Last week I read an article that was so disturbing, I haven't been able to stop checking for updates yet. It was about a 10 year old girl who was tortured on a daily basis, and finally killed by her own blood. Her kin. Her family.
Every day, Ame Deal received some form of abuse. The abuse that her "family" has admitted to includes rubbing dog shit all over her and forcing her to eat it when she didn't pick it up, pouring hot sauce in her mouth, beating her with a board, forcing her to walk barefoot on scolding hot asphalt, making her exercise (running, backbends) for hours at a time in Arizona heat, forcing her to sleep in a shower stall with no pillow or blanket, and what killed her, padlocking her in a footlocker (about 3 feet long) while they kicked it, rolled it, and threw it around with her in it.
Ame Deal was killed for taking a popsicle.
There were about 12 other children who lived in the same house as Ame. They were taught to intentionally do things to get Ame in trouble. They were also taught to lie to the police about how Ame was killed.
Why are people so cruel?
Why in the world do people want to intentionally cause pain on someone, let alone a CHILD. An innocent, shy CHILD.
And then they're going to TEACH other CHILDREN to be cruel, also?!?! WHAT THE HELL PEOPLE!!!!!
This sickens me. I am sad for the human race. Ame Deal was set free, but what about the other children right next door experiencing the same life? People knew about Ame and never said a word.
Those people should (and I do firmly believe they will) experience the same horrendous experience Ame had to live because they were too ignorant to speak up. I hate ignorance. Absolutely despise it. UGH!
Monday, August 1, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
blank.
I don't want to feel this way. I don't want to be sad all the time. I don't want to not want to be here. I don't want to be angry. I want to let it all go. I want to get over my past, and move forward. And if I knew how, I would.
But I don't. That's why I use to hide it. And that's why I'm not anymore.
I wish I could describe how I it feels to be completely zoned out, in another state-of-mind and have unsolicited tears running down your face. I don't even realize I'm crying. I'm not trying to cry. But I am.
And everytime I cry, I think, "I just want to talk to my mom."
I deserve to be happy. I've worked my ass off to not be my parents, and I deserve someone to love me and listen to me and hold me and support me.
I am not crazy. I don't care if you judge me. (I never cared before.)
I just want to stop crying.
But I don't. That's why I use to hide it. And that's why I'm not anymore.
I wish I could describe how I it feels to be completely zoned out, in another state-of-mind and have unsolicited tears running down your face. I don't even realize I'm crying. I'm not trying to cry. But I am.
And everytime I cry, I think, "I just want to talk to my mom."
I deserve to be happy. I've worked my ass off to not be my parents, and I deserve someone to love me and listen to me and hold me and support me.
I am not crazy. I don't care if you judge me. (I never cared before.)
I just want to stop crying.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
My fault? Fuck you.
Someone recently told me that I choose to be alone. That there are plenty of people who love me and are with me, and it is my fault if I feel alone.
So let me break this down a little bit.
On the top level, the most visible level, what people can actually see of my life, I am not alone. I live with my father, my dog and my cat. I have a wonderful grandmother and grandfather and brother and sister-in-law and nephew and aunts and uncles and cousins who love me. So, you got me, I am physically able to be around people.
Ok. "Not alone" ends there.
On the most recent level-
Since my mother died, all I have wanted was someone to hold me while I cry. I cry every night. (Don't kid yourself if you think I don't.) I've wanted someone to be there and listen to me and hold me. Initially, I pushed that person away, because that's what I do. I push the people who really care away. If I'm close to you, I push you away when I need you. I admit this. I'm not saying it's good or I should keep doing it, but it's what I do, and it's what I've done forever. Go ahead and think "well if you push them away, it's your fault." And as you think that, delete me from your life because I don't need your negativity. I have enough of my own. So now that I have someone will hold me and listen to me, he's not here to do it. So, I am alone. I am lonely when I lay in bed at night, crying myself to sleep. I am lonely.
On a not-so-recent, more like my entire life, level-
Yes, I live with my dad. I have basically always lived with my dad. However, it is more common for it to snow in Alabama than it is for my dad and I to have a conversation. The last time my dad said, "Hey, how was your day?" If he ever has, it was so long ago I don't remember. The last time my dad said, "How was work?" LOL. Yeah, not so much. We can easily go over a week without saying "I love you", and that is more common than actually saying it. Ok so here comes the "well, why don't you talk to him?" questions. Your answer: I do. I have told him that I want him to ask me these things. I have told him I wante him to ask about my feelings. I ask him how his golf game was or whatever activity he is doing. He may ask for a couple of days, and then it's back to normal. No more talking. God forbid we we talk about something that actually matters, like how I miss my mom, or how I just want to die. Yeah, that's not how we Arsenault's do things. We just bottle it all up. Which leads me to my next level.
I have been "alone" since I was little. Most kids have memories of playing at the park or watching movies as a family or what not (I really don't know what examples to give, so I'm guessing based off my nephew's life). Yeah, I don't have those. My earliest memory: my parents yelling and screaming and fighting. Memories after that: being in my room, by myself, playing, by myself. Don't get me wrong, if it was daytime, I would often be with my little friends outside, but if I was home, I was alone. I do have one memory of sitting on the couch with my mom and looking through my 4th grade history book the first night I had it. I was amazed because it was brand new, and it was Alabama history. I think about that memory often. I can still hear her oohing over the pictures.
I didn't have a mom that I played hair salon or barbies with. I never had the girls night of movies or helping her make dinner. I didn't have my mom there when I picked out my homecoming dress or prom dresses. I didn't have my mom's shoulder to cry on when my boyfriend was mean to me or my friends were ignoring me. I didn't have my mom help me get ready for the first day of my senior year or with me at senior portraits. I didn't have my mom with me at graduation, because she got drunk and called me right after I had walked to tell me. My mom wasn't there the day I moved to Tuscaloosa. My mom wasn't there the day I moved back from Tuscaloosa. I did all of that stuff alone. Yeah, someone may have been with me, but it wasn't the right person, not the person I would have picked if I could have picked. How can anyone tell me I'm not alone when I didn't have my mother? How is a girl not alone when she doesn't have a mother?
When I was little, my dad could look at me the wrong way and make me cry. If he yelled at me, oh, it was over with. He would get mad at me for something and tell me to have the entire house clean by the time he got home. We lived in a HUGE house. I was, like, 11. Then he got married, and divorced, and it was my fault. I was the reason he got divorced. That's when all communication (which was very little before) ended. When I was 15, my mom almost died. I can't really tell you why, because no one told me. My father decided I wasn't old enough to handle it. That is, until I went in to see her by myself and the lovely nurse, who didn't know I didn't know, told me. I was so hurt. He actually lied about what was wrong with her. To this day, I don't understand it. But that's also when her alcoholism became real to me. That was also when I determined it was my fault. Some of my friends at school decided this would be a good time to hate me, as well. When I told my dad what they were doing, his response was, "Well what did you do to them? You must have done something." Because it is always my fault. Right after he said that was the first time I cut myself. I did it on my wrists, which I soon learned was a bad idea because people could see. I decided my hips were a better choice. I would take weight loss pills until I puked. My body would literally start reacting before I even took them. But I still did. That was my breakfast, lunch and dinner. Pills and puking. Tasty. My dad and I would go weeks in high school without speaking. Not for any particular reason, other than we couldn't stand each other. He would talk to Tigger right in front of me, but wouldn't recognize me standing there. I did stupid things. He would scream. Repeat.
Fast track to today. We still don't talk. We still fight. He still screams. I still cry. I do yell back now, sometimes though.
One more level. The spiritual level. I'm alone there too, have been for a while. For the record, I don't want to be. But I'm very angry. Very angry. I don't understand what I did to deserve two parents who don't know how to love me. I can't pray. I'm that angry. I don't feel like God is on my side. Period.
So next time you (the reader) wants to tell me it's my fault, please rethink your words. It is not my fault I am sad, because I don't want to feel this way. I want to be happy and be at peace with my childhood. I choose to have a differerent life from my parents. I choose to make decisions that will benefit me and my future. I don't choose to be sad.
By the way, you're being a judgemental asshole when you say that bullshit.
So let me break this down a little bit.
On the top level, the most visible level, what people can actually see of my life, I am not alone. I live with my father, my dog and my cat. I have a wonderful grandmother and grandfather and brother and sister-in-law and nephew and aunts and uncles and cousins who love me. So, you got me, I am physically able to be around people.
Ok. "Not alone" ends there.
On the most recent level-
Since my mother died, all I have wanted was someone to hold me while I cry. I cry every night. (Don't kid yourself if you think I don't.) I've wanted someone to be there and listen to me and hold me. Initially, I pushed that person away, because that's what I do. I push the people who really care away. If I'm close to you, I push you away when I need you. I admit this. I'm not saying it's good or I should keep doing it, but it's what I do, and it's what I've done forever. Go ahead and think "well if you push them away, it's your fault." And as you think that, delete me from your life because I don't need your negativity. I have enough of my own. So now that I have someone will hold me and listen to me, he's not here to do it. So, I am alone. I am lonely when I lay in bed at night, crying myself to sleep. I am lonely.
On a not-so-recent, more like my entire life, level-
Yes, I live with my dad. I have basically always lived with my dad. However, it is more common for it to snow in Alabama than it is for my dad and I to have a conversation. The last time my dad said, "Hey, how was your day?" If he ever has, it was so long ago I don't remember. The last time my dad said, "How was work?" LOL. Yeah, not so much. We can easily go over a week without saying "I love you", and that is more common than actually saying it. Ok so here comes the "well, why don't you talk to him?" questions. Your answer: I do. I have told him that I want him to ask me these things. I have told him I wante him to ask about my feelings. I ask him how his golf game was or whatever activity he is doing. He may ask for a couple of days, and then it's back to normal. No more talking. God forbid we we talk about something that actually matters, like how I miss my mom, or how I just want to die. Yeah, that's not how we Arsenault's do things. We just bottle it all up. Which leads me to my next level.
I have been "alone" since I was little. Most kids have memories of playing at the park or watching movies as a family or what not (I really don't know what examples to give, so I'm guessing based off my nephew's life). Yeah, I don't have those. My earliest memory: my parents yelling and screaming and fighting. Memories after that: being in my room, by myself, playing, by myself. Don't get me wrong, if it was daytime, I would often be with my little friends outside, but if I was home, I was alone. I do have one memory of sitting on the couch with my mom and looking through my 4th grade history book the first night I had it. I was amazed because it was brand new, and it was Alabama history. I think about that memory often. I can still hear her oohing over the pictures.
I didn't have a mom that I played hair salon or barbies with. I never had the girls night of movies or helping her make dinner. I didn't have my mom there when I picked out my homecoming dress or prom dresses. I didn't have my mom's shoulder to cry on when my boyfriend was mean to me or my friends were ignoring me. I didn't have my mom help me get ready for the first day of my senior year or with me at senior portraits. I didn't have my mom with me at graduation, because she got drunk and called me right after I had walked to tell me. My mom wasn't there the day I moved to Tuscaloosa. My mom wasn't there the day I moved back from Tuscaloosa. I did all of that stuff alone. Yeah, someone may have been with me, but it wasn't the right person, not the person I would have picked if I could have picked. How can anyone tell me I'm not alone when I didn't have my mother? How is a girl not alone when she doesn't have a mother?
When I was little, my dad could look at me the wrong way and make me cry. If he yelled at me, oh, it was over with. He would get mad at me for something and tell me to have the entire house clean by the time he got home. We lived in a HUGE house. I was, like, 11. Then he got married, and divorced, and it was my fault. I was the reason he got divorced. That's when all communication (which was very little before) ended. When I was 15, my mom almost died. I can't really tell you why, because no one told me. My father decided I wasn't old enough to handle it. That is, until I went in to see her by myself and the lovely nurse, who didn't know I didn't know, told me. I was so hurt. He actually lied about what was wrong with her. To this day, I don't understand it. But that's also when her alcoholism became real to me. That was also when I determined it was my fault. Some of my friends at school decided this would be a good time to hate me, as well. When I told my dad what they were doing, his response was, "Well what did you do to them? You must have done something." Because it is always my fault. Right after he said that was the first time I cut myself. I did it on my wrists, which I soon learned was a bad idea because people could see. I decided my hips were a better choice. I would take weight loss pills until I puked. My body would literally start reacting before I even took them. But I still did. That was my breakfast, lunch and dinner. Pills and puking. Tasty. My dad and I would go weeks in high school without speaking. Not for any particular reason, other than we couldn't stand each other. He would talk to Tigger right in front of me, but wouldn't recognize me standing there. I did stupid things. He would scream. Repeat.
Fast track to today. We still don't talk. We still fight. He still screams. I still cry. I do yell back now, sometimes though.
One more level. The spiritual level. I'm alone there too, have been for a while. For the record, I don't want to be. But I'm very angry. Very angry. I don't understand what I did to deserve two parents who don't know how to love me. I can't pray. I'm that angry. I don't feel like God is on my side. Period.
So next time you (the reader) wants to tell me it's my fault, please rethink your words. It is not my fault I am sad, because I don't want to feel this way. I want to be happy and be at peace with my childhood. I choose to have a differerent life from my parents. I choose to make decisions that will benefit me and my future. I don't choose to be sad.
By the way, you're being a judgemental asshole when you say that bullshit.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
What hurts the most.
It never fails. Multiple times a week, I lay in bed with my mother's image in my head. I always see her in the hospital and in her casket. I hear her laughing. I see her smiling. I feel her pain. I want to hold her. God, all I want to do is hold her.
Why couldn't I help her? I know the bottle was always before me, but I don't care anymore. Every problem she ever had is so minute now. I just want to help her. I want to hold her and help her heal. I want to help her fight the demons she had, and be my mother. I want the mother I always wanted, back.
I guess this is a feeling I will always have, but on a regular basis (sometimes daily) I see a mother and daughter and have so many emotions run through me, it puts my body in shock for a moment. The initial tinge is usually jealousy. I still don't get why that girl gets to have a mother, and I don't. Obviously I was a terrible person in my past life for God to deny me the most important relationship a female can have. Anger comes with the jealousy. It's so hard for me to admit this, but I'm angry at God. Who wouldn't be if they had the only thing they ever wanted in this world dangled in front of their face everyday? Anger usually lingers a little while. At this point in my day, my entire mood changes. I'm angry at everyone, everyone, that is, that has a mother. This mood change is noticeable to basically anyone who spends any amount of time with me on a weekly basis. (My father obviously does not fall in this category.) Everyone notices, but nobody knows why. "Why in the world is this crazy girl so mad now?" Yeah, just because I want a mom. No biggie.
Confusion, happiness, nausea, fear, envy, shame, loneliness all come at some point, as well. Sometimes after anger, sometimes during. I'm confused as to why I don't deserve her. I'm happy for the girl who has her. I'm sick to my stomach for not having her. I'm afraid I'll never be her, or worse, not be good at being her. I envy the life the other girl has with her. I'm ashamed I don't have her. I'm lonely without her. I'm lonely.
I hate myself for hating her when I did have her on Earth. Well, I didn't hate her. I hated her problems, and I took it out on her. What kind of daughter doesn't give her phone number to her mother? Even if she had wanted me to help her the night she died, she couldn't have contacted me. How fucked up am I?? I would get so mad when my aunt brought her around me. I felt so deceived and lied to. Now I just feel like a total bitch with no heart.
Maybe I don't have a heart. Maybe that's what's really wrong with me.
I dig so hard in my memory for any happy moment with her. I remember singing Shaina Twain and dancing around the living room. I remember laying in bed with her for days when I was sick. I remember her letting me drive in her lap when I was, like, 9.
But mostly, I remember being so mean to her. At the one dance she helped me get ready for in jr. high, I was mean. What I wouldn't give now to have her help me get ready for anything. But she'll never help me get ready again. Not for my graduation, or my wedding, or becoming a mother, or my children's birthdays, or their graduations and weddings. Nothing.
The last time I saw her alive I was mean to her. My aunt and I had scheduled a playdate, and she was there. I was so mad. WHY THE FUCK WAS I MAD?? She was SO HAPPY to see her grandson and her daughter, and all I could think about was my aunt not telling me she would be there. I never wanted to touch her. Like if I touched her, I would become an alcoholic too. God, I fucking hate myself. She was always so soft. Her hands were beautiful. She was beautiful. She is the most beautiful woman I've ever known.
My last words to her that day were i love you.
The pain I felt before she died was bad. I had the same experience when I saw mothers and daughters then, but I always told myself, one day, that would be us.
The pain I feel now is absolutely indescribable. I never knew what real pain was until she died. I always thought I was "sad" and "depressed". And I really think I was. I know I was. But that was nothing compared to this. That was a pain that would ease up when I surrounded myself with other women. This pain, now, only gets stronger with other women around. And it's constant.
At no point in any day do I not miss my mother.
You know when people say, "You won't have your mom forever. You should let her know you love her while she's here." I want to just shake myself for not listening. I know I'm young, and young people do stupid things, but why? Why didn't I just listen?? And I want to shake all the other young idiots who take advantage of what they have too. I know she sees how much I miss her now and how much I love her, but I would give my life for one day to show her. Why in the hell did I never take her to get a pedicure? Or to lunch? Or to the movies? Or to the zoo? God, she would have loved the zoo. She would have been fucking thrilled to do anything with me. And I was too fucking dumb to see it.
One good thing has come from her dying. I now realize I am just like my mother. And I couldn't be one bit more pleased. I always knew we were similar, but now I see I am her. I am her deep love for animals. I am her strong will. I am her constant need to argue. I am her always right, never wrong. I am her constant need to help others. I am her giving to a fault. I am her love for nature. I am her love for simple things. I am her humor. I am her clutter and need to keep things. I am her loving for shopping. I am her unwillingness to hear no. I am her stubbornness. I am her driving skills. I am her blonde moments. I am her forgetfulness. I am her compassion for the needy. I am her chin. I am her hands. I am her smile. I am her beauty. I am her love.
I am everything but her disease.
But that was also her gift to me. To teach me how to take control of my life and my decisions, and make better ones than she did. She taught me what addiction looks like and how much it hurts, not only yourself, but everyone involved. She showed me what I don't want to end up like....what I won't end up like.
People always tell me I look like my dad, and I see that. But I think I look more like my mom.
Why couldn't I help her? I know the bottle was always before me, but I don't care anymore. Every problem she ever had is so minute now. I just want to help her. I want to hold her and help her heal. I want to help her fight the demons she had, and be my mother. I want the mother I always wanted, back.
I guess this is a feeling I will always have, but on a regular basis (sometimes daily) I see a mother and daughter and have so many emotions run through me, it puts my body in shock for a moment. The initial tinge is usually jealousy. I still don't get why that girl gets to have a mother, and I don't. Obviously I was a terrible person in my past life for God to deny me the most important relationship a female can have. Anger comes with the jealousy. It's so hard for me to admit this, but I'm angry at God. Who wouldn't be if they had the only thing they ever wanted in this world dangled in front of their face everyday? Anger usually lingers a little while. At this point in my day, my entire mood changes. I'm angry at everyone, everyone, that is, that has a mother. This mood change is noticeable to basically anyone who spends any amount of time with me on a weekly basis. (My father obviously does not fall in this category.) Everyone notices, but nobody knows why. "Why in the world is this crazy girl so mad now?" Yeah, just because I want a mom. No biggie.
Confusion, happiness, nausea, fear, envy, shame, loneliness all come at some point, as well. Sometimes after anger, sometimes during. I'm confused as to why I don't deserve her. I'm happy for the girl who has her. I'm sick to my stomach for not having her. I'm afraid I'll never be her, or worse, not be good at being her. I envy the life the other girl has with her. I'm ashamed I don't have her. I'm lonely without her. I'm lonely.
I hate myself for hating her when I did have her on Earth. Well, I didn't hate her. I hated her problems, and I took it out on her. What kind of daughter doesn't give her phone number to her mother? Even if she had wanted me to help her the night she died, she couldn't have contacted me. How fucked up am I?? I would get so mad when my aunt brought her around me. I felt so deceived and lied to. Now I just feel like a total bitch with no heart.
Maybe I don't have a heart. Maybe that's what's really wrong with me.
I dig so hard in my memory for any happy moment with her. I remember singing Shaina Twain and dancing around the living room. I remember laying in bed with her for days when I was sick. I remember her letting me drive in her lap when I was, like, 9.
But mostly, I remember being so mean to her. At the one dance she helped me get ready for in jr. high, I was mean. What I wouldn't give now to have her help me get ready for anything. But she'll never help me get ready again. Not for my graduation, or my wedding, or becoming a mother, or my children's birthdays, or their graduations and weddings. Nothing.
The last time I saw her alive I was mean to her. My aunt and I had scheduled a playdate, and she was there. I was so mad. WHY THE FUCK WAS I MAD?? She was SO HAPPY to see her grandson and her daughter, and all I could think about was my aunt not telling me she would be there. I never wanted to touch her. Like if I touched her, I would become an alcoholic too. God, I fucking hate myself. She was always so soft. Her hands were beautiful. She was beautiful. She is the most beautiful woman I've ever known.
My last words to her that day were i love you.
The pain I felt before she died was bad. I had the same experience when I saw mothers and daughters then, but I always told myself, one day, that would be us.
The pain I feel now is absolutely indescribable. I never knew what real pain was until she died. I always thought I was "sad" and "depressed". And I really think I was. I know I was. But that was nothing compared to this. That was a pain that would ease up when I surrounded myself with other women. This pain, now, only gets stronger with other women around. And it's constant.
At no point in any day do I not miss my mother.
You know when people say, "You won't have your mom forever. You should let her know you love her while she's here." I want to just shake myself for not listening. I know I'm young, and young people do stupid things, but why? Why didn't I just listen?? And I want to shake all the other young idiots who take advantage of what they have too. I know she sees how much I miss her now and how much I love her, but I would give my life for one day to show her. Why in the hell did I never take her to get a pedicure? Or to lunch? Or to the movies? Or to the zoo? God, she would have loved the zoo. She would have been fucking thrilled to do anything with me. And I was too fucking dumb to see it.
One good thing has come from her dying. I now realize I am just like my mother. And I couldn't be one bit more pleased. I always knew we were similar, but now I see I am her. I am her deep love for animals. I am her strong will. I am her constant need to argue. I am her always right, never wrong. I am her constant need to help others. I am her giving to a fault. I am her love for nature. I am her love for simple things. I am her humor. I am her clutter and need to keep things. I am her loving for shopping. I am her unwillingness to hear no. I am her stubbornness. I am her driving skills. I am her blonde moments. I am her forgetfulness. I am her compassion for the needy. I am her chin. I am her hands. I am her smile. I am her beauty. I am her love.
I am everything but her disease.
But that was also her gift to me. To teach me how to take control of my life and my decisions, and make better ones than she did. She taught me what addiction looks like and how much it hurts, not only yourself, but everyone involved. She showed me what I don't want to end up like....what I won't end up like.
People always tell me I look like my dad, and I see that. But I think I look more like my mom.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
music is not my life.
I have never been someone who said music "defines me". Ever. Yeah, I listen to music. Usually it's Top 20's, Young Jeezy, Britney Spears, etc. I would even go as far to say that the music Britney sings, defines me. Yeah. Exactly. My point is made. Books, however, are my thing. I love reading. Absolutely, positively defines me. But that's not the point of this post.
Lately, I've found songs that were literally written just for me. I am convinced that these people interviewed me and wrote them just for me. These aren't new songs or even songs I've never heard. But I actually listened this time.
I'm the person who would much rather rock out to whatever beat sounds good, as loud as it'll go, with the windows down and my sunroof open. I like to dance and feel the music with my body. I've never felt the music with my heart, until now.
(Obvious shoutout to Staind. Yeah, I'm feeling it.)
I still don't think music defines me. I don't think it ever will. But I do think I'm connecting to the songs that matter. And I think that matters. And it's all that matters.
I think if Britney makes me happy 364 days a year, and I can find peace with music that understands me 1 day, it's working for me.
Lately, I've found songs that were literally written just for me. I am convinced that these people interviewed me and wrote them just for me. These aren't new songs or even songs I've never heard. But I actually listened this time.
I'm the person who would much rather rock out to whatever beat sounds good, as loud as it'll go, with the windows down and my sunroof open. I like to dance and feel the music with my body. I've never felt the music with my heart, until now.
(Obvious shoutout to Staind. Yeah, I'm feeling it.)
I still don't think music defines me. I don't think it ever will. But I do think I'm connecting to the songs that matter. And I think that matters. And it's all that matters.
I think if Britney makes me happy 364 days a year, and I can find peace with music that understands me 1 day, it's working for me.
The golden rule.
At some point in every little child's life, some adult role model says "Now Sally, you wouldn't want little Johnny to treat you like that would you? No! Treat others the way you would want to be treated." (Yes, I know, very "Dick and Jane".)
Treat others the way you would want to be treated.
Apparently, at some point in every customer's life, they forget this precious rule because on a daily basis, I have rude customers. Now, I don't believe that all customers are purposely being rude. Maybe some people really weren't taught boundaries. And these are the people I want to physically move out of my bubble. There is absolutely no need for you to be two inches from my face, especially if you have horrid breath and/or tobacco in your mouth. You...are disgusting. There is also no need for you to touch me. I don't know you. Do not touch me. Do not comment on my tattoo. Do not talk to my chest. Do not look me up and down while you talk to me. Do not stand over me while I do my job. Do not lean into me so you can see what I'm doing. I'm not different from any other stranger. So treat me like a stranger. Give me space and think about your actions. I understand you are not intentionally making me uncomfortable and being rude, but please, may attention.
However, the sentences (and not so much "sentences") that people (who do intend on being rude) let come out of there mouth are absolutely atrocious. And embarrassing. I am embarrassed for them. Sometimes I want to put a mirror in front of my face so they can say these crazy things back to themselves, because obviously they don't realize how ugly they're making themselves look nor do they hear the ignorance coming out of their mouths. Often times, though, I just want to laugh in their face. Like, did you really just say that? Did you really just tell me I'm worthless? Or I don't know what I'm doing? Or that I need to give you what you want? Really people? You're fucking idiots. Not only do I not care if you get what you want or not, but I usually don't have control over the situation either way. I'm not coorporate, and I don't make the policies; I just follow them. So please, really, get over yourself. You're not my only customer, and I will not lose sleep at night because you were rude and ugly and nasty to me. You, however, should lose sleep for acting like a child.
While I'm on my soapbox, let me point out the stupid things customers do as well, like walking into computers and saying "Where are the tvs?" or simply walking into the door and saying "Where are the computers?" Really? Open your eyes. I'm not spoon-feeding you. Or my favorite, "Where is the bathroom?" Oh! and "Do you work here?" I literally have to bite my tongue to keep myself from saying, "No, dipshit, I just think it's cool to dress like I work here and act like I work here, but not really work here."
GEEZ. Really people? Quit acting ignant.
Treat others the way you would want to be treated.
Apparently, at some point in every customer's life, they forget this precious rule because on a daily basis, I have rude customers. Now, I don't believe that all customers are purposely being rude. Maybe some people really weren't taught boundaries. And these are the people I want to physically move out of my bubble. There is absolutely no need for you to be two inches from my face, especially if you have horrid breath and/or tobacco in your mouth. You...are disgusting. There is also no need for you to touch me. I don't know you. Do not touch me. Do not comment on my tattoo. Do not talk to my chest. Do not look me up and down while you talk to me. Do not stand over me while I do my job. Do not lean into me so you can see what I'm doing. I'm not different from any other stranger. So treat me like a stranger. Give me space and think about your actions. I understand you are not intentionally making me uncomfortable and being rude, but please, may attention.
However, the sentences (and not so much "sentences") that people (who do intend on being rude) let come out of there mouth are absolutely atrocious. And embarrassing. I am embarrassed for them. Sometimes I want to put a mirror in front of my face so they can say these crazy things back to themselves, because obviously they don't realize how ugly they're making themselves look nor do they hear the ignorance coming out of their mouths. Often times, though, I just want to laugh in their face. Like, did you really just say that? Did you really just tell me I'm worthless? Or I don't know what I'm doing? Or that I need to give you what you want? Really people? You're fucking idiots. Not only do I not care if you get what you want or not, but I usually don't have control over the situation either way. I'm not coorporate, and I don't make the policies; I just follow them. So please, really, get over yourself. You're not my only customer, and I will not lose sleep at night because you were rude and ugly and nasty to me. You, however, should lose sleep for acting like a child.
While I'm on my soapbox, let me point out the stupid things customers do as well, like walking into computers and saying "Where are the tvs?" or simply walking into the door and saying "Where are the computers?" Really? Open your eyes. I'm not spoon-feeding you. Or my favorite, "Where is the bathroom?" Oh! and "Do you work here?" I literally have to bite my tongue to keep myself from saying, "No, dipshit, I just think it's cool to dress like I work here and act like I work here, but not really work here."
GEEZ. Really people? Quit acting ignant.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Silently Screaming
Scream–verb (used without object)
1. to utter a loud, sharp, piercing cry.
2. to emit a shrill, piercing sound: The sirens and whistles screamed.
loud.
sharp.
piercing.
The words my dad never says emit all of these reactions in my gut....deep in my gut. Like when my cousin told him I was cutting "Hey, your daughter's suicidal."..."Hmm, what should I do to help?" Obviously, he decided not saying a damn word was the best decision he could make. It wasn't the right decision, but it was most definitely the loudest decision he could have made. Loud enough to tell me he didn't give a fuck if I lived or died. Or the night, just recently, when he told me he had messed up raising me, and I should get out. That message pierced the largest hole in my heart. So, basically, if you messed up raising me, I'm messed up? Thanks Dad. You really didn't have to tell me so bluntly, because you had made that point clear so many times before. Like everytime I do something wrong (which is everytime I do anything), and you inform me on how I should have done it (because your way is always right) and everytime I don't live up to your standards and everytime you realize I'm not the son you lost. Everytime you give me your most well-rehearsed look, the look of "you're a fucking idiot, you huge disappointment", it pierces another tiny hole in me. I assume I was born with a solid heart. Thanks for ripping it to shreds at every chance you get. I should add that he decides to tell me "he messed up" because I hadn't unloaded the dishwasher. Man, I fucking suck.
What drives me crazier than my father's screams is the fact that I can't scream back. Ever. I understand he has no feelings or emotions, so nothing I could say or do would ever hurt him the way he hurts me, but I know it would make me feel better. If I could just scream back, I think it would counteract the damage he does to my heart. But I can't. I never have been able to. I freeze, shut down. Words are as far from my mind as feelings are from his heart. But why? Why can't I scream back. Maybe it's because he's screamed since I was little. Maybe it's because my earliest memory is of him and my mom screaming at each other while my brother held me. Maybe it's because he's always been a man who saw women as inferior. Maybe, this is why I let men abuse me and take advantage of me? (Hmm...food for thought. That's another blog though.) I think this is what you wanted though. You wanted to be able to hurt me so I can hurt like you. You want me to be heartless inside so I can live my life like you, alone, with no one to love me. The saddest part of this is that you could have had people love you, but you pushed them away. Just like you've pushed me away. Are you trying to push me off a cliff?
I wish I could say I was sorry for never being good enough for you. But I'm not. I'm really not. I don't think I suck near as much as you do. And believe it or not, there are people in this life that think I'm a decent human-being. I think I'm a decent human-being. I know I'm not perfect, but I'm damn sure better than you make me out to be.
Through all the hurt, though, you've taught me a huge lesson (possibly the most important). You've taught me what not to become. You've taught me how not to treat people I love. You've taught me the parent I don't want to be. So thanks.
I wish you could teach me how to scream, though. All I want to do is scream.
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