might just be me). Get some play-doh or legos and rediscover childhood together. Do something that is specific to your relationship. If you both love to read, sit in bed and read all day together. I can feel close to the man I’m dating when we’re both playing video games. If you want romance, then be romantic. And for best results, you should try this more than just one day a year when the retail lords tell you to be. Stop believing the garbage that society is trying to force feed you and know that love does not come from a fluffy teddy bear on February 14th.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The Weight Debate
I've noticed a lot of posts on Facebook lately that seem to draw this definitive line in the sand between skinny women vs curvy women. Currently, the curvy women are winning, with all their cute and easy to share pictures depicting bigger women in a flattering light while making anyone on the skinnier side of things look like anorexic, insecure freaks.
I don't understand this phenomena. I am 5'5 and I currently weigh 110, 10 lbs underweight for my height. My doctor wants me to get up to 120, but after having me as a patient for years, she understand that I physically cannot put the weight on and she has told me that I'm perfectly healthy at the weight that I'm at and that it does not affect my physical health in any way. But the internet would like me to believe that there's something wrong with that. That I'm some sort of outcast, that I have image problems and spend hours every day contemplating way to make myself skinnier than I am and figuring out clever way to hide throwing my food up.
And on the other side of things, skinny women are constantly criticizing heavier women for eating too much and not being able to control their food intake. The "typical" cycle of "I'm sad because I'm fat so I eat food that only makes me fatter." Any woman who is on the heavier end of her ideal weight range or past her ideal weight is some kind of Little Debbie eating monster who cannot control her impulses towards food and spends all day in the candy isle and at all you can eat buffets. She is painted as insecure and will yell at anyone who says anything that can be twisted into a fat joke.
I'm at a loss for where these stereotypes came into being. Yes, I will admit that some skinny girls do in fact have eating disorders to stay that skinny, but I will also know that heavy girls are actually more likely to be anorexic than thin ones. Under eating is as much of an eating disorder as over eating, both of these need to be brought to light and women (and men) who suffer from both desperately need to get help as they can both can kill you.
But what I am really confused about is why there is this battle between the two. There are pros and cons to both ends of the spectrum. I can wear teeny tiny mini skirts because I have teeny tiny legs but I can't strut my stuff around in a corset because I do not have what it takes to fill one out properly. When I wear shirts designed to show off cleavage, I look ridiculous. A well cooked steak has a better chance of surviving a pack of hungry dogs than I have of looking good in a pair of apple bottom jeans. And there's about the same chance of a heavy woman being able to rock some daisy dukes and a belly shirt without looking foolish.
What has happened to the tolerance of our society where if you're different from anyone, you're a freak and anyone like you is a freak and there's something wrong. Eat more, you skinny mutant! Eat less, you fat monstrosity! When did this become an acceptable practice in our lives? I can look at someone who has curves and fully appreciate their shape but I can also look at someone who is super skinny and see their grace. Why is this such a difficult concept for people to grasp? That beauty has many forms. Are trees only visually appealing during one season of the year? Or is there beauty to be seen year round? Does the same not apply to women? Can their physical forms not be appreciated in varying sizes? Do we HAVE to definitely say that there is only one attractive body type?
I like to think that the different body types that women have can only fully be appreciated because of each other. Like with foods, you can't fully appreciate sweet until you've also had spicy, bitter until you've had sweet. They each have their own wonderful qualities that make them what they are and they each need to be appreciated for what they are. Yes, we all have our own tastes. I prefer peaches to plums and I tend to favor cherries over grapes but that doesn't mean I'm going to go around saying that plums and grapes are awful fruits and should be shunned from society.
Us women are the same way. I've met telephone poles with more curves than I have and some guys still find me attractive. Some women have more curves than Lombard Street in San Francisco while others still have a rounder shape. Some of us are all legs, some have longer torsos. Tiny and tall, hourglass shaped, thick and thin. They're all acceptable and beautiful in their own way. And if you like one more than another, that's fine. It's to be expected. But is it really necessary to criticize, bash and tear apart the ones that are not your own?
I don't understand this phenomena. I am 5'5 and I currently weigh 110, 10 lbs underweight for my height. My doctor wants me to get up to 120, but after having me as a patient for years, she understand that I physically cannot put the weight on and she has told me that I'm perfectly healthy at the weight that I'm at and that it does not affect my physical health in any way. But the internet would like me to believe that there's something wrong with that. That I'm some sort of outcast, that I have image problems and spend hours every day contemplating way to make myself skinnier than I am and figuring out clever way to hide throwing my food up.
And on the other side of things, skinny women are constantly criticizing heavier women for eating too much and not being able to control their food intake. The "typical" cycle of "I'm sad because I'm fat so I eat food that only makes me fatter." Any woman who is on the heavier end of her ideal weight range or past her ideal weight is some kind of Little Debbie eating monster who cannot control her impulses towards food and spends all day in the candy isle and at all you can eat buffets. She is painted as insecure and will yell at anyone who says anything that can be twisted into a fat joke.
I'm at a loss for where these stereotypes came into being. Yes, I will admit that some skinny girls do in fact have eating disorders to stay that skinny, but I will also know that heavy girls are actually more likely to be anorexic than thin ones. Under eating is as much of an eating disorder as over eating, both of these need to be brought to light and women (and men) who suffer from both desperately need to get help as they can both can kill you.
But what I am really confused about is why there is this battle between the two. There are pros and cons to both ends of the spectrum. I can wear teeny tiny mini skirts because I have teeny tiny legs but I can't strut my stuff around in a corset because I do not have what it takes to fill one out properly. When I wear shirts designed to show off cleavage, I look ridiculous. A well cooked steak has a better chance of surviving a pack of hungry dogs than I have of looking good in a pair of apple bottom jeans. And there's about the same chance of a heavy woman being able to rock some daisy dukes and a belly shirt without looking foolish.
What has happened to the tolerance of our society where if you're different from anyone, you're a freak and anyone like you is a freak and there's something wrong. Eat more, you skinny mutant! Eat less, you fat monstrosity! When did this become an acceptable practice in our lives? I can look at someone who has curves and fully appreciate their shape but I can also look at someone who is super skinny and see their grace. Why is this such a difficult concept for people to grasp? That beauty has many forms. Are trees only visually appealing during one season of the year? Or is there beauty to be seen year round? Does the same not apply to women? Can their physical forms not be appreciated in varying sizes? Do we HAVE to definitely say that there is only one attractive body type?
I like to think that the different body types that women have can only fully be appreciated because of each other. Like with foods, you can't fully appreciate sweet until you've also had spicy, bitter until you've had sweet. They each have their own wonderful qualities that make them what they are and they each need to be appreciated for what they are. Yes, we all have our own tastes. I prefer peaches to plums and I tend to favor cherries over grapes but that doesn't mean I'm going to go around saying that plums and grapes are awful fruits and should be shunned from society.
Us women are the same way. I've met telephone poles with more curves than I have and some guys still find me attractive. Some women have more curves than Lombard Street in San Francisco while others still have a rounder shape. Some of us are all legs, some have longer torsos. Tiny and tall, hourglass shaped, thick and thin. They're all acceptable and beautiful in their own way. And if you like one more than another, that's fine. It's to be expected. But is it really necessary to criticize, bash and tear apart the ones that are not your own?
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
But You Don't Actually Know That
Often times, when someone has passed away, friends of the people mourning will try and comfort them. This is to be expected, the sadness caused by death is awkward and depressing on so many levels. And it will always eventually happen where, in the innocent act of trying to comfort, someone will say "they would have liked that." I understand where this line of thinking comes from and in some cases, you may be absolutely right. The deceased may have LOVED whatever you're assuming they would have liked. But do you know that for sure?
I remember a few years ago watching a movie called "The U.S. vs. John Lennon" and it was about the battle that the United States had with John Lennon and his ideas and the things he did. It was a wonderful documentary and one of the people they interviewed was, of course, Yoko Ono. Towards the end, she said that she thought that John would have liked the movie. But I feel that there is no actual way to know that for sure. Because it's been years since he was killed, in those years, if he were still alive, who's to say that something wouldn't have happened that would forever change his outlook on things. All it takes is one event, something small, for someone's thoughts and actions to be forever altered.
Had John Lennon lived, there's always that possibility that he would have changed his outlooks on things. Because he could, like anybody can, change his mind on things at any given time. Had he lived, he could have become a totally different person than who he was. In spite of how well Yoko knew John, I feel that she really had no right to say that. Because even with as well as she knew him, he was always human. And people change.
I know, that sounds so typical, the whole "people change" line but really, where were you a year ago in your life? What were you doing a year ago that you don't do anymore? What are you doing now that you didn't do a year ago? Me personally, I ended a horrible relationship, made an entirely new group of friends via a social scene that I never knew existed, started a wonderful, new relationship (and a long distance one - something I said I would never do) and I moved back in with my parents. I've had to face the realities of my grandparents growing old, handle the suicide of a friend and took in 2 more cats. The person I am now would likely punch the person I was a year ago in the face if they met. Because they're just not the same anymore.
A year ago, you could have said that I would love to be able to take a trip to the beach for a week. But now, you'd be wrong. Do I still love and long for the beach? Yes, absolutely, but if I had a choice, I would rather go somewhere and dance for a week than to go sunbathe and get awful tan lines. So when you tell me that my friend would love something I did or said, I appreciate the gesture. Really, I do and I will thank you every time. I understand where it comes from. But you're wrong. And it saddens me that you don't know how wrong you are.
Perhaps these are just my thoughts, perhaps I've thought about it a bit too much. But I know there has to be at least one other person in the world who agrees with me. And to them, I say that I'm sorry for your loss, may your memories of them remain as vivid in 20 years as they are now and just know that well wishers mean well.
I remember a few years ago watching a movie called "The U.S. vs. John Lennon" and it was about the battle that the United States had with John Lennon and his ideas and the things he did. It was a wonderful documentary and one of the people they interviewed was, of course, Yoko Ono. Towards the end, she said that she thought that John would have liked the movie. But I feel that there is no actual way to know that for sure. Because it's been years since he was killed, in those years, if he were still alive, who's to say that something wouldn't have happened that would forever change his outlook on things. All it takes is one event, something small, for someone's thoughts and actions to be forever altered.
Had John Lennon lived, there's always that possibility that he would have changed his outlooks on things. Because he could, like anybody can, change his mind on things at any given time. Had he lived, he could have become a totally different person than who he was. In spite of how well Yoko knew John, I feel that she really had no right to say that. Because even with as well as she knew him, he was always human. And people change.
I know, that sounds so typical, the whole "people change" line but really, where were you a year ago in your life? What were you doing a year ago that you don't do anymore? What are you doing now that you didn't do a year ago? Me personally, I ended a horrible relationship, made an entirely new group of friends via a social scene that I never knew existed, started a wonderful, new relationship (and a long distance one - something I said I would never do) and I moved back in with my parents. I've had to face the realities of my grandparents growing old, handle the suicide of a friend and took in 2 more cats. The person I am now would likely punch the person I was a year ago in the face if they met. Because they're just not the same anymore.
A year ago, you could have said that I would love to be able to take a trip to the beach for a week. But now, you'd be wrong. Do I still love and long for the beach? Yes, absolutely, but if I had a choice, I would rather go somewhere and dance for a week than to go sunbathe and get awful tan lines. So when you tell me that my friend would love something I did or said, I appreciate the gesture. Really, I do and I will thank you every time. I understand where it comes from. But you're wrong. And it saddens me that you don't know how wrong you are.
Perhaps these are just my thoughts, perhaps I've thought about it a bit too much. But I know there has to be at least one other person in the world who agrees with me. And to them, I say that I'm sorry for your loss, may your memories of them remain as vivid in 20 years as they are now and just know that well wishers mean well.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
It's Not Official
I want to know what has happened in our society. How have we come to a point in our lives that putting our current relational status on social media networks has become so mandatory that not having it listed means that you're not even thinking about dating anybody. More than a few times in the past few months, I have been told that I'm not really dating anybody, that I'm not really in a relationship with anybody because it isn't on Facebook and online news feeds are totes real life.
I have so many issues with this that I don't even know where to begin. Taking a look at the labels that are normally given to people in a relationship, the boyfriend/girlfriend terms that just seem a bit childish. Why can I casually refer to any female I associate with as a "girlfriend" without a single eye being batted but if I mention a "boyfriend," I get the quizzical eyes and am immediately interrogated? Since when am I not allowed to have boy friends but unlimited girl friends? I know I'm all for some sexism and bitches making sandwiches, but that's pushing even my limits on what's acceptable behavior from a society. What if I don't feel the urge to say "boyfriend?" What if I think of "boyfriend" as a high school term, like "going out" was so middle school? Is that such an abstract thought, to say that I'm dating instead of putting myself into the box of being a "girlfriend?" And just out of pure laziness, the extra syllables required to say "my boyfriend" are not worth it to me. (I like my words, but I like saving syllables when I can. It's a weird quirk that I picked up as a kid)
Then there's the issue of why I'm supposed to have every detail of my personal life sprayed all over everywhere. I understand I put a lot of shit on Facebook, but my love life is just that - mine. I have a planner that I put the personal stuff in. I have this thing about sacred moments and how some things in my life are mine and only mine. The little things that happen that you don't share with anyone, you keep them for yourself. Like mental chocolate, they're good to keep so you can have them on bad days when you need a smile. And in spite of all seemingly contrary evidence, I really am quite a private person. I can lean very heavily towards the full disclosure side of things, but just because I'm talking doesn't mean I'm actually telling you anything outside of superfluous information. This being said, why then would I feel the need to graffiti my profile with a giant pink heart that says I'm in a relationship? Yes, I'm happier than a chihuahua with a t-bone to be in the relationship I'm in but I would rather tell Facebook that he's singing Kesha while making crepes (that hasn't happened.....yet) because I know other people who would enjoy knowing that information. "Officially" broadcasting that I'm in a relationship would be pure self gratification and it still serves me no purpose.
The only amusing aspect of any of this is the people who seem to think that I drive all the way to Cookeville to be with someone I'm not romantically interested in. Yes, I've driven way further than that to see friends, but I don't make a habit of it. Why would I drive 3 hours round trip to hang out with a guy in a house full of guys? Do they think that the only male attention I can get is an hour and a half away? Am I so repulsive that there is not another guy within a more reasonable radius of my house that I could go see to get my cuddles on? I mean, I know I don't exactly knock 'em dead, but I thought I was more attractive than that. And a house full of guys; while that sounds like so much fun for someone as flirtatious as I can be, really what it ends up being is me awkwardly hanging out in the background as they make references to jokes that I'm sure I don't want explained to me, make loud noises, burp, fart and talk about shitting. And when that's not happening, there's the constant noise of video games and sports coming from at least one room in the house. Why would someone think that I would put up with that just to snuggle with someone that I'm not emotionally invested in and who has no interest in me? I have a feeling that if I went up to a random guy and said "you, me, bed, now," I'd have a pretty good chance of it working. And if all else fails, I have three cats who want nothing more than to snuggle with me. I don't even have to leave my house.
It's been bothering me that, not only are people thinking this way, but that they are capable of reproducing and voting. What could I say to sufficiently shut them up? I've been trying to figure out what comeback would be so fantastic to the "you're not in a relationship" comments that the person would be shut down. I have had no luck so far. But then it came to me:
"Facebook doesn't say you're in a relationship..."
"And Facebook didn't tell me that you were going to end up being such an ignorant fucktard when I friended you but that doesn't mean it's not true."
This will end up serving more than one purpose. Not only will I be able to release any frustration I may be feeling at the time, but it will likely also end any budding friendships with ignorant fucktards that I may have been in the beginning stages of. And that will, in the long run, save me so much unnecessary emotional investment as I tend to be a lover and form very deep bonds with the people in my circle. I'm so excited about this that I almost can't wait for the next person to say something about it to me. But really, I can wait, please people, don't be an ignorant fucktard.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Geometric Love
Love is illogical. It's not a feeling that anyone ever describes quite the same, you cannot weigh it, you cannot see it physically, only in action. It's easier to see over time than in an instant, it has no taste or smell. You cannot touch it. But you can feel it. And I was thinking about if it was possible to turn love into something logical. I was stuck, thinking that it might just be an idea until I looked at a piece of graph paper. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.
Most relationships, I've observed, are like perpendicular lines. They meet at a point and everything converges and for a time, they are one, they are a whole and everything goes together. But then the lines of their lives continue and they go apart from each other, growing further away from each other with each passing moment.
That sucks. I don't want anything like that in my life. I hate the friendships I've had like that, I've despised when that happens in a romantic relationship. I tend to out love other people and I get destroyed so easily. If I weren't such a lover, I would have said "fuck this shit" long ago and joined a monastery. I've had the example of my grandparents to look at on how a relationship should work. 50+ years, four kids, a farm, and three states. They did the long distance thing for a while when he was in the Navy (very, very long distance), they opened and ran a business, built a home from the foundation and still managed to keep it together. Listening to them talk, you might wonder how they managed it. I know I have quite a bit growing up. But I realized that no matter what they've done, they've done it side by side. They're like parallel lines. They never intersect in the explosion of similarities that most relationships do, they go on, side by side, infinitely.
I want that. I want to say, "You there, heading that way, I'm going there too. You stay over there and you have your things that you like, that you do, that you visit and eat and listen to and enjoy and I'll keep mine over here. We can share our experiences, but you stay there and I'll stay here and together, we will go on forever, in the same direction." I want to take that space between the lines and fill them with our shared lives and experiences. I think maybe the reason people get into relationships that don't work is because they see that there is another line about to intersect them and it catches their attention for a fleeting moment. And all these lines form a grid, like graph paper on an acid trip.
But when you stop looking at what's happening on the side and you focus forward, you notice that there is someone headed in the same direction you are in life and from then on, you're with one another. I think that this is how it should be. Two people, next to each other for eternity. Parallel lines.
Most relationships, I've observed, are like perpendicular lines. They meet at a point and everything converges and for a time, they are one, they are a whole and everything goes together. But then the lines of their lives continue and they go apart from each other, growing further away from each other with each passing moment.
That sucks. I don't want anything like that in my life. I hate the friendships I've had like that, I've despised when that happens in a romantic relationship. I tend to out love other people and I get destroyed so easily. If I weren't such a lover, I would have said "fuck this shit" long ago and joined a monastery. I've had the example of my grandparents to look at on how a relationship should work. 50+ years, four kids, a farm, and three states. They did the long distance thing for a while when he was in the Navy (very, very long distance), they opened and ran a business, built a home from the foundation and still managed to keep it together. Listening to them talk, you might wonder how they managed it. I know I have quite a bit growing up. But I realized that no matter what they've done, they've done it side by side. They're like parallel lines. They never intersect in the explosion of similarities that most relationships do, they go on, side by side, infinitely.
I want that. I want to say, "You there, heading that way, I'm going there too. You stay over there and you have your things that you like, that you do, that you visit and eat and listen to and enjoy and I'll keep mine over here. We can share our experiences, but you stay there and I'll stay here and together, we will go on forever, in the same direction." I want to take that space between the lines and fill them with our shared lives and experiences. I think maybe the reason people get into relationships that don't work is because they see that there is another line about to intersect them and it catches their attention for a fleeting moment. And all these lines form a grid, like graph paper on an acid trip.
But when you stop looking at what's happening on the side and you focus forward, you notice that there is someone headed in the same direction you are in life and from then on, you're with one another. I think that this is how it should be. Two people, next to each other for eternity. Parallel lines.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Dear Jesse
Note: While writing this post, I was unable to control my emotions and could not see the screen for most of the time spent writing. As such, this post is littered with minor grammatical and spelling errors. I would have fixed them but I can't seem to make it past the first paragraph without getting blurry eyed. I apologize in advance for this.
I miss you more than I can ever possibly describe, I love you more than you ever knew. I just can't help but to think that if you knew how much I love you, that you wouldn't be gone, that I wouldn't be sitting on my bed crying too much to actually see what I'm writing. I don't want to write this, not about you. I can't help but think that if I told you more how much you were loved, that you wouldn't have done it, that I could have saved you. But that's hat everyone tells me I shouldn't think, but when have I ever listened to what everyone says? Part of me keeps holding onto the hope that I'll see you again, but at best it'll just be a tombstone. You were such a beautiful person, one of my favorite people ever. I'll always miss you, I'll always love you.
I remember when we met, summer camp in Minnesota. I was 12, you were 14 and so charming. Our awkward conversations continued the whole 2 weeks, I think you're the closest to love at first sight that I've ever experienced. Your baby blues seemed to look into me and just know what I was feeling and thinking. You were the first guy to ever actively take an interest in me and you thought my crazy, blue Cleopatra eyeliner was awesome. We learned to dance and you completely stole my heart, not that I fought giving it to you. That canoe trip that we went on separately nearly killed both of us, our puppy love filled hearts couldn't stand being apart for 3 days. I remember we gave each other the biggest hug afterward, I think they separated us on purpose.
The time flew by, those 2 weeks were not nearly long enough and the next thing I knew, we were standing next to the lake saying our goodbyes. Neither of us wanted to go and we stalled as much as we could. You gave me a hug, an amazing hug that I wish so desperately I could have another of. And then you kissed me. It was a small, timid one on my cheek, but it was my first kiss. We walked towards the buses and left. I cried openly and you tried not to. Every moment of that bus ride to the airport, my insides were screaming to turn around and go back to you. The second I got on the plane and sat down, I started writing you a letter.
After we both got home, we spent as much time on the phone as we could and we wrote what we thought were the most beautiful love letters to each other. I was actually convinced I would marry you one day. Time went on and we didn't talk every day or write as often. We still kept in touch, but I think we both knew that the distance between us was too great. Of course the Florida girl had to fall for the California cutie.
Life went on and I ended up in my boarding school in Mexico. I remember when I got the call from my mom, you had called her looking for me but I wasn't there. Your mom had died and you called me looking for support. I was a wreck, worrying about you, wishing I could actually be there for you. I was allowed to e-mail you through my mom and you got some of your frustrations out, but it wasn't helping. Depression took a hold of you and never really let go. Your world was shattered and I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I wanted to be so badly.
After Mexico, I made a Myspace and we were in constant contact again. We talked about how awesome it would be to see each other again, and it would have been. Life kept happening to both of us, I had my boy troubles, you met Allie. I could instantly tell that there was something super special about her by how you talked. I remember being so happy for you, that things were finally starting to look up in your life, for now. You guys had an on/off relationship that seemed to be both good and bad for both of you. When she wasn't around, you got on drugs really bad. I was watching you spiral and I could do nothing to stop it. There were too many nights where I cried myself to sleep not knowing if you were dead or alive, praying that if you were alive, that you were okay. The reality was that you never recovered from the death of your mom. It hurt so much to see you in so much pain and to be so completely helpless. I wished I could take it away, I would have gladly carried your pain, your burden, if it meant that your eyes could smile when you did, instead of looking hollow.
I know I never told you this, but you were a deal breaker in any relationship I was in; if I wasn't "allowed" to talk to you, then it was over. It didn't matter how much I liked the guy or how much he had going for him, you were always more important to me. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you that enough.
It's been 2 years since we last talked. You were getting off drugs, you and Allie were doing good, you sounded really happy. I remember the last time we talked on the phone, I was at church. I skipped it and stayed on a swing on the playground, it was freezing, but I was so happy to hear your sweet voice. I got your new number, wrote it on a pair of jeans that I will probably never get rid of despite the fact that I haven't worn them in over a year. The last thing we said before hanging up the phone that night was, "I love you." I couldn't ask for better last words, but I can't help but think that I should still be able to say them to you and not your ghost. I can't bring myself to delete your number and I still have your old house number memorized, I doubt I'll ever forget it.
Four days after I left my boyfriend, I got a call. I immediately recognized the area code and something in me knew, but I shoved that thought down and denied it to myself. Then I answered the phone, it was your sister, Grace. She told me what happened, that you shot yourself in the head. That you were supposed to be at church. That you hadn't talked to her in 2 weeks and she knew something was wrong. All I could say was, "I'm sorry," over and over and over and over. My brain all but shut down, I almost couldn't accept what she was saying. I didn't want to believe it. Ten minutes after I got off the phone with her, I felt like I had been trampled, it all hit me. I was driving and had to pull over, off the road; my eyes too blurry to see 5 feet in front of my car. I called my mom, told her what happened, every breath I tried to take felt like it was being stolen from my lungs, I couldn't stop. It was the worst panic attack I've ever had. My heart was literally breaking; it felt like an immense weight on my chest and my heartbeat wasn't normal.
I drove to my ex's house and cried on his shoulders for well over 6 hours. I cried so much that I literally had nothing left in me. I was dehydrated, I was tired, my eyes hurt, my body ached, but my heart was shattered. Four days after that, he called me and yelled at me for crying over you, he said you were selfish and that you didn't love anyone but yourself. That if you did, you wouldn't have killed yourself and put me and Grace and Allie through all of this. He yelled at me, Jesse, for crying. Never in my life have I felt more shocked and angered. I knew then that I wasn't going to get back together with him like he wanted, even in death, you were still a deal breaker.
I have a piece of paper hiding in the back of my phone with my battery. It's a tattoo design, it's your name, Jesse Isaac. I'm going to get it on my right middle finger, on the side. A reminder that I could have done more, despite what everyone says. A future reminder because I'm sure that at some point, I will meet someone who just needs a hug and a to be told they're loved. I couldn't save you, and I'm sorry. It's my biggest regret in life. And when I have kids, I will name my first son Jesse.
Allie seems to be doing okay, she has a tattoo in memory of you, she's kind of blond now. She told me that everyday feels like a nightmare that she will never wake up from. Grace is doing pretty good too, but she feels like she has to be strong for Allie and for me, I wish I could tell her that she doesn't have to, but I understand it. They both miss you so much. I'm sad that I will never go to your wedding, I know you and Allie were going to get married. You guys were together for over 6 years, I know you loved each other.
I'm doing pretty good right now, I've been taking a swing dancing class. I hope that makes you smile, you're part of why I do it. I keep doing things that remind me of you, like I'm trying to live for you. I miss you so much, I have so much emotion in me about all of this, I don't even know where to start expressing it. I love you so much Jesse, I know it's too late to say it but I do. I love you more than words could ever possibly express, I always have. I shouldn't blame myself for what you did, but I can't help it. Part of me is so mad, I want to yell and scream an destroy everything. I almost wish I could bring myself to be mad at you, but I can't, I can only be mad at myself. I just wish I knew what you were thinking. I hope that your last thought was that you didn't actually want to do it. I know there's not, my logical side knows it's impossible, but I need to know you're okay, wherever you are. Please tell me you are. I love you and I'm sorry for not letting you know sooner how much. I hope you can forgive me.
- Jetaime Janae
I miss you more than I can ever possibly describe, I love you more than you ever knew. I just can't help but to think that if you knew how much I love you, that you wouldn't be gone, that I wouldn't be sitting on my bed crying too much to actually see what I'm writing. I don't want to write this, not about you. I can't help but think that if I told you more how much you were loved, that you wouldn't have done it, that I could have saved you. But that's hat everyone tells me I shouldn't think, but when have I ever listened to what everyone says? Part of me keeps holding onto the hope that I'll see you again, but at best it'll just be a tombstone. You were such a beautiful person, one of my favorite people ever. I'll always miss you, I'll always love you.
I remember when we met, summer camp in Minnesota. I was 12, you were 14 and so charming. Our awkward conversations continued the whole 2 weeks, I think you're the closest to love at first sight that I've ever experienced. Your baby blues seemed to look into me and just know what I was feeling and thinking. You were the first guy to ever actively take an interest in me and you thought my crazy, blue Cleopatra eyeliner was awesome. We learned to dance and you completely stole my heart, not that I fought giving it to you. That canoe trip that we went on separately nearly killed both of us, our puppy love filled hearts couldn't stand being apart for 3 days. I remember we gave each other the biggest hug afterward, I think they separated us on purpose.
The time flew by, those 2 weeks were not nearly long enough and the next thing I knew, we were standing next to the lake saying our goodbyes. Neither of us wanted to go and we stalled as much as we could. You gave me a hug, an amazing hug that I wish so desperately I could have another of. And then you kissed me. It was a small, timid one on my cheek, but it was my first kiss. We walked towards the buses and left. I cried openly and you tried not to. Every moment of that bus ride to the airport, my insides were screaming to turn around and go back to you. The second I got on the plane and sat down, I started writing you a letter.
After we both got home, we spent as much time on the phone as we could and we wrote what we thought were the most beautiful love letters to each other. I was actually convinced I would marry you one day. Time went on and we didn't talk every day or write as often. We still kept in touch, but I think we both knew that the distance between us was too great. Of course the Florida girl had to fall for the California cutie.
Life went on and I ended up in my boarding school in Mexico. I remember when I got the call from my mom, you had called her looking for me but I wasn't there. Your mom had died and you called me looking for support. I was a wreck, worrying about you, wishing I could actually be there for you. I was allowed to e-mail you through my mom and you got some of your frustrations out, but it wasn't helping. Depression took a hold of you and never really let go. Your world was shattered and I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I wanted to be so badly.
After Mexico, I made a Myspace and we were in constant contact again. We talked about how awesome it would be to see each other again, and it would have been. Life kept happening to both of us, I had my boy troubles, you met Allie. I could instantly tell that there was something super special about her by how you talked. I remember being so happy for you, that things were finally starting to look up in your life, for now. You guys had an on/off relationship that seemed to be both good and bad for both of you. When she wasn't around, you got on drugs really bad. I was watching you spiral and I could do nothing to stop it. There were too many nights where I cried myself to sleep not knowing if you were dead or alive, praying that if you were alive, that you were okay. The reality was that you never recovered from the death of your mom. It hurt so much to see you in so much pain and to be so completely helpless. I wished I could take it away, I would have gladly carried your pain, your burden, if it meant that your eyes could smile when you did, instead of looking hollow.
I know I never told you this, but you were a deal breaker in any relationship I was in; if I wasn't "allowed" to talk to you, then it was over. It didn't matter how much I liked the guy or how much he had going for him, you were always more important to me. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you that enough.
It's been 2 years since we last talked. You were getting off drugs, you and Allie were doing good, you sounded really happy. I remember the last time we talked on the phone, I was at church. I skipped it and stayed on a swing on the playground, it was freezing, but I was so happy to hear your sweet voice. I got your new number, wrote it on a pair of jeans that I will probably never get rid of despite the fact that I haven't worn them in over a year. The last thing we said before hanging up the phone that night was, "I love you." I couldn't ask for better last words, but I can't help but think that I should still be able to say them to you and not your ghost. I can't bring myself to delete your number and I still have your old house number memorized, I doubt I'll ever forget it.
Four days after I left my boyfriend, I got a call. I immediately recognized the area code and something in me knew, but I shoved that thought down and denied it to myself. Then I answered the phone, it was your sister, Grace. She told me what happened, that you shot yourself in the head. That you were supposed to be at church. That you hadn't talked to her in 2 weeks and she knew something was wrong. All I could say was, "I'm sorry," over and over and over and over. My brain all but shut down, I almost couldn't accept what she was saying. I didn't want to believe it. Ten minutes after I got off the phone with her, I felt like I had been trampled, it all hit me. I was driving and had to pull over, off the road; my eyes too blurry to see 5 feet in front of my car. I called my mom, told her what happened, every breath I tried to take felt like it was being stolen from my lungs, I couldn't stop. It was the worst panic attack I've ever had. My heart was literally breaking; it felt like an immense weight on my chest and my heartbeat wasn't normal.
I drove to my ex's house and cried on his shoulders for well over 6 hours. I cried so much that I literally had nothing left in me. I was dehydrated, I was tired, my eyes hurt, my body ached, but my heart was shattered. Four days after that, he called me and yelled at me for crying over you, he said you were selfish and that you didn't love anyone but yourself. That if you did, you wouldn't have killed yourself and put me and Grace and Allie through all of this. He yelled at me, Jesse, for crying. Never in my life have I felt more shocked and angered. I knew then that I wasn't going to get back together with him like he wanted, even in death, you were still a deal breaker.
I have a piece of paper hiding in the back of my phone with my battery. It's a tattoo design, it's your name, Jesse Isaac. I'm going to get it on my right middle finger, on the side. A reminder that I could have done more, despite what everyone says. A future reminder because I'm sure that at some point, I will meet someone who just needs a hug and a to be told they're loved. I couldn't save you, and I'm sorry. It's my biggest regret in life. And when I have kids, I will name my first son Jesse.
Allie seems to be doing okay, she has a tattoo in memory of you, she's kind of blond now. She told me that everyday feels like a nightmare that she will never wake up from. Grace is doing pretty good too, but she feels like she has to be strong for Allie and for me, I wish I could tell her that she doesn't have to, but I understand it. They both miss you so much. I'm sad that I will never go to your wedding, I know you and Allie were going to get married. You guys were together for over 6 years, I know you loved each other.
I'm doing pretty good right now, I've been taking a swing dancing class. I hope that makes you smile, you're part of why I do it. I keep doing things that remind me of you, like I'm trying to live for you. I miss you so much, I have so much emotion in me about all of this, I don't even know where to start expressing it. I love you so much Jesse, I know it's too late to say it but I do. I love you more than words could ever possibly express, I always have. I shouldn't blame myself for what you did, but I can't help it. Part of me is so mad, I want to yell and scream an destroy everything. I almost wish I could bring myself to be mad at you, but I can't, I can only be mad at myself. I just wish I knew what you were thinking. I hope that your last thought was that you didn't actually want to do it. I know there's not, my logical side knows it's impossible, but I need to know you're okay, wherever you are. Please tell me you are. I love you and I'm sorry for not letting you know sooner how much. I hope you can forgive me.
- Jetaime Janae
Sunday, December 26, 2010
A lesson in love
When I was 3 or 4, my mom was working at the Sheriff's office in South Florida. A woman came in one day with a horribly malnourished dog and said she had found the dog, that it was not hers and that she didn't know what to do with it. My mom, having grown up on a farm where collies were bred, took one look at the grungy Sheltie and took the rest of the day off and brought the dog home with her. She was a Blue Merle, a dog whose fur coloring and pattern you cannot properly predict, a dog that breeders would pay thousands to have. She was a sweet, affectionate dog, and someone had allowed this gorgeous dog to become so filthy, she was black and her skin was literally crawling from ticks and fleas. She had a nylon rope tied in a slip knot around her neck, an apparent outside dog, and she had chewed through it. She never did like being confined. Nobody ever tried to claim her, which was just as well, they didn't deserve her, at all. Her name became Bandit, my mom thought it was a clever addition to the stray bird we had named Smokey. The Prima Donna that my 4 year old self was insisted that Bandit was not a proper name for a girl dog and that I would have nothing to do with her until it was changed. Bandit had different plans, she adopted me almost immediately. And being the animal lover I have always been, I began to love her too.
Like all good parents who have kids and animals, my mom sat me down and had the "your dog will die one day" talk with me and at the end of the conversation, I confidently concluded that my dog would die when I was 18. Those words would come back with a vengeance.
Life went on, my dog was always by my side, except, of course, when she would sneak out the front door and decide to run down the street like we had been beating her. She's a herding dog, what else does she know to do but run? Years go by, she finally calmed down to the point that I could walk her without a leash, but that didn't happen until I was 17 and my family had relocated to Tennessee. She still loved to run, especially if it was after a tennis ball.
Not long after that, I noticed that she had stopped eating her food, we had switched her from dry to wet dog food a year earlier to try to put some weight on her, she was a very thin dog. We started giving her baby food, she liked that for a while, but suddenly stopped eating it and would go as far as putting dishcloths on it to cover it up. It was then that my parents brought up the option to put her down, she was old (15) and not eating. I decided to take her to the vet to get a professional opinion.
I was told that her kidneys were failing and that her ability to process protein was basically gone and to not feed her meats. Dogs are carnivores, what kind of carnivore doesn't eat meat? So my mom and I started making her mashed potatoes and spaghetti. But she kept declining. She couldn't control her bladder and we had to confine my energetic dog to the tiled kitchen to keep her off the wood floors. It was killing me watching her die, so I finally made the decision to put her down.
My dad took me to the vet the next day, I held her in my arms as she took her last breath and slumped over, dead. We took her home to bury her, and slowly my life as I knew it unraveled. We get to the house and my dad and my at-the-time boyfriend got shovels to dig a hole for her. I went inside and went to my room, then it hit me, I had been 18 for a whole month and 6 days and my dog was dead; my prediction had come true. My legs gave out and I collapsed in a heap on the floor, unable to stop bawling my eyes out.
A little while after that, we found out that the wet dog food we fed her for a year was part of the poisoned food from China and I felt awful, I fed my dog poison for a year, I killed my dog.
It has been 4 years since that day and I still break down and cry about it on average twice a week. Watching t.v. and a collie is on a commercial, or there's a Merle at the park. It kills me, I've realized that she was never my dog, I was always her human. And there have been times in my life that I have wanted to die, but I never did anything about it because I needed to be there for my dog. She kept me alive and going through some really dark parts of my life. And it's for the love of a dead dog that I know with 100% certainty that I want to rescue abandoned and stray dogs, give them another chance. Because if it weren't for a woman who cared enough to take my Bandit to the Sheriff's office, I would have missed out on the biggest lesson in life one can ever learn - unconditional love.
Like all good parents who have kids and animals, my mom sat me down and had the "your dog will die one day" talk with me and at the end of the conversation, I confidently concluded that my dog would die when I was 18. Those words would come back with a vengeance.
Life went on, my dog was always by my side, except, of course, when she would sneak out the front door and decide to run down the street like we had been beating her. She's a herding dog, what else does she know to do but run? Years go by, she finally calmed down to the point that I could walk her without a leash, but that didn't happen until I was 17 and my family had relocated to Tennessee. She still loved to run, especially if it was after a tennis ball.
Not long after that, I noticed that she had stopped eating her food, we had switched her from dry to wet dog food a year earlier to try to put some weight on her, she was a very thin dog. We started giving her baby food, she liked that for a while, but suddenly stopped eating it and would go as far as putting dishcloths on it to cover it up. It was then that my parents brought up the option to put her down, she was old (15) and not eating. I decided to take her to the vet to get a professional opinion.
I was told that her kidneys were failing and that her ability to process protein was basically gone and to not feed her meats. Dogs are carnivores, what kind of carnivore doesn't eat meat? So my mom and I started making her mashed potatoes and spaghetti. But she kept declining. She couldn't control her bladder and we had to confine my energetic dog to the tiled kitchen to keep her off the wood floors. It was killing me watching her die, so I finally made the decision to put her down.
My dad took me to the vet the next day, I held her in my arms as she took her last breath and slumped over, dead. We took her home to bury her, and slowly my life as I knew it unraveled. We get to the house and my dad and my at-the-time boyfriend got shovels to dig a hole for her. I went inside and went to my room, then it hit me, I had been 18 for a whole month and 6 days and my dog was dead; my prediction had come true. My legs gave out and I collapsed in a heap on the floor, unable to stop bawling my eyes out.
A little while after that, we found out that the wet dog food we fed her for a year was part of the poisoned food from China and I felt awful, I fed my dog poison for a year, I killed my dog.
It has been 4 years since that day and I still break down and cry about it on average twice a week. Watching t.v. and a collie is on a commercial, or there's a Merle at the park. It kills me, I've realized that she was never my dog, I was always her human. And there have been times in my life that I have wanted to die, but I never did anything about it because I needed to be there for my dog. She kept me alive and going through some really dark parts of my life. And it's for the love of a dead dog that I know with 100% certainty that I want to rescue abandoned and stray dogs, give them another chance. Because if it weren't for a woman who cared enough to take my Bandit to the Sheriff's office, I would have missed out on the biggest lesson in life one can ever learn - unconditional love.
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