A Story of Me

Vividly Saturated 

I don’t sleep. I often lay in my bed, staring at my ceiling day dreaming. On a good night I’ll sleep for 5 hours straight. Often I’ll wake up around 4 in the morning, and stay awake for about an hour. 

I have created a game for myself when this happens. I try to remember the details of what I had just dreamt. I have to do this right after I wake up, or else the little details become a distance memory. 

I read somewhere that, when remembering a dream, you’re really remembering the last time you remembered it. Mind blowing. 

But I try to remember my dreams, and I usually tell my two friends (let’s call them Rachel and Rebecca) because they find entertainment in these wild stories my brain sub consciencly comes up with. 

Wednesday morning I woke up around 5am, and was greater with the memory of a dream. I call them vividly saturated, because I can remember bits and pieces very well, while the story as a whole is usually broken. 

So on Wednesday, I followed my usual dream routine and texted this to Rebecca and Rachel:
“I had a really cool and scary dream last night. So me and my boy friend in my dream (sadly didn’t recognize him) went camping in this forest. But this really bad thunderstorm came out of no where while we were sleeping, and a tree next to our tent caught on fire. After we smelt the smoke we started running. And we got lost. Like extremely lost. We had no food, no water, we were scared, and we had no weapons to defend off animals. But we had no choice but to keep walking. The longer we were there, the better we got at catching food, making knives etc- but the only reason I could wake up in the morning was the hope that we would leave or find someone. And one day, we head a car horn. It was faint at first, we both thought our minds were playing tricks on us. But it happened a second time, and that’s when I started running towards it, and he followed. We were so malnourished and dehydrated that it hurt to run, but I didn’t want to miss our chance. We found the car tracks, which then lead us to this camping retreat, with electricity and running water,and right as we step onto camp I collapse from exhaustion. I woke up in the nurse tent, and they start talking about integrating us into their camp, they said the outside world would come for them in a week. We stay at the camp, shower, eat- and I’m so happy, but I could tell something was off about him. But I don’t let it bother we. 5 days in, I’m with a group of people walking to a store, when I collapse again. I wake up in the doctors, to find that I have an overwhelming amount of mercury in my system. They then found out the man who I was with had been slowly poisoning me- and that we had been in the woods longer than I thought- 13 years. But they didn’t have mirrors in the camp, and in the forest, I would collapse and stay unconscious for days at a time, when he told me it was minutes. After the doctor heard the news, we found a note from the man I was with saying that he left the camp, he didn’t feel like he belonged and he asked me to go back to the woods with him. I woke up feeling conflicted, like I was actually thinking about going back with him!”

I woke up feeling silly that I even considering being with someone who treated me like that. I did a lot of reflecting with it. And I realized how much significance this dream held for me. 

At the time, I was on a break with my boy friend. We had gotten into a fight about me being “unemotional”. Ya. Okay. 

But I realized just the way he had treated me during the 6 months we were dating was not okay. I’m not going to go into it, read my past post for examples.

This dream was an eye opening experience. It showed me that I was the woman who was trapped in the woods. 

A Story of Me · Uncategorized

Damned if I do, damned if I’m damsel 

Sometimes I fear that everyone is going to leave me. I don’t know if I think they’re going to die, or simply walk away from my life. I’ve had people do both. It’s selfish of them to do either, but it’s selfish of me to stay mad at them. 

So there’s this uneasy push and pull of emotion that is interfered with when someone leaves me. Most of the time, the relationship- whether friend or romantic- has been a toxic one. A great weight is lifted of my shoulder, and there are moments when I am genuinely happy. Then there are other times, like right now for intense, when it is 2 o’clock in the morning and I am lying in bed feeling lonely and sorry for myself. 

It’s toxic when I’m in the relationship, and it’s toxic when they leave. Because for a while after they abandon me, I lack trust for other as well as the desire to be around people. I want to hide away in my corner so I won’t be hurt again. Yet, I am also faced with the wanting to fill the hole they left. The emptiness inside begins to slowly consume me, so in my mind I must fill the void before it swallows me whole- which it has never done, and in my mind I know will never do. But I race to fill it anyways. 

I’m an strong minded, independent, introvert- so in reality I don’t need anyone. I don’t need someone to protect me, or keep me constantly entertained. But I need a person who is always there for me, as I need someone to help settle me down when I get worked up, or for me to talk to when I get excited. 

But in my naiveness, in past relationships I failed to realize that my needs aren’t well wanted at this stage in life. 

Men want women who need a protector. 

I am not a damsel in distress. But in my mind I am Lois Lane, and my beau is Clark Kent. Someone strong and caring. 

But the super hero never saves a person who doesn’t need saving. 


A Story of Me · Uncategorized

She Will Be Loved

My high school taught me I will never be loved.

I remember it vividly. It was 8th grade, and my “sex Ed” health class had a guest lecturer. I put the sex Ed in quotes because the class wasn’t about sexual education, it was sexual prevention. Trying to trick the youthful 13 year olds who were sitting in that room into abstinence. And in the process, failing to teach anything about the education of sex. Anyways, we were sitting on the dirty floor of an abandoned science classroom, half listening to this person talking about STDs.

She said that if you’re a girl, and something comes out of your vagina, you have an STD. She literally said that. Which, if you’re not familiar with female anatomy, is not true. There are many healthy reasons why “something comes out of your vagina”. But the wrong information she taught us isn’t the reason for the story.

After she talked about that and other STDs, she transitioned into what the opposite gender finds attractive. Yes. She literally gave us a list of how to be attractive to the other gender. She didn’t give a disclaimer like “oh this is what research shows 70% of males are into”. Nope. She acted as if the words she were saying were 100% true for every gender (nor did she acknowledge that males could like other males). But this was public school education at its finest.

She then decided it would be a wonderful idea to show the class of 45 how right she was. So she asked this simple question, that of course, wouldn’t offend anybody. She asked, “boys, would you date a girl taller than you?”

We sat there silently as no one’s hand rose up. My cheeks began to redden knowing that, at 5’10 I towered most of my 13 year old peers. Especially the males. A single hand rose, our local drug dealer whom I wouldn’t be surprised if he lost his virginity at the age of 10.

I sat in silence and embarrassment as this person continued to talk about how boys don’t like girls taller than them. How that was very “unattractive” to them. And in my self loathing 13 year old self, I believed her.

Before that day, I was a star athlete. I was on track to be on varsity the next year for volleyball, basketball, and track. I was and academic all star, being in honors courses and having a 4.0. I was confident, I had good friends and  loved to make people laugh.

But after that speech, I stood a little less tall. I was a little less confident. I felt a little less loved. And I had no hope.

My friends were all petite and beautiful girls. Either blonde or full chested. I was neither. I was a very tall, muscular girl, with long brown hair. I was never the girl who boys liked, and up until then I either didn’t notice or care.

I remember once, I was in the hall walking to art class and this girl ran up to me and yelled “he has a crush on you” as a boy chased behind her. Even though it was embarrassing for him, I was ecstatic. Well until he yelled “no I don’t” as he went pass me. I was only partially crushed.

I’ve learned how irrelevant this woman was growing up, but it still doesn’t erase the years of her voice playing over and over in my head anytime a guy talks to me.

Flash forward 4 years. I was in the car with my boy friend at the time (he was 2 inches taller than me for the record), and he said “I love your curves” in that moment I was in heaven. No one boy had ever told me that before. It was a mere .5 seconds later when he then completed his though “I love your curves… I love how you just don’t care” and in that moment I was crushed again.

My mother says I have an hour glass figure, my shoulders and my hips are the same length and I have a tiny waist. Well, my when my hips are huge and my waist is tiny, my curves are very curvy.

But to his surprise, I do care that my hips are curvy. I’ve tried to reduce the amount of curve my hips have my dieting and working out, and nothing as worked. You can literally see my hip bone, no amount of working out will change my bone structure. But when he said that, I lost ever ounce of self confidence I had. I was 17.

I dated and slept around some more, and suddenly during my second semester of college I started dating a body builder. Things were going great until I asked him to be my trainer. That moment on, he would verbally judge everything I hate, everything I wore, and everything I did. He would make me track my calories, and shun me if I didn’t meet my goals. He would make me feel guilty whenever I skipped a gym day to study for an exam. He would make it a point to say that I haven’t been showing progress because I am lying to myself with the amount of work I had been doing. And when I had enough of him doing that, when I told him I didn’t want him to be my trainer anymore, he would make passive aggressive comments towards me. He would treat me like an idiot when we were at the gym, not correcting my form, but acting as if I were using a machine wrong (which fun fact, I’ve been weight lifting for 7 years, I know how to leg press).

And in his words and actions, he made me feel weak. And he made me ashamed of my body.

Needless to say, we broke up.

So now it’s just me, on a voyage to finally learn to love my body. I still have the words that these people in my life have implanted in me- that I am too tall, too curvy, and uncommitted. And every day I am working on replacing those words.

Ya I’m fucking tall. But I don’t feel scared walking home at night, and I can reach the top shelf every time.

And I am curvy. I had a friend who told me I had good birthing hips. Not sure what that means, but if it means I’m able to give birth better, I’ll take it.

I am committed. I’m committed to learning to love myself and to keeping myself healthy (with an occasional bowl of ice cream here or there).

We’ve all have heard the phrase “words hurt”. But when they come from a person of authority or a loved one, they can burn even worse.

I can only beg schools to stop teaching young kids about beauty standards. Young girls and boys have enough pressure, they don’t need to school system telling them what is and isn’t attractive.

To any woman out there who is being told her body isn’t beautiful, that it isn’t standard, tell them to fuck off. Beauty isn’t defined by a list of things. Christmas lights and flowers are beautiful and they look nothing alike.