I'm not sure where to start with this one. Most people with humanity in them would be as heartbroken as I am. I guess I should say there are things I'm glad people don't see.
It started when I was about 16 years old. I wanted to be a crime scene investigator or something along that line. I knew real cops and related professionals had to be tough. I knew what they saw on a frequent basis, but I wanted to see it myself. I wanted to toughen myself up, so I'd look at surgeries. Soon, I graduated to crime scene photos and suicides. After awhile, I felt like it wasn't enough, so I stumbled upon this site that has all kinds of horrific footage.
I honestly don't know how they find these videos/photos, but I guarantee they're real. Again, I started small, with suicides. It's surprising how many jumps and hangings are filmed. I can't describe what I felt. I felt shame and some shock that I was watching someone's last moments of life. I felt a great deal of helplessness. I was disappointed they had to resort to death. I was angry at the website author's absolute irreverence toward death and his clear hatred toward anyone who isn't "aware" of the world around them. That's when I saw my first murder. These boys taped themselves murdering a homeless man. I not only saw everything, I heard everything. It was horrific, and I never visited that site again.
Until today.
It was a dramatic descent from harmless Youtube videos, to highway accidents, to elevator incidences, to that site - from a comment saying there could be an uncensored version of a horrific elevator accident in which a woman tries to escape from a stuck elevator. I'm completely ashamed, but my curiosity got the best of me and I went to the site, not realizing I had visited before.
That video was not there, but I spent a great deal of time watching other videos. They were mostly suicides by train, jumping, and firearms. It was sad to watch, wishing someone would just do something. Sometimes they tried, and they got to the victim too late. On a few occasions, the people did nothing. One that sticks out was a girl who jumped from an overpass in front of traffic. The traffic just went around her. As the car with the camera passed, you could see that she was still alive. The fall must not have been high enough. I don't even know how to feel anymore. That level of inhumanity used to make my blood boil, but I don't have the energy. It's disappointing to say the least, and it's very sad. Why don't they feel responsible for her? Or at least move her out of the road. Call the police, maybe?
I ventured into the murder section, figuring I was ready. I didn't get far. On the first page, my attention went to a video of the attack on Gaza. I remember complaining about this in an earlier post, so I figured it would be relevant to watch. This person was there right after the missiles hit. There were halves of bodies lying around. Clearly dead people, even kids, and my mind went right back to that stupid post on Facebook. It must be very easy for us to have opinions about these things when we aren't actually there.
That was enough for me. It's hard to know that I'm sitting here on my cushy bed while people are suffering. How many people will commit suicide today? What could have prevented that? How many people will be killed today for no reason? I can't handle people bickering about stupid politics and whining about meaningless nonsense knowing worse things are happening under our noses. However, at the same time, I'm glad some people can live in ignorance and not focus on the bad things. Maybe that's the point in fighting crime - to protect people from the harshness.
Anyway, let your loved ones know you love them and never forget to say it.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
PKD Complaints vol.100034
*Another PKD post.
Stop me if I've said this before. This morning, when I had five seconds to think of nothing, my brain decided on PKD. It just started making calculations for kidney growth. 5% every year. People generally get them out when they reach 32cm (maybe more, maybe less).
I have about 25 years, barring earlier kidney failure, a ruptured brain aneurysm, or heart failure (no idea, apx 10% chance, and 50% chance respectively).
At that point, unless something drastic happens, I'm planning to let nature take it's course.
As you can imagine, this doesn't sit well, but not for the reasons you think. The truth is, I'm relieved I can have some idea of how I'll die. Anything could happen, but in case it doesn't, I generally know what to expect. However, planning my life has proven difficult. I always make plans. They almost never come through, but it doesn't stop me. I'm learning to let go. It's hard to decide whether or not to have kids. I know Steve wants them, but I only have until 30, and I may not be ready before then.
I'm not sure how I'll feel about passing PKD on. I don't know how big of a deal it is yet. I don't know what I'll have to say when my kid(s) will pressure me to get help. They'll say I'm giving up if I don't seek a transplant or dialysis. I don't want that. I don't even want them to know I have it. I don't want to make them worry. I guess that's one thing I know. I never want them to find out I have it. Maybe I could ask them some vague hypothetical question about "a friend" who is wondering whether or not to tell her kids...
But what if I die before I plan to? How could I leave Stephen with a kid to raise? He/she might be in her late teens or early 20's by the time my kidneys fail. Or what if I have a heart attack at 40, like my dream shaman woman said? How could I do that to Stephen?
It's almost certain I'll get pre-eclampsia with my child(ren). It's deadly, but many women come back from it fine. But with PKD, it's almost certain the high blood pressure will stay. High blood pressure = faster kidney failure. I'll miss Stephen. So I should die sooner so I can leave him with a child to raise? A child who could grow up to hate me for having him/her? I've seen it in the support groups. I don't want that.
I really don't want to be a homemaker, but many of us have to retire in our 30's. How could I work on dialysis? I want to work...or at least volunteer a lot. What kind of life can I have with that? Lugging a machine around, or having to go to the hospital multiple times a week if not multiple times a day??? I don't want that. I doubt I'd even be eligible since my veins are so small.
But then there is the pressure to be an inspiration story. It sounds stupid, but you almost have to do it. "Healthy" people can just die and be fine, but you have an ailment. You have to do a lot of things or you're letting your illness control your life/beat you. Like...I feel obligated to donate my body to science now.
Anyway...this has been another ramble from yours truly.
Stop me if I've said this before. This morning, when I had five seconds to think of nothing, my brain decided on PKD. It just started making calculations for kidney growth. 5% every year. People generally get them out when they reach 32cm (maybe more, maybe less).
I have about 25 years, barring earlier kidney failure, a ruptured brain aneurysm, or heart failure (no idea, apx 10% chance, and 50% chance respectively).
At that point, unless something drastic happens, I'm planning to let nature take it's course.
As you can imagine, this doesn't sit well, but not for the reasons you think. The truth is, I'm relieved I can have some idea of how I'll die. Anything could happen, but in case it doesn't, I generally know what to expect. However, planning my life has proven difficult. I always make plans. They almost never come through, but it doesn't stop me. I'm learning to let go. It's hard to decide whether or not to have kids. I know Steve wants them, but I only have until 30, and I may not be ready before then.
I'm not sure how I'll feel about passing PKD on. I don't know how big of a deal it is yet. I don't know what I'll have to say when my kid(s) will pressure me to get help. They'll say I'm giving up if I don't seek a transplant or dialysis. I don't want that. I don't even want them to know I have it. I don't want to make them worry. I guess that's one thing I know. I never want them to find out I have it. Maybe I could ask them some vague hypothetical question about "a friend" who is wondering whether or not to tell her kids...
But what if I die before I plan to? How could I leave Stephen with a kid to raise? He/she might be in her late teens or early 20's by the time my kidneys fail. Or what if I have a heart attack at 40, like my dream shaman woman said? How could I do that to Stephen?
It's almost certain I'll get pre-eclampsia with my child(ren). It's deadly, but many women come back from it fine. But with PKD, it's almost certain the high blood pressure will stay. High blood pressure = faster kidney failure. I'll miss Stephen. So I should die sooner so I can leave him with a child to raise? A child who could grow up to hate me for having him/her? I've seen it in the support groups. I don't want that.
I really don't want to be a homemaker, but many of us have to retire in our 30's. How could I work on dialysis? I want to work...or at least volunteer a lot. What kind of life can I have with that? Lugging a machine around, or having to go to the hospital multiple times a week if not multiple times a day??? I don't want that. I doubt I'd even be eligible since my veins are so small.
But then there is the pressure to be an inspiration story. It sounds stupid, but you almost have to do it. "Healthy" people can just die and be fine, but you have an ailment. You have to do a lot of things or you're letting your illness control your life/beat you. Like...I feel obligated to donate my body to science now.
Anyway...this has been another ramble from yours truly.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Career Crossroads
Here I am yet again, hopefully for the last time. I've decided Weber's CJ/Forensic science program is a no-go due to Steve's schooling and SLCC is a no-go because I can't handle the commute. My only option is to attend UVU with Stephen.
I've found that this isn't such a bad option, as the forensic science courses are more comprehensive here. There are more of them that I have to take, but the general eds are looser and the classes are more worthwhile. However, crime scene technician, as a career, has one major and one minor flaw: testifying in court and measuring. You have to measure everything. Blood patterns have so many trigonometric formulas...I know I'd probably have a hard time with that. You have to sketch the scene, but I have no spacial reasoning. As for the testifying...it's not only pubic speaking (something I'm deathly afraid of), but you have to prove something and look competent. They'll attack everything they can about you, your school history, and even your character. As my life is a very imperfect, open book, I believe this would be torture. It would be a frequent torture.
Luckily, I've found another possible major of interest: Emergency Management. While the courses aren't nearly as exciting, it would allow me to do everything I've always wanted to do. I can work with FEMA and other disaster response organizations. I can learn EMT skills and save a life. I can join search and rescue or underwater body recovery. I can help after mass/natural disasters. I have the opportunity to work regular hours, I can see my husband, and I can work for the state. I can be a pretty useful person to be around in case of emergencies. There's also that phrase from my special parchment saying I'll find joy in helping others. What better way to help others? Despite all of this, I'm absolutely terrified I'll miss out. Criminal justice and forensic science are my loves in life!
Anyway, for now I'll just finish my general education. Hopefully I'll have made a decision by then.
I've found that this isn't such a bad option, as the forensic science courses are more comprehensive here. There are more of them that I have to take, but the general eds are looser and the classes are more worthwhile. However, crime scene technician, as a career, has one major and one minor flaw: testifying in court and measuring. You have to measure everything. Blood patterns have so many trigonometric formulas...I know I'd probably have a hard time with that. You have to sketch the scene, but I have no spacial reasoning. As for the testifying...it's not only pubic speaking (something I'm deathly afraid of), but you have to prove something and look competent. They'll attack everything they can about you, your school history, and even your character. As my life is a very imperfect, open book, I believe this would be torture. It would be a frequent torture.
Luckily, I've found another possible major of interest: Emergency Management. While the courses aren't nearly as exciting, it would allow me to do everything I've always wanted to do. I can work with FEMA and other disaster response organizations. I can learn EMT skills and save a life. I can join search and rescue or underwater body recovery. I can help after mass/natural disasters. I have the opportunity to work regular hours, I can see my husband, and I can work for the state. I can be a pretty useful person to be around in case of emergencies. There's also that phrase from my special parchment saying I'll find joy in helping others. What better way to help others? Despite all of this, I'm absolutely terrified I'll miss out. Criminal justice and forensic science are my loves in life!
Anyway, for now I'll just finish my general education. Hopefully I'll have made a decision by then.
De-clawing Cats
Every educated animal-lover knows de-clawing is a horrible, horrible process done mainly to keep cats from damaging furniture. That reason sucks, but I'm sure there are worse ones out there. Until just now, however, I personally thought the only damage done was that the cat can't defend itself in the wild, and that it gets sore paws.
It's much worse. The paws aren't only sore, they're agonizing because the bone is growing back in shards! It cripples the cat and, to compensate, the cat will put it's weight on the wrists to avoid pressure on the paws. That causes arthritis in the wrist, arms, and shoulders. The bones growing in cause injury and, by extension, pus. That pus gets into the bloodstream and causes kidney failure and liver damage.
It's terrible, and I really hate that this procedure is legal.
It's much worse. The paws aren't only sore, they're agonizing because the bone is growing back in shards! It cripples the cat and, to compensate, the cat will put it's weight on the wrists to avoid pressure on the paws. That causes arthritis in the wrist, arms, and shoulders. The bones growing in cause injury and, by extension, pus. That pus gets into the bloodstream and causes kidney failure and liver damage.
It's terrible, and I really hate that this procedure is legal.
Friday, August 15, 2014
No voice.
I'm still reeling from a blind-sided quote I heard today. I was watching a show about animal hoarders when a sufferer explained why she began collecting animals. It started when she was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 38. The chemo made her infertile, and she said: "Well, the baby machine is broken, what's the point of being a woman?"
Oh. Good. Grief.
I guess I can cut her some slack because she was one of those gals who grew up thinking her only purpose in life was to be a mother. Then again, she was freaking 38...how long did you think you had if you didn't have cancer? Eggs and fertility don't last forever.
Anyway, I was just filing the irritation away in my brain when it suddenly dawned on me what life is about. It may very well be why I've been going through a rough patch and maybe why I can't stand being around people in the first place: pressure.
It seems like, from the second you're born, people have ideas for you. If you're a girl, you're gonna have babies unless you absolutely can't. Your parents want you to be just like them when you grow up. American society has ideas of it's own. My religion, as great as it is, is probably the biggest beast when it comes to pressure.
I'm not talking about the pressure to be good so you can avoid Hell. That's not a valid reason to be good anyway, and it's not relevant. I'm talking about women are supposed to be this way and men are supposed to be this way. I'm not a perfect follower in any sense of the term, so excuse my delusions, but I feel in my heart of hearts, that it isn't so black and white. I KNOW I'm not a female for the purpose of having babies. Vanessa is a female. I just am, that's my spirit. I can't handle having "my highest calling" shoved down my throat every dang Sunday. If I'm having a baby, it's because it's in my plan, not the plan for females. Not all women can have children, so shove off!
Aside from that mountain of unpleasantness, there is American society. Why do I have to be outgoing? Why do I have to say: "How are you?" and not actually mean it? Why are women supposed to be one way or another? Why do we have to have exciting lives to be worth conversing with? Why is it weird to be candid? Why can't we just let each other be?
And if that wasn't enough, everyone you know has an opinion about how you should live your life. Friends and especially family will tell you what you should do to be happy. "Get a transplant". "Have babies". "Be positive". "You're just giving up if you don't blahblahblah." Those are just a few things people have said to my face. People who don't know what it's like 1: to be me 2: to be chronically ill 3: to be a female 4: to be a chronically ill female. If someone would just be educated about my illnesses before telling me what to do or how to act, that would be nice. For once.
You know, that part of me just messed everything up. As far away as I was from being understood before, it's just even further away now. Hardly any doctors know of PKD and virtually NO ONE ELSE knows anything about it. So thanks a lot, body.
I just wish people would let me be. Just let me do my own thing. But there is no way that's going to happen. Everyone will have their opinions about my life and my choices. They're gonna be vocal about it sometimes. I'd like to say I can just let it roll off my back, but I've never been that kind of gal. I'm a fighter, but I just think I'm done fighting.
Anyway, I hope that made some sense. Maybe I'm just cranky... but I think I might have a point. I'd see a therapist and get some meds if I could afford it, but for now I have this stupid blog.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Suicide
I found out today that, after a long battle with severe depression, a beloved celebrity ended his own life. These are my thoughts:
Suicide is strange to talk about. I've had a weird relationship with the enigma my entire life. I think everyone thinks about suicide at least once in their life, and yet it's rarely spoken of, and even more misunderstood. As someone who deals with depression on a regular basis, I completely understand his wish. I wouldn't consider mine as ever being severe, and I often find myself in and endless circle of misery. So I can't imagine what he felt, but I know it was bad.
Many people claim those who end their lives are cowards, but it couldn't be further from the truth. It takes a lot of guts to harm yourself. Even when your only wish is to die, it's painful. It's frightening to think of what will happen. It's not selfish, either. When everything around you is wrong, and you only wish you wouldn't wake up after you fall asleep, your judgement is cloudy. It may not feel like it, but it is. It's not about the people you leave behind, all you can think about is ending your own suffering. It may even feel justified, as if everyone else would be better off without you. Everyone else seems happy, why can't you be? Something is wrong with you, right?
Though I've found myself in this place more often than I'd like to admit, I could never ever get myself to even attempt to do it. And I believe it's because I had something these poor souls must not have had. That thing is hope. For some reason, no matter how miserable it is to wake up, I feel like things could get better, and I want to be around for that. You know, my life usually gets worse every year.
I dropped out of Weber State because I was cutting myself and I wasn't thriving. At the time, it really seemed hopeless to me. I was failing half of my classes (though I still got excellent grades in the classes I did pass). I was getting UTIs all the time. I had no friends and, even though I was happy about that, I felt bad for not wanting more. For not being "normal". I was on clonazepam, and I felt like my anxiety was better, so why was I not "normal"?
My health started deteriorating. Later that year into the next, it just kept getting worse. Everything below my bellybutton wasn't working properly. I was truly miserable. I found out about my husband's much earlier "infidelity" (we were dating, and hadn't done anything yet). It crushed me, but I went through with my engagement and marriage. My wedding was a complete nightmare, and it destroyed whatever hope I had of getting along with my new family. I lost my best friend because of who I was marrying. My health problems persisted and worsened. I went to a few doctors multiple times. I got a colonoscopy with normal results, but I'm skeptical, because the doctor was young and seemed extremely uncaring in my follow-up appointments. I finally got a doctor to take me seriously (after I lost 50+ pounds for no reason) and order a CT scan. I thought they'd find out what was wrong (surely, it had something to do with my stomach or bowels, or maybe my uterus was tilted and squishing my other organs), they'd fix it, and I'd be happy again.
Turns out I have this freak incurable, progressive, genetic, systemic, life-threatening illness. It wasn't going away, and it almost certainly has nothing to do with the majority of my complaints. It answered a few things I didn't care about - why I bruised easily, why I'm exhausted all the time, why my urination habits were going haywire, why my back and stomach hurt so much, and why I got those UTIs all the time.
As for my bowel problems, they tested me for a few more things, got me the highest dose of Amitiza, and sent me on my way. They never looked into my sexual dysfunction, assuming my husband must not know how to please me or that I can't relax enough. Doctors just generally don't care, I find. My school performance has only gotten worse. From near straight A's, to near straight F's. Sometimes I wonder why I'm even still in school.
My point is that everything has gotten worse over time. I would think that, if I had problems before, I would be done by now. But the funny thing is that I still have hope things will get better. Every time something bad happens, I feel like I get more resilient. Like it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I'm more grateful for the small things, and it's all because of hope. I just wish more people had hope. I especially wish that for the victims of suicide. It's tragic, and I wish they could've been helped, but you ultimately have to help yourself, and some people just aren't equipped for that.
Rest in peace.
Suicide is strange to talk about. I've had a weird relationship with the enigma my entire life. I think everyone thinks about suicide at least once in their life, and yet it's rarely spoken of, and even more misunderstood. As someone who deals with depression on a regular basis, I completely understand his wish. I wouldn't consider mine as ever being severe, and I often find myself in and endless circle of misery. So I can't imagine what he felt, but I know it was bad.
Many people claim those who end their lives are cowards, but it couldn't be further from the truth. It takes a lot of guts to harm yourself. Even when your only wish is to die, it's painful. It's frightening to think of what will happen. It's not selfish, either. When everything around you is wrong, and you only wish you wouldn't wake up after you fall asleep, your judgement is cloudy. It may not feel like it, but it is. It's not about the people you leave behind, all you can think about is ending your own suffering. It may even feel justified, as if everyone else would be better off without you. Everyone else seems happy, why can't you be? Something is wrong with you, right?
Though I've found myself in this place more often than I'd like to admit, I could never ever get myself to even attempt to do it. And I believe it's because I had something these poor souls must not have had. That thing is hope. For some reason, no matter how miserable it is to wake up, I feel like things could get better, and I want to be around for that. You know, my life usually gets worse every year.
I dropped out of Weber State because I was cutting myself and I wasn't thriving. At the time, it really seemed hopeless to me. I was failing half of my classes (though I still got excellent grades in the classes I did pass). I was getting UTIs all the time. I had no friends and, even though I was happy about that, I felt bad for not wanting more. For not being "normal". I was on clonazepam, and I felt like my anxiety was better, so why was I not "normal"?
My health started deteriorating. Later that year into the next, it just kept getting worse. Everything below my bellybutton wasn't working properly. I was truly miserable. I found out about my husband's much earlier "infidelity" (we were dating, and hadn't done anything yet). It crushed me, but I went through with my engagement and marriage. My wedding was a complete nightmare, and it destroyed whatever hope I had of getting along with my new family. I lost my best friend because of who I was marrying. My health problems persisted and worsened. I went to a few doctors multiple times. I got a colonoscopy with normal results, but I'm skeptical, because the doctor was young and seemed extremely uncaring in my follow-up appointments. I finally got a doctor to take me seriously (after I lost 50+ pounds for no reason) and order a CT scan. I thought they'd find out what was wrong (surely, it had something to do with my stomach or bowels, or maybe my uterus was tilted and squishing my other organs), they'd fix it, and I'd be happy again.
Turns out I have this freak incurable, progressive, genetic, systemic, life-threatening illness. It wasn't going away, and it almost certainly has nothing to do with the majority of my complaints. It answered a few things I didn't care about - why I bruised easily, why I'm exhausted all the time, why my urination habits were going haywire, why my back and stomach hurt so much, and why I got those UTIs all the time.
As for my bowel problems, they tested me for a few more things, got me the highest dose of Amitiza, and sent me on my way. They never looked into my sexual dysfunction, assuming my husband must not know how to please me or that I can't relax enough. Doctors just generally don't care, I find. My school performance has only gotten worse. From near straight A's, to near straight F's. Sometimes I wonder why I'm even still in school.
My point is that everything has gotten worse over time. I would think that, if I had problems before, I would be done by now. But the funny thing is that I still have hope things will get better. Every time something bad happens, I feel like I get more resilient. Like it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I'm more grateful for the small things, and it's all because of hope. I just wish more people had hope. I especially wish that for the victims of suicide. It's tragic, and I wish they could've been helped, but you ultimately have to help yourself, and some people just aren't equipped for that.
Rest in peace.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
My old friend.
Ah, depression/GAD. Just when you think you're out, it pulls you right back in. Since meeting Stephen, I just haven't had to be on antidepressants/anticonvulsants save for once. I do a lot of self-medicating anyway, but there are times where my life is in danger and my judgement is clouded enough to warrant help.
I think I need help again. I think I may need the big guns again. Clonazepam; my mortal frienemy. I love how it works. It actually helps, which is new. But, on the other hand, it caused weird side-effects. My eyes would flitter about, my head would occasionally twitch, and I had a hard time remembering things. All of these were worth the results I was getting until I developed an additional symptom that is still something of an issue for me. I can only describe it as cognitive impairment. I'd forget words completely, even simple words. I'd frequently stop mid-sentence to try to concoct the rest of the sentence. Normally, I can make a sentence in my mind and say it rather quickly, but even if I had the sentence in my mind, I would need to pause before saying the rest.
So I gave it up. That, and I had a human replacement for them. However, I'm beginning to notice that I worry too dang much about stupid things. It keeps me up at night. In fact, I'm still awake now. I worry about every. little. thing. It's a nightmare, but if I don't worry about it and hash out a plan about it every 45 seconds, it'll literally begin giving me physical symptoms like restless legs and even a racey heart sometimes. It's utterly ridiculous, and it's really disturbing my quality of life. Even though I could be doing worse, I feel like I'm not doing anything I'm supposed to be doing. I'm not doing anything right. I feel like a waste of space and like I don't know how to connect with people - even my friends.
It's very tempting right now, that's all I'm saying.
I think I need help again. I think I may need the big guns again. Clonazepam; my mortal frienemy. I love how it works. It actually helps, which is new. But, on the other hand, it caused weird side-effects. My eyes would flitter about, my head would occasionally twitch, and I had a hard time remembering things. All of these were worth the results I was getting until I developed an additional symptom that is still something of an issue for me. I can only describe it as cognitive impairment. I'd forget words completely, even simple words. I'd frequently stop mid-sentence to try to concoct the rest of the sentence. Normally, I can make a sentence in my mind and say it rather quickly, but even if I had the sentence in my mind, I would need to pause before saying the rest.
So I gave it up. That, and I had a human replacement for them. However, I'm beginning to notice that I worry too dang much about stupid things. It keeps me up at night. In fact, I'm still awake now. I worry about every. little. thing. It's a nightmare, but if I don't worry about it and hash out a plan about it every 45 seconds, it'll literally begin giving me physical symptoms like restless legs and even a racey heart sometimes. It's utterly ridiculous, and it's really disturbing my quality of life. Even though I could be doing worse, I feel like I'm not doing anything I'm supposed to be doing. I'm not doing anything right. I feel like a waste of space and like I don't know how to connect with people - even my friends.
It's very tempting right now, that's all I'm saying.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
People are dumb.
So I just read an article about a 9 year old boy who has died after being stabbed by a 12 year old on a local playground. If I was still friends with the idiot I was arguing with a month or so ago, I'd rub it in his face. As someone who has studied criminal justice (both formally and informally) for a long time, I know what's up. I know how the world works, and it's just not as safe as one might think.
He'd shared this article about a woman who'd been arrested for leaving her child at a local park for hours on end, unattended. This guy and all his friends and some of his family all agreed it was outrageous, disparaging "helicopter parents" in the process. After placing a few facts in front of them about child abductions, they became belligerent; looking at my facebook and finding things to personally attack (to no avail). And here is a sliver of proof that, if I'd decided to go that route, honestly would've done nothing but make them mad (but it should make them change their minds). They just don't know what goes on. They don't know how easy and common it is for someone they trust even, to do something horrible.
Another thing I saw that angered me was a teaparty post that was liked by a friend or relative of mine (can't remember). It read: "Israel has a right to defend it's boarders. Like if you agree." *Facepalm*. I'd just gotten finished seeing all these photos of innocent citizens in Gaza, carrying their dead relatives (presumably to a mass grave). I saw that Israel had bombed a United Nations-run school, where people had fled for safety. Yes, from my understanding, Gaza began the attacks, killing 59 (probably-innocent) people. But Israel replied by killing 1,423 (probably innocent) Gazans. First of all, how is that fair? When does it turn from defending your boarders into attacking another country? And why kill innocent people? People in refuge at the school? What were they going to do? How is it defense if you're killing the defenseless?
I mean...do people just not think of things before they say/stand behind them? It just doesn't compute for me. This relative or friend of mine was, most likely, of my religious faith. We pride ourselves on our knowledge of our lineage. We "love one another", yet this is okay to them? That doesn't make sense to me. And the first guy is a relative of my husband, who I no longer have ties to. Maybe I'd be happier if I didn't have ties to anyone. I'm tired of everyone blaming everyone else for everything. We all need to start working on ourselves and not make judgments about people we know nothing about. No more racism. No more sexism. No more wars. I'm starting to sound like a hippy, but you get the point.
He'd shared this article about a woman who'd been arrested for leaving her child at a local park for hours on end, unattended. This guy and all his friends and some of his family all agreed it was outrageous, disparaging "helicopter parents" in the process. After placing a few facts in front of them about child abductions, they became belligerent; looking at my facebook and finding things to personally attack (to no avail). And here is a sliver of proof that, if I'd decided to go that route, honestly would've done nothing but make them mad (but it should make them change their minds). They just don't know what goes on. They don't know how easy and common it is for someone they trust even, to do something horrible.
Another thing I saw that angered me was a teaparty post that was liked by a friend or relative of mine (can't remember). It read: "Israel has a right to defend it's boarders. Like if you agree." *Facepalm*. I'd just gotten finished seeing all these photos of innocent citizens in Gaza, carrying their dead relatives (presumably to a mass grave). I saw that Israel had bombed a United Nations-run school, where people had fled for safety. Yes, from my understanding, Gaza began the attacks, killing 59 (probably-innocent) people. But Israel replied by killing 1,423 (probably innocent) Gazans. First of all, how is that fair? When does it turn from defending your boarders into attacking another country? And why kill innocent people? People in refuge at the school? What were they going to do? How is it defense if you're killing the defenseless?
I mean...do people just not think of things before they say/stand behind them? It just doesn't compute for me. This relative or friend of mine was, most likely, of my religious faith. We pride ourselves on our knowledge of our lineage. We "love one another", yet this is okay to them? That doesn't make sense to me. And the first guy is a relative of my husband, who I no longer have ties to. Maybe I'd be happier if I didn't have ties to anyone. I'm tired of everyone blaming everyone else for everything. We all need to start working on ourselves and not make judgments about people we know nothing about. No more racism. No more sexism. No more wars. I'm starting to sound like a hippy, but you get the point.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
Bangs.
I've had bangs for much of my life. Voluntarily gave myself some at 12, probably had it quite a bit before, and I know I had some for years later. However, I finally grew tired of them growing out into my face in college, when I began to grow them out permanently from 2013. I really liked no more bangs. It made my face look longer, since you could see my short forehead. My skin was clearer from not having hair oil on my face. It was much easier to style - not that I did much of that, but there was a small variety of things I could easily do.
Well, I just cut them about an hour ago on a whim. See...Stephen had mentioned earlier that I looked so pretty (I was wearing clothes actual people wear). He continued: "But I think I've decided that I like you with bangs better." Now, he's not being a jerk. I ask him on occasion about what he thinks of whatever. He hasn't really had an opinion up until now, which is helpful to me. I want to be attractive to him!
The problem is, I no longer like bangs. It's not like I hate them, but I think I look better without. He's been doing that lately. He used to not like my tummy. I hate it, personally. He'd always say, when asked, that he likes everything about my body but, if he could change one thing, it would be my tummy. Now? Now he raves about it. He loves it and even says I could stand to gain more weight. I felt the best when I was 154 pounds. Even then, I still wanted to lose about 15-20 pounds. Do you see the issue?
I can see how this may have begun. When I first met Stephen, I was relatively physically healthy (or so I thought) and pretty overweight at 210 pounds. All that weight was basically on my stomach. Then I started getting very sick. By December that year, I was able to fit comfortably into a size 10 wedding dress (my usual size was 18/XXL). When I was weighed for my CT scan the following Fall, I was at my recorded lowest weight at 154 pounds. I've now gained (what feels like) a lot of weight back.
My point is that he's seen my body in almost every weight on the scale of possibilities. He's seen my hair red, black, natural-ish, and even bleached blonde. It's been many lengths with different styles, I think he's just finally got an idea of what he likes. Unfortunately, it's way different from what I like, but that's okay for now.
Well, I just cut them about an hour ago on a whim. See...Stephen had mentioned earlier that I looked so pretty (I was wearing clothes actual people wear). He continued: "But I think I've decided that I like you with bangs better." Now, he's not being a jerk. I ask him on occasion about what he thinks of whatever. He hasn't really had an opinion up until now, which is helpful to me. I want to be attractive to him!
The problem is, I no longer like bangs. It's not like I hate them, but I think I look better without. He's been doing that lately. He used to not like my tummy. I hate it, personally. He'd always say, when asked, that he likes everything about my body but, if he could change one thing, it would be my tummy. Now? Now he raves about it. He loves it and even says I could stand to gain more weight. I felt the best when I was 154 pounds. Even then, I still wanted to lose about 15-20 pounds. Do you see the issue?
I can see how this may have begun. When I first met Stephen, I was relatively physically healthy (or so I thought) and pretty overweight at 210 pounds. All that weight was basically on my stomach. Then I started getting very sick. By December that year, I was able to fit comfortably into a size 10 wedding dress (my usual size was 18/XXL). When I was weighed for my CT scan the following Fall, I was at my recorded lowest weight at 154 pounds. I've now gained (what feels like) a lot of weight back.
My point is that he's seen my body in almost every weight on the scale of possibilities. He's seen my hair red, black, natural-ish, and even bleached blonde. It's been many lengths with different styles, I think he's just finally got an idea of what he likes. Unfortunately, it's way different from what I like, but that's okay for now.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
In-laws.
Who needs 'em? I certainly don't. It's probably the worst part about getting married. Especially if you had a wedding turn out the way mine did. In my case, a handful of them are really awesome, but most of them are not worth the grief they cause.
It's hard enough with all the normal things that happen when joining a family. Holidays are not days to relax anymore, it's just a game of pleasing people. Pick each celebration carefully, or you'll hurt someone's feelings. If you help or don't help, it can cause issues. You're a new person - even a new woman - in the family and, if they think one way and you think another, it's gonna cause problems. They may not be the welcoming type.
Or you could have the monstrous BS that's not even worth describing anymore. That's what I had, and I won't have it anymore. I'm officially not part of that family - as declared by me, since late June - and I'm the happiest I've been since December 2012. At least when it comes to that nonsense. Sure, I still don't have answers explaining their unfathomable behavior toward me, but I don't need one anymore.
I can now spend the holidays in one place (instead of splitting them, because I didn't want to leave anyone out), and it's with people who actually give a flip about me. I'm not an intruder anymore. I'll be much happier this way. I have been, so far.
It's hard enough with all the normal things that happen when joining a family. Holidays are not days to relax anymore, it's just a game of pleasing people. Pick each celebration carefully, or you'll hurt someone's feelings. If you help or don't help, it can cause issues. You're a new person - even a new woman - in the family and, if they think one way and you think another, it's gonna cause problems. They may not be the welcoming type.
Or you could have the monstrous BS that's not even worth describing anymore. That's what I had, and I won't have it anymore. I'm officially not part of that family - as declared by me, since late June - and I'm the happiest I've been since December 2012. At least when it comes to that nonsense. Sure, I still don't have answers explaining their unfathomable behavior toward me, but I don't need one anymore.
I can now spend the holidays in one place (instead of splitting them, because I didn't want to leave anyone out), and it's with people who actually give a flip about me. I'm not an intruder anymore. I'll be much happier this way. I have been, so far.
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