May I rant for a moment?
...Well, it's my blog, so get over it.
I know it's been a while since I've posted. I've been out of town and busy, and all sorts of lame excuses. Oh yeah, and packing for college.
ANYWAY. I'm at college now *insert chorus of cheers and groans* and I actually like it. Mostly. See, my issue is I came to a private Christian college. I came here, knowing their stance on homosexuality parallels my mother's, fortunately with disapproval more than hatred. I would say the standard loosened, except I had to sign a "covenant" that, among other things, I would not participate in "homosexual behavior." So it's a little strict, but not cruel with an anti-gay attitude. Whatever. Kat being transgender, I can stretch the truth and still say I have a boyfriend, so no one has come after me yet. She tolerates it. We survive. No one's hateful, so I thought.
And I got proven wrong. I was looking forward to the topics covered in Foundations of Christian Thought throughout the year because the teacher promised we would look into Christianity as a worldview and examine it for flaws, not just examine the others and point out their flaws. So I know it's not extremely, irrevocably biased. This is the class that has a discussion group associated with it to really get us thinking about what's being taught, so it sinks in, and we can similarly judge other worldviews than the ones we talk explicitly about in class. It sounds like a fantastic premise, right? Right. The premise is fine. The class is interesting, sorta. We have to read novels for it, starting with one I already knew I liked by C.S. Lewis.
The teacher, though, has been dropping homophobic comments in all the classes I've been to, all semester. Not the first one, where we watched a video of him introducing himself and got out half an hour early, but all three of the full-length classes. Today's was the worst, the most direct, when he finished a tangent with "... And when you learn about the problems in a gay person's brain, you can be sympathetic." Excuse me? The problems with my brain? My mother might have accused me of being slightly autistic, but that problem has NOTHING to do with my being pansexual. There is NOTHING wrong with my brain. This teacher is a homophobic idiot who doesn't realize that he might be insulting a student or someone close to them when he says such things. Even before I admitted I liked girls on occasion, some of my funniest, best-to-hang-around friends were gay. My best friend likes girls more than guys. I would have gotten uncomfortable on their behalf because of that statement, even if I was comfortably straight.
The problem with him insulting me is that I am far less inclined to take him seriously. He exaggerated his example of how worldviews can be more right or more wrong than others (a 14 year old wanting to go to prom with a 60-year old purple-faced axe-murderer, and her mother being concerned about the pairing) so that no one would be offended ("I resemble that remark"); why would he choose such a modern example of a "problem" to have, when it's already controversial in the world?
That's the issue, isn't it? "In the world." We're wanting to be better than the world, we're starting with the assumption that all other people are wrong, even if we're not as extreme as the Amish at avoiding them. And since that covenant prohibits "homosexual behavior," obviously, no one at the school would lie or ignore it and be a closet homosexual. That's just beyond imagining. *gag* I think it's commonly understood that no one takes it as a strict set of rules. To quote multiple people from Pirates of the Caribbean, "they're more like guidelines than actual rules."
Maybe I'm overreacting. After all, a "one-minute paper" I had to write this morning was about that same covenant, and what, if anything, I would change. I went off on that same phrase, "homosexual behavior," tried to describe this video and came out to whoever happens to read my "paper" for on-subject-ness with the line "I am somewhere between bi- and pansexual, and since I don't choose to occasionally crush on girls, I hate having to deny it and fear judgment." I have no clue who, if anyone, will read it in detail, or if they will read the whole thing and come across that near the end (I wrote half a page; which is a lot more than the sentence or two most people write) so I was feeling very vulnerable about my sexuality already today. Perhaps it was just bad luck; a bad day for him to make such a directly derogatory statement, but that can't be changed now. I'm feeling insulted, angry, and rebellious. He may never know how badly I reacted to a, perhaps innocently intended, statement. But I will be critically analyzing every word he says for the rest of the semester. I'll be cautious. I'll be hesitant to believe anything he says without proof.
...Unfortunately, I will not directly express my rebellion, because I like to keep good grades, and I logically know I'll be even more pissed if I fail the class, lose scholarship money, (and still have to take it AGAIN because he's the only teacher of all the sections of that class, and it's required) just because I tried to boycott the class. I'd be the only one, so it would just be skipping, and I would only hurt myself. The logical half of my brain serves me well, even though it limits my options for expressing my disdain. But I've heard something about "course evaluations," which come at the end of semesters (and halfway through for the half-semester courses.) I don't know how they work, or what sort of questions are asked. But if there's any free-form space on the evaluation, I intend to be scathing, particularly if he continues making homophobic remarks EVERY SINGLE CLASS.
And in case he ever does stumble across my ranting and realize it's about him, I just want to ask: There's nothing wrong with my brain, so what other "facts" have you assumed and made up?
~Your absentee author, a furious Kara.
EDIT: Some afterthoughts.
You know, the teacher wasn't specifically homophobic today (9/13/12) but I was realizing. You know how a lot of people say homophobia is rooted in many homophobes' latent homosexuality, and they don't want gay people to "turn them gay"? Well, I'm sure there's a lot of religion mixed in as well, in this case; I'm certainly not accusing him of being a closet gay, but the theory isn't entirely off. When the teacher was talking about human purpose today, whenever his examples required caring what others thought about you, all of his examples were from the female perspective. (The best example is paraphrased here for you) "A declaration of worth depends on who says you're worthwhile. If you're at college and everyone avoids you and no one will talk to you and you call home and say 'Everybody hates me,' and your mom says 'oh, that's okay, sweetie. I love you,' it doesn't cheer you up much. But if those cute boys like you, well, that's a different matter."
Habitually, though, I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. He's married, so he can't even seem to be interested in young college women in their prime, not even for such examples, or else he might have a jealous, worried wife to come home to..?
2012/05/20
So I heard this story...
I was surfing online recently, and found this wonderful allegory. More people should read and consider it. I thought it was absolutely spot-on, but I'll leave it to you readers to judge.
By the way, I'm sorry I've been so quiet, guys... School's been insane. But maybe I'll be a little more talkative from here on? Or at least for a week or two before I disappear to summer camp...
In any case, I'm not dead. Not even close. I'm just quiet...
~Kara
(I like to imagine that in the world imagined below, chopsticks don't exist.)
Reposted with permission from the original author, Pyropractor
By the way, I'm sorry I've been so quiet, guys... School's been insane. But maybe I'll be a little more talkative from here on? Or at least for a week or two before I disappear to summer camp...
In any case, I'm not dead. Not even close. I'm just quiet...
~Kara
(I like to imagine that in the world imagined below, chopsticks don't exist.)
Reposted with permission from the original author, Pyropractor
On Forks and Civil Liberties
Imagine that you live in a world where it's illegal to eat with a fork.
You're perfectly entitled to stab yourself with them. But eating with them is RIGHT OUT.
And all that's ever served to eat is rice, macaroni and cheese, spaghetti, and things of that nature. People eat them with their fingers, or just shove their faces down over their plates, and it's perfectly normal. Normal, that is, for everyone you know... except you.
Your parents frown on you for this. Your mother says, "I dipped my very first fork in onion juice before I jammed it into my thigh. Hurt like the devil, but every time since then, it's been much easier!" Your father says, "You really should stab yourself a few times, you know, in visible places. Otherwise people are going to think you're a sissy."
You have a constant, gnawing pain from hunger; you're lightheaded a lot of the time. But everyone is Hollywood-thin, because there's only so much rice you can eat with your fingers before you give up. You don't even stab yourself with your fork, though everyone else does it, and happily, but you don't because you can't afford the blood loss.
But mostly you don't do it because... well, it's just so unpleasant, no matter what the rest of the world says.
So one day you're at your brother's wedding. Everyone is celebrating, stabbing themselves with their forks, mostly in their forearms. The bride and groom stab each other. One drunken bridesmaid pierces her cheek clean through. A perfectly ordinary way of celebrating this joyous occasion... and certainly you have no idea of the changes the day holds.
Your brother pulls you aside. "Listen," he says, pushing a box into your hands. "We've gotten way more forks today than we can possibly ever use. Take this set, from the Welby family. They look too blunt to get through clothing. Anyway, we never really liked them. Pretentious assholes," he adds, before returning to the bustling reception.
You peer through the clear plastic of the elegant white box at the tableware within. The tines of the forks do indeed appear blunt, with just a minimum of rounding. Why, it's as though these weren't designed for pushing their way through flesh at all! The handles are curved, like the side of a woman's torso, or an acoustic guitar. The stainless steel gleams at you, at once both challenging, and somehow... inviting.
You spy a champagne glass of sherbet on a nearby table. Suddenly, the idea comes to you. A daring idea. An IMPOSSIBLE idea. You saunter over to the table, glance around to see if anyone's looking, then sweep the glass up behind you , hiding it from the crowd, and return to the dark, quiet alcove leading to the hallway where the coat check room is. You steal a little further down the hall, just to be safe.
As quietly as possible, you open the box of tableware, heart pounding in your chest. With trembling hands, you remove a salad fork from the cardboard grooves in which it rests. The whole set glitters at you with forbidden promise, even in the feeble light here. You hold your breath, and finally, just do it. The tines of the fork glide smoothly into the sherbet, as though they were designed for that purpose alone. Your mind is filled with images of some old master craftsman from a small Italian village, whose skill at forging tableware has turned him into a brilliant, sought-after designer. You wonder if it was Enzo Ferrari back in 1929, when a sudden chill yanks you back to the present: you've actually done it! You ate sherbet with a fork!
And... it was delicious.
Not just because sherbet is fruity and sugary and sweet... but because you actually got a full bite's worth without getting it all over your face. The smooth edges of the utensil don't even cut your lips in passing. It just feels so... so right.
"WHAT in the HELL?!"
The moment is shattered at the sight of your brother's livid face. "What if somebody SAW..." He yanks the fork out of your hand and jams it mercilessly into your shoulder, and only then does he seem to relax at all. "There," he says, "now you can be seen."
The pain in your shoulder pierces your whole body. You feel it in the soles of your feet. It tugs at your every nerve, like a dull sawblade being dragged across ceramic. But it is nothing... nothing next to the pain you feel from having your first glimpse of freedom discovered and seen as a source of horror.
But it doesn't stop you. Oh, you show a respectable public face - a face showing four parallel scratches down from your temple to your chin. But at home... at home, when no one's watching... you eat with a fork.
And it is BLISS.
For the first time in as long as you can remember... you feel GOOD. You have the energy to walk up a flight of stairs without getting dizzy. That constant, nagging hunger is conspicuous by its absence. You even feel like you have some strength.
And people notice it in you. They ask if you'd gotten some good news, or won some money. You seem to be happier... walking prouder, standing taller.
But you can't tell them why.
No, your new discovery about yourself will always be a source of secret shame. And you wonder just how long you'll be able to keep that secret. If people found out... you'd probably lose your job, the respect of your family, hell, even the whole community.
You consider just telling them. Maybe just your family at first. Maybe they'll understand. "I just want to be able to eat with a fork," you'll say. And immediately you can imagine your father's rage, your mother's hysteria, your brother's embarrassment. "Why can't you just stab yourself with the bloody things like everyone else?!" your father would bellow. Your mother would look even more panicked, worried the neighbors will hear.
"I don't want to stab myself, Father," you'd reply.
And that would set him off again. "Look, he'd say, in what must be an attempt at restraint. "You can still have the forks, see? Just, you know... shove them through your skin! You shouldn't be looking for extra privileges with the things!"
**************
THAT is what I imagine gay people go through every day when conservatives tell them that the right to marry someone of the opposite sex should be enough for them, and that marrying the person they actually love is "extra rights."
You're perfectly entitled to stab yourself with them. But eating with them is RIGHT OUT.
And all that's ever served to eat is rice, macaroni and cheese, spaghetti, and things of that nature. People eat them with their fingers, or just shove their faces down over their plates, and it's perfectly normal. Normal, that is, for everyone you know... except you.
Your parents frown on you for this. Your mother says, "I dipped my very first fork in onion juice before I jammed it into my thigh. Hurt like the devil, but every time since then, it's been much easier!" Your father says, "You really should stab yourself a few times, you know, in visible places. Otherwise people are going to think you're a sissy."
You have a constant, gnawing pain from hunger; you're lightheaded a lot of the time. But everyone is Hollywood-thin, because there's only so much rice you can eat with your fingers before you give up. You don't even stab yourself with your fork, though everyone else does it, and happily, but you don't because you can't afford the blood loss.
But mostly you don't do it because... well, it's just so unpleasant, no matter what the rest of the world says.
So one day you're at your brother's wedding. Everyone is celebrating, stabbing themselves with their forks, mostly in their forearms. The bride and groom stab each other. One drunken bridesmaid pierces her cheek clean through. A perfectly ordinary way of celebrating this joyous occasion... and certainly you have no idea of the changes the day holds.
Your brother pulls you aside. "Listen," he says, pushing a box into your hands. "We've gotten way more forks today than we can possibly ever use. Take this set, from the Welby family. They look too blunt to get through clothing. Anyway, we never really liked them. Pretentious assholes," he adds, before returning to the bustling reception.
You peer through the clear plastic of the elegant white box at the tableware within. The tines of the forks do indeed appear blunt, with just a minimum of rounding. Why, it's as though these weren't designed for pushing their way through flesh at all! The handles are curved, like the side of a woman's torso, or an acoustic guitar. The stainless steel gleams at you, at once both challenging, and somehow... inviting.
You spy a champagne glass of sherbet on a nearby table. Suddenly, the idea comes to you. A daring idea. An IMPOSSIBLE idea. You saunter over to the table, glance around to see if anyone's looking, then sweep the glass up behind you , hiding it from the crowd, and return to the dark, quiet alcove leading to the hallway where the coat check room is. You steal a little further down the hall, just to be safe.
As quietly as possible, you open the box of tableware, heart pounding in your chest. With trembling hands, you remove a salad fork from the cardboard grooves in which it rests. The whole set glitters at you with forbidden promise, even in the feeble light here. You hold your breath, and finally, just do it. The tines of the fork glide smoothly into the sherbet, as though they were designed for that purpose alone. Your mind is filled with images of some old master craftsman from a small Italian village, whose skill at forging tableware has turned him into a brilliant, sought-after designer. You wonder if it was Enzo Ferrari back in 1929, when a sudden chill yanks you back to the present: you've actually done it! You ate sherbet with a fork!
And... it was delicious.
Not just because sherbet is fruity and sugary and sweet... but because you actually got a full bite's worth without getting it all over your face. The smooth edges of the utensil don't even cut your lips in passing. It just feels so... so right.
"WHAT in the HELL?!"
The moment is shattered at the sight of your brother's livid face. "What if somebody SAW..." He yanks the fork out of your hand and jams it mercilessly into your shoulder, and only then does he seem to relax at all. "There," he says, "now you can be seen."
The pain in your shoulder pierces your whole body. You feel it in the soles of your feet. It tugs at your every nerve, like a dull sawblade being dragged across ceramic. But it is nothing... nothing next to the pain you feel from having your first glimpse of freedom discovered and seen as a source of horror.
But it doesn't stop you. Oh, you show a respectable public face - a face showing four parallel scratches down from your temple to your chin. But at home... at home, when no one's watching... you eat with a fork.
And it is BLISS.
For the first time in as long as you can remember... you feel GOOD. You have the energy to walk up a flight of stairs without getting dizzy. That constant, nagging hunger is conspicuous by its absence. You even feel like you have some strength.
And people notice it in you. They ask if you'd gotten some good news, or won some money. You seem to be happier... walking prouder, standing taller.
But you can't tell them why.
No, your new discovery about yourself will always be a source of secret shame. And you wonder just how long you'll be able to keep that secret. If people found out... you'd probably lose your job, the respect of your family, hell, even the whole community.
You consider just telling them. Maybe just your family at first. Maybe they'll understand. "I just want to be able to eat with a fork," you'll say. And immediately you can imagine your father's rage, your mother's hysteria, your brother's embarrassment. "Why can't you just stab yourself with the bloody things like everyone else?!" your father would bellow. Your mother would look even more panicked, worried the neighbors will hear.
"I don't want to stab myself, Father," you'd reply.
And that would set him off again. "Look, he'd say, in what must be an attempt at restraint. "You can still have the forks, see? Just, you know... shove them through your skin! You shouldn't be looking for extra privileges with the things!"
**************
THAT is what I imagine gay people go through every day when conservatives tell them that the right to marry someone of the opposite sex should be enough for them, and that marrying the person they actually love is "extra rights."
2012/04/01
Untitled (To Dad)
Dear Dad:
Did you ever stop to think for a moment that it was you that taught me to be who I am? That you were the one who preached acceptance, and showed me to accept everyone - except those who hurt others? That you were the one who taught me that anger DID get the job done, and proved it on several occasions - especially here, right at home?
Did you ever stop to think that maybe I'm beyond tired of you yelling and screaming at me for sometimes doing things like you - because you're the one who taught me to do it that way?
Did you ever stop to think that MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO BE THIS WAY? That maybe I'd rather just be some regular guy who DIDN'T care about everything so much? And that I wish SO HARD EVERY FREAKING DAY that it wouldn't affect me? Or that maybe - just maybe - I wish I wasn't a girl trapped inside of a male's body, having to fight EVERY SINGLE DAY not to want to DIE?
I fight as hard as I do because you showed me for a long time that if you want something, you have to fight for it. I thought that maybe you really did care about others and who they were, and that maybe, just maybe, you'd be willing to fight for them. I thought that you had tried to BREAK the cycle of what basically amounts to mental abuse in this family - by caring about us, and NOT doing it. Except that, looking back, I was wrong. You haven't broken the cycle. You've continued it. And you're continuing it even now.
I should not be sitting here writing this, crying so hard I can barely see the screen through the tears, because of you. Not when you tried to teach me what was right from wrong - and now you're just violating it.
I can't even have a civil fucking conversation with you because whenever I try to speak on something that's even remotely "hot", you just yell at me until I shut up and back down. And then when I sit there, looking you in the eye, listening to you, you say that I'm giving you attitude? No, old man. That is not attitude. That is a feeling of betrayal that you're seeing. You yell at me to grow up, and not be angry with things, because it doesn't do any good. Yet you're yelling. About not yelling - and not being angry. Something is wrong here. I hesitate to call you a hypocrite because it seems harsh, but you know what? It's true. You're being one. You've been one for a long time. And somehow, it's rubbed off on me - because I don't see it as wrong as I know that I should. I am a hypocrite too often, because it doesn't register in me nearly as fast as it should that I am being one. And the only reason I can think of that would cause that is that you have done it for so long that it passed on. I am trying to break myself of being a hypocrite, did you know? Of course you don't, because you don't bother to pay attention.
I want family time, where I don't have to worry about anything. Where I don't have to worry about what I wear, or what you will say, or what I say in front of you. I want to be open with you, and to NOT be angry. To NOT have to fight about stupid things, because you're being an ass about it.
Today, I call something bullshit, and you instantly bark at me to get the anger out of my voice. When I try to counter a little bit later with something, you fly off the handle and go rage-mode on me about anger - how it doesn't do anything. I'm sorry? Um? Your anger has pushed me over the edge. I've been teetering for the past three days - since Wednesday night - on that precarious edge, trying to BACK DOWN and force myself to calm out, but you really did push me over this time. And when I walked away to keep from being pushed over the edge the first time, you yelled at me to come back out there, so I did after another couple minutes. I sat down and started to eat the food that I had made while you were raging on me earlier, and you start in again on me. All soft like, almost as if you were trying to be civil, then you go ballistic. Again. About how I'm supposedly taking my anger out on you guys, about how I'm abusing YOU with it. And then telling me that I can shove my "attitude" up my ass, and I can get out if I don't - going to leave me homeless, huh? Thanks - and that you don't want to hear my "pissy crying". You want to know what put me over the edge? That abuse. Telling me that my pain and hurt was just pissy crying that doesn't matter, and that I am the one abusing you and mom. What...?
I'm sorry that you grew up with parents that gave you mental hell. I really, truly am. I'm sorry that you feel like you're being constantly abused by everybody else, and that you have to feel others' emotions too. I'm sorry that your job is hard, and that your bosses are assholes.
You know what? Grow up, old man. Realize that this is reality. Things aren't easy - and they aren't getting any easier. Yes, bosses are assholes. They had to climb up a slippery ladder and stab everybody else in the back to get where they are, in almost every case. So I'm sorry that you have to deal with that. But it's reality. You want me to deal with it? How 'bouts you deal with it too?
You have made me afraid to have my own children, for fear that I will do to them what you have done to me. Fear that I won't be able to raise them well without mentally hurting them - probably permanently - in the process. Fear that the only way to raise a good kid is... through fear. How fucked up is that? I kind of wonder if you even want grandchildren, because of the way you act towards your children.
I wish so badly that I didn't have to write this, but I don't know how else to say it, and I feel like I will explode if I don't get this out there. It hurts, old man. It hurts, a lot.
Hey, Dad. You want to know what the worst part is? You probably wouldn't want to know, but I'll say it anyway. It's the fact that I can never tell you any of this, and can never really tell you how it feels. And just how much it hurts. I love you, I really do. But right now... I hate you for what you do, as well.
Please... Please, just lay off me.
Love,
Your.... older child.
(I'm sorry that I had to put this here, but I don't know where else to put it. I know there have been a lot of "personal" posts up here lately, but it is a personal blog on top of other things... I'll see you guys later - don't hate me too much for this one. Until next time. Peace.)
Did you ever stop to think for a moment that it was you that taught me to be who I am? That you were the one who preached acceptance, and showed me to accept everyone - except those who hurt others? That you were the one who taught me that anger DID get the job done, and proved it on several occasions - especially here, right at home?
Did you ever stop to think that maybe I'm beyond tired of you yelling and screaming at me for sometimes doing things like you - because you're the one who taught me to do it that way?
Did you ever stop to think that MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO BE THIS WAY? That maybe I'd rather just be some regular guy who DIDN'T care about everything so much? And that I wish SO HARD EVERY FREAKING DAY that it wouldn't affect me? Or that maybe - just maybe - I wish I wasn't a girl trapped inside of a male's body, having to fight EVERY SINGLE DAY not to want to DIE?
I fight as hard as I do because you showed me for a long time that if you want something, you have to fight for it. I thought that maybe you really did care about others and who they were, and that maybe, just maybe, you'd be willing to fight for them. I thought that you had tried to BREAK the cycle of what basically amounts to mental abuse in this family - by caring about us, and NOT doing it. Except that, looking back, I was wrong. You haven't broken the cycle. You've continued it. And you're continuing it even now.
I should not be sitting here writing this, crying so hard I can barely see the screen through the tears, because of you. Not when you tried to teach me what was right from wrong - and now you're just violating it.
I can't even have a civil fucking conversation with you because whenever I try to speak on something that's even remotely "hot", you just yell at me until I shut up and back down. And then when I sit there, looking you in the eye, listening to you, you say that I'm giving you attitude? No, old man. That is not attitude. That is a feeling of betrayal that you're seeing. You yell at me to grow up, and not be angry with things, because it doesn't do any good. Yet you're yelling. About not yelling - and not being angry. Something is wrong here. I hesitate to call you a hypocrite because it seems harsh, but you know what? It's true. You're being one. You've been one for a long time. And somehow, it's rubbed off on me - because I don't see it as wrong as I know that I should. I am a hypocrite too often, because it doesn't register in me nearly as fast as it should that I am being one. And the only reason I can think of that would cause that is that you have done it for so long that it passed on. I am trying to break myself of being a hypocrite, did you know? Of course you don't, because you don't bother to pay attention.
I want family time, where I don't have to worry about anything. Where I don't have to worry about what I wear, or what you will say, or what I say in front of you. I want to be open with you, and to NOT be angry. To NOT have to fight about stupid things, because you're being an ass about it.
Today, I call something bullshit, and you instantly bark at me to get the anger out of my voice. When I try to counter a little bit later with something, you fly off the handle and go rage-mode on me about anger - how it doesn't do anything. I'm sorry? Um? Your anger has pushed me over the edge. I've been teetering for the past three days - since Wednesday night - on that precarious edge, trying to BACK DOWN and force myself to calm out, but you really did push me over this time. And when I walked away to keep from being pushed over the edge the first time, you yelled at me to come back out there, so I did after another couple minutes. I sat down and started to eat the food that I had made while you were raging on me earlier, and you start in again on me. All soft like, almost as if you were trying to be civil, then you go ballistic. Again. About how I'm supposedly taking my anger out on you guys, about how I'm abusing YOU with it. And then telling me that I can shove my "attitude" up my ass, and I can get out if I don't - going to leave me homeless, huh? Thanks - and that you don't want to hear my "pissy crying". You want to know what put me over the edge? That abuse. Telling me that my pain and hurt was just pissy crying that doesn't matter, and that I am the one abusing you and mom. What...?
I'm sorry that you grew up with parents that gave you mental hell. I really, truly am. I'm sorry that you feel like you're being constantly abused by everybody else, and that you have to feel others' emotions too. I'm sorry that your job is hard, and that your bosses are assholes.
You know what? Grow up, old man. Realize that this is reality. Things aren't easy - and they aren't getting any easier. Yes, bosses are assholes. They had to climb up a slippery ladder and stab everybody else in the back to get where they are, in almost every case. So I'm sorry that you have to deal with that. But it's reality. You want me to deal with it? How 'bouts you deal with it too?
You have made me afraid to have my own children, for fear that I will do to them what you have done to me. Fear that I won't be able to raise them well without mentally hurting them - probably permanently - in the process. Fear that the only way to raise a good kid is... through fear. How fucked up is that? I kind of wonder if you even want grandchildren, because of the way you act towards your children.
I wish so badly that I didn't have to write this, but I don't know how else to say it, and I feel like I will explode if I don't get this out there. It hurts, old man. It hurts, a lot.
Hey, Dad. You want to know what the worst part is? You probably wouldn't want to know, but I'll say it anyway. It's the fact that I can never tell you any of this, and can never really tell you how it feels. And just how much it hurts. I love you, I really do. But right now... I hate you for what you do, as well.
Please... Please, just lay off me.
Love,
Your.... older child.
(I'm sorry that I had to put this here, but I don't know where else to put it. I know there have been a lot of "personal" posts up here lately, but it is a personal blog on top of other things... I'll see you guys later - don't hate me too much for this one. Until next time. Peace.)
2012/03/28
....?
(Warning, probably a lot of use of the word "fuck".)
I just want to curl up in a ball right now. So hurt and angry and just... fuck.
What is so fucking hard about accepting me for who I fucking well am? I am your child, mom. I always have been, and I always will be. Why can you not accept that I don't feel like I'm supposed to look the way I do? Why can't you accept that I am transgender? You say it is because of society, but that is such a bullshit answer. You and dad fucking TAUGHT me and your younger daughter to be accepting of everyone no matter what, yet here you are and you can't even fucking accept your own child for who they are - and not who they look like?
Fucking hell. I want to curl up and cry. I feel like I'm losing reality, and I don't have anything to grab hold of and hang on to. My desk doesn't even help.
Why me? Why do I have to be transgender? Why can't I just be the fucking son, why is my brain fucked up like this? I don't really give a whole lot of a shit about what most of society thinks - society as a whole are fucktards - but there are a few people I do care what they think. My immediate family? They're one of them. After twenty years of being basically preached to about acceptance of others, I'm not accepted simply because of... Because I feel wrong? Because I'm NOT male? Because I want to be a girl on the outside instead - and on the inside, am one?
We grew up on non-religious. We grew up with tolerance and acceptance of others drilled into us. So WHAT is different about me that you can't tolerate and accept me? Is it because it's not some nameless, faceless person - it's your own child? I just don't even know what to think anymore. What am I supposed to think about you, when you won't accept me?
I've been trying to get a real answer for three months about why you are so... what, hesitant to believe? don't think it's true? Three fucking months, and no real fucking answer yet. The only answer I've gotten so far from you, mom, was that you were raised in the catholic church and it was wrong there - and that it isn't accepted by society. And when I asked you tonight if that's why you didn't accept me - because society won't accept me as a whole - you deflected and just said that if I wanted to talk about it I had to talk to both you and dad at the same time. You've always been the one that I can come to with shit like this - and now, now... when I need your acceptance... I don't get it. Because of society - and your upbringing, which you have shaken? Something... Something does not make sense here.
I don't know what's so hard for you to realize. That this is REAL. That I'm not just making this up, that it's not just some perverse game. Will you believe it if the Psychiatrist says it's true? Then will you believe me? Will you accept me then?
Why do I have a feeling that you still won't accept me, even through that? What about this is so fucking hard? I am still your child! That isn't going to change! Why can't I be your daughter instead of your son though? We've all known for a long time that I'm not normal - in many different ways - and it's shown through the entire time I was growing up. We just didn't know to what extent the insanity ran.
Need a hug. Need Kara here. Something. Fighting tears and just... not in a good place.
There is no peace for me right now.
Help?
I just want to curl up in a ball right now. So hurt and angry and just... fuck.
What is so fucking hard about accepting me for who I fucking well am? I am your child, mom. I always have been, and I always will be. Why can you not accept that I don't feel like I'm supposed to look the way I do? Why can't you accept that I am transgender? You say it is because of society, but that is such a bullshit answer. You and dad fucking TAUGHT me and your younger daughter to be accepting of everyone no matter what, yet here you are and you can't even fucking accept your own child for who they are - and not who they look like?
Fucking hell. I want to curl up and cry. I feel like I'm losing reality, and I don't have anything to grab hold of and hang on to. My desk doesn't even help.
Why me? Why do I have to be transgender? Why can't I just be the fucking son, why is my brain fucked up like this? I don't really give a whole lot of a shit about what most of society thinks - society as a whole are fucktards - but there are a few people I do care what they think. My immediate family? They're one of them. After twenty years of being basically preached to about acceptance of others, I'm not accepted simply because of... Because I feel wrong? Because I'm NOT male? Because I want to be a girl on the outside instead - and on the inside, am one?
We grew up on non-religious. We grew up with tolerance and acceptance of others drilled into us. So WHAT is different about me that you can't tolerate and accept me? Is it because it's not some nameless, faceless person - it's your own child? I just don't even know what to think anymore. What am I supposed to think about you, when you won't accept me?
I've been trying to get a real answer for three months about why you are so... what, hesitant to believe? don't think it's true? Three fucking months, and no real fucking answer yet. The only answer I've gotten so far from you, mom, was that you were raised in the catholic church and it was wrong there - and that it isn't accepted by society. And when I asked you tonight if that's why you didn't accept me - because society won't accept me as a whole - you deflected and just said that if I wanted to talk about it I had to talk to both you and dad at the same time. You've always been the one that I can come to with shit like this - and now, now... when I need your acceptance... I don't get it. Because of society - and your upbringing, which you have shaken? Something... Something does not make sense here.
I don't know what's so hard for you to realize. That this is REAL. That I'm not just making this up, that it's not just some perverse game. Will you believe it if the Psychiatrist says it's true? Then will you believe me? Will you accept me then?
Why do I have a feeling that you still won't accept me, even through that? What about this is so fucking hard? I am still your child! That isn't going to change! Why can't I be your daughter instead of your son though? We've all known for a long time that I'm not normal - in many different ways - and it's shown through the entire time I was growing up. We just didn't know to what extent the insanity ran.
Need a hug. Need Kara here. Something. Fighting tears and just... not in a good place.
There is no peace for me right now.
Help?
Carry On
Sinus infection went away. Persistent bastard. Allegra, Sudafed, Tylenol, Mucinex, plus the antibiotic. Was quite happy to be rid of it.
Never did end up getting back down to the tornado disaster zone, unfortunately. Wish I could have done more...
Ended up spending a few hours with Kara that Friday afternoon, and then a few more hours later that evening. Amazing, mostly. I love that girl. She makes me so happy... I've seen her (almost) every day for the past few weeks, which is good, all things considered. I won't have almost any time with her next week, then summer is basically shot, and probably fall too. We'll see how it goes. Fighting to get as much time with her as possible before that happens.
That Friday also went awesome in another way - I got the A/V job! I am now working at a hotel, doing the Audio and Visual side of things. I've already racked up a fair number of hours, and done my first big build - which is amazing. I can't really post pictures, but suffice to say: If our team gets creative license, then watch out world! It turns out amazingly. I'm even getting paid a reasonable amount of money this time around. Even though I'm "temporary" - more like part time - I'm still getting a good amount of hours. Only... well, not really bad, not interesting, just... eh part of the job are the random hours. This past weekend, I went in at 06.30 Saturday morning, worked until 16.30, then went in Sunday from 17.30 until 22.30 (Sunday was the big build). And then I turned around and worked at 07.00 on Monday. The only other part of the job that is even halfway annoying is the fact that I have to wear a suit for work, seeing as how we meet with clients on a constant basis. I don't mind it - wearing a suit certainly makes me feel like a badass - but it means I have to find good suits. So far, it's been going to Goodwill and finding good two piece suits with the help of one of my best friends - that man has an eye for fashion - and matching it with shirts and ties. I probably need to get a couple real suits, but that's shelling out some serious money there. Stick to Goodwill for the time being, I guess. Oh well.
I still have yet to call the Medical insurance company. I need to do that! Grah. Been so busy with work and school and hanging out with Kara that I just haven't really thought about it, much less done it. But seriously, I need to... My body isn't right, and it bugs me. But I want to be able to go to a psychologist where Kara can go with me at least once, so I don't feel like I'm going in there alone... But that means either going on one of her days off, or a weekend, and I don't know many - if any - psychologists that are open on the weekend. I need to figure it out...
Dear GAWD, I need to shave tomorrow afternoon. My legs look like woolly freaking mammoths. Toooo much body hair! Drives me nuts. That, and a day without shaving, I have definite face stubble issues. It's driving me nuts. Wish estrogen could do something about face hair, but it won't... and of course the laser hair removal is EXPENSIVE! Grahhhh. So much about all this is expensive... drives me nuts! Welcome to life though, right?
So, a couple days ago, I went to visit my old mentor, and he told me about a second-hand store that had a few server racks - and servers still in them! - there. I went over to that store and bought three Dell PowerEdge servers, plus a Cisco Catalyst 2900. For A HUNDRED BUCKS. We're talking over three thousand dollars worth of gear, and I got it for a hundred dollars. How does this happen? Second hand stores for the win!! But yeah. Gonna set one of the servers up as a dev server, hopefully give one to dad as an early b-day present for his virtual stuff, and use one as a file server or something... I'll see how they run. I seriously need a day off though to tackle them, and I don't know when that'll be anytime soon... Between school and work. Heh. Oh well! I'll figure it out. I still have to figure out where I'm going to put my servers - not like I have much space in my room! - and we don't really have a whole lot of space in the entire house. I'd like to get in on a co-op or something, but that takes money that I currently don't have.
I need to yank the graphics card out of my old box and put it in my current box though, because the one in my current box is dying, it sounds like... I think the fan on it is going to hell. Either way, I need to fix that soon - especially if I want to stay active in SecondLife. I'll figure it out and make it work - I always do in the end...
Anyways. Sorry about the random jumping around in this post. More of a train-of-thought than anything. It's 0.18 though. I'm tired, and my brain really isn't wanting to work. Not to mention having to get up in five and a half hours... Oh yay.
Until next time.
Peace.
Never did end up getting back down to the tornado disaster zone, unfortunately. Wish I could have done more...
Ended up spending a few hours with Kara that Friday afternoon, and then a few more hours later that evening. Amazing, mostly. I love that girl. She makes me so happy... I've seen her (almost) every day for the past few weeks, which is good, all things considered. I won't have almost any time with her next week, then summer is basically shot, and probably fall too. We'll see how it goes. Fighting to get as much time with her as possible before that happens.
That Friday also went awesome in another way - I got the A/V job! I am now working at a hotel, doing the Audio and Visual side of things. I've already racked up a fair number of hours, and done my first big build - which is amazing. I can't really post pictures, but suffice to say: If our team gets creative license, then watch out world! It turns out amazingly. I'm even getting paid a reasonable amount of money this time around. Even though I'm "temporary" - more like part time - I'm still getting a good amount of hours. Only... well, not really bad, not interesting, just... eh part of the job are the random hours. This past weekend, I went in at 06.30 Saturday morning, worked until 16.30, then went in Sunday from 17.30 until 22.30 (Sunday was the big build). And then I turned around and worked at 07.00 on Monday. The only other part of the job that is even halfway annoying is the fact that I have to wear a suit for work, seeing as how we meet with clients on a constant basis. I don't mind it - wearing a suit certainly makes me feel like a badass - but it means I have to find good suits. So far, it's been going to Goodwill and finding good two piece suits with the help of one of my best friends - that man has an eye for fashion - and matching it with shirts and ties. I probably need to get a couple real suits, but that's shelling out some serious money there. Stick to Goodwill for the time being, I guess. Oh well.
I still have yet to call the Medical insurance company. I need to do that! Grah. Been so busy with work and school and hanging out with Kara that I just haven't really thought about it, much less done it. But seriously, I need to... My body isn't right, and it bugs me. But I want to be able to go to a psychologist where Kara can go with me at least once, so I don't feel like I'm going in there alone... But that means either going on one of her days off, or a weekend, and I don't know many - if any - psychologists that are open on the weekend. I need to figure it out...
Dear GAWD, I need to shave tomorrow afternoon. My legs look like woolly freaking mammoths. Toooo much body hair! Drives me nuts. That, and a day without shaving, I have definite face stubble issues. It's driving me nuts. Wish estrogen could do something about face hair, but it won't... and of course the laser hair removal is EXPENSIVE! Grahhhh. So much about all this is expensive... drives me nuts! Welcome to life though, right?
So, a couple days ago, I went to visit my old mentor, and he told me about a second-hand store that had a few server racks - and servers still in them! - there. I went over to that store and bought three Dell PowerEdge servers, plus a Cisco Catalyst 2900. For A HUNDRED BUCKS. We're talking over three thousand dollars worth of gear, and I got it for a hundred dollars. How does this happen? Second hand stores for the win!! But yeah. Gonna set one of the servers up as a dev server, hopefully give one to dad as an early b-day present for his virtual stuff, and use one as a file server or something... I'll see how they run. I seriously need a day off though to tackle them, and I don't know when that'll be anytime soon... Between school and work. Heh. Oh well! I'll figure it out. I still have to figure out where I'm going to put my servers - not like I have much space in my room! - and we don't really have a whole lot of space in the entire house. I'd like to get in on a co-op or something, but that takes money that I currently don't have.
I need to yank the graphics card out of my old box and put it in my current box though, because the one in my current box is dying, it sounds like... I think the fan on it is going to hell. Either way, I need to fix that soon - especially if I want to stay active in SecondLife. I'll figure it out and make it work - I always do in the end...
Anyways. Sorry about the random jumping around in this post. More of a train-of-thought than anything. It's 0.18 though. I'm tired, and my brain really isn't wanting to work. Not to mention having to get up in five and a half hours... Oh yay.
Until next time.
Peace.
2012/03/15
..... Sinus Infection? Really?
Fucknuggets!
I have a sinus infection! Doctor told me on Monday. I've been on meds since and doing better, but it's still taking its toll. Tired constantly, coughing, irritable.... Hungry! Don't forget hungry. And on top of it all, I CAN'T FREAKING TYPE. I think in the past paragraph, I've managed to misspell so many words I've lost track... This stupid infection has basically had me stuck at home for the past few days, to boot.
I haven't really been able to go down to the tornado disaster zone, either. I've managed to go down there twice total - last Wednesday and Friday. And it's really frustrating. I posted about last Wednesday, but didn't get around to Friday. I went down Friday morning, got to the Fire Station, and they assigned me to a section. I went out, trying to find it, and managed to get lost (of course). Twenty minutes later, I ended up back at the station and they gave me the correct directions - as the road signs were down - and this time I managed to get to the correct location. Got there, and just... I don't know. Damage. Huge amounts of damage. The tornado just cut a path of destruction and left almost nothing standing. One house was literally missing everything except two outside walls and an inside one. Another house had the siding basically stripped off the side of it. Talking with the person who owned the house that had been almost completely demolished revealed that there had been four barns - and none of them even appeared from where I was standing. Originally, I'd been out there to help out, but there was nothing really to do. The plan came down to simply "bulldoze it and burn it" then start completely over. I talked with them for a bit longer then headed back to the fire station, where they had me make runs around the county taking water and other supplies to different places. Naturally, in the course of these runs, I met a fair number of people, and all of them were just... how do you describe it?
Nobody had completely given up, but some were close, and some were just depressed... Nobody had anything really clear. But everybody was resigned. Nobody was really in denial about what happened - it seems logical that way, but emotions don't work like that...
It's a mess. I want to do more, but I can't right now, and it's scary to see all the damage.
Anyways. I'm on a steady diet of sudafed and pain killers, trying to get rid of allergy headaches and crap, and I've been hacking up a storm. I think the sinus infection is finally receding - it's Thursday - but I'm still having all the issues I mentioned before. Irritable is barely covering it, too, in some cases. Right before dinner tonight, my dad and I just started almost-yelling at each other over who knows what, and it took me until we were both basically saying "shut the fuck up" to each other (me under my breath) to realize that both of us were majorly irritable already. Damned sinuses. And of course, today has been really wet, which hasn't helped with crap in the air. So, I'm just not in good shape.
Tomorrow is a day off for the public school district, so I'm going to hopefully spend a good chunk of time with Kara, as well as job hunting. A friend's dad works at one of the hotels / convention centers in the area, and he's looking for an A/V person. That's me! Hopefully he'll call me up and we can get together and chat - and let me get a look around and feel for the place. It'd be an awesome job, as it is part time and can work around my school schedule. Tomorrow should be good. Pissed off my sister, too, because apparently she was planning on stealing the car for the day or whatever - denied!
It's spring break. I would, of course, spend my spring break basically at the house feeling like shit. Pretty much fitting...
Monday, I found out a pretty damned amazing piece of news - I have health insurance under my parents still. Do until I'm twenty five or twenty six. Meant I could go to the doctor, get the meds, and actually try and fix this stupid mess of allergies. I also talked to the doc while I was there about my gender "dysphoria". He told me he actually has a couple of patients that are transgender / transsexual, and he told me to call my insurance company and find out what in-network psychologists handle gender dysphoria, so that I can start actually moving on stuff. He looked at me and said, if it's wrong, it needs to be fixed. I don't think that there's much more I can say beyond the fact that the Doctor said so that will convince my parents to actually let me start figuring this out beyond just... wearing female clothing alone or somewhat in public.
I'm with the Doc though. I need to figure out what's going on and try to "fix" it... whatever fixing really is. So, I should probably call the insurance company tomorrow or Monday. Mental health is a.... touchy subject.
Not really much else to say. If I remember something in my sinus-induced state, I'll probably edit or start writing a new post.
Until next time.
Peace.
I have a sinus infection! Doctor told me on Monday. I've been on meds since and doing better, but it's still taking its toll. Tired constantly, coughing, irritable.... Hungry! Don't forget hungry. And on top of it all, I CAN'T FREAKING TYPE. I think in the past paragraph, I've managed to misspell so many words I've lost track... This stupid infection has basically had me stuck at home for the past few days, to boot.
I haven't really been able to go down to the tornado disaster zone, either. I've managed to go down there twice total - last Wednesday and Friday. And it's really frustrating. I posted about last Wednesday, but didn't get around to Friday. I went down Friday morning, got to the Fire Station, and they assigned me to a section. I went out, trying to find it, and managed to get lost (of course). Twenty minutes later, I ended up back at the station and they gave me the correct directions - as the road signs were down - and this time I managed to get to the correct location. Got there, and just... I don't know. Damage. Huge amounts of damage. The tornado just cut a path of destruction and left almost nothing standing. One house was literally missing everything except two outside walls and an inside one. Another house had the siding basically stripped off the side of it. Talking with the person who owned the house that had been almost completely demolished revealed that there had been four barns - and none of them even appeared from where I was standing. Originally, I'd been out there to help out, but there was nothing really to do. The plan came down to simply "bulldoze it and burn it" then start completely over. I talked with them for a bit longer then headed back to the fire station, where they had me make runs around the county taking water and other supplies to different places. Naturally, in the course of these runs, I met a fair number of people, and all of them were just... how do you describe it?
Nobody had completely given up, but some were close, and some were just depressed... Nobody had anything really clear. But everybody was resigned. Nobody was really in denial about what happened - it seems logical that way, but emotions don't work like that...
It's a mess. I want to do more, but I can't right now, and it's scary to see all the damage.
Anyways. I'm on a steady diet of sudafed and pain killers, trying to get rid of allergy headaches and crap, and I've been hacking up a storm. I think the sinus infection is finally receding - it's Thursday - but I'm still having all the issues I mentioned before. Irritable is barely covering it, too, in some cases. Right before dinner tonight, my dad and I just started almost-yelling at each other over who knows what, and it took me until we were both basically saying "shut the fuck up" to each other (me under my breath) to realize that both of us were majorly irritable already. Damned sinuses. And of course, today has been really wet, which hasn't helped with crap in the air. So, I'm just not in good shape.
Tomorrow is a day off for the public school district, so I'm going to hopefully spend a good chunk of time with Kara, as well as job hunting. A friend's dad works at one of the hotels / convention centers in the area, and he's looking for an A/V person. That's me! Hopefully he'll call me up and we can get together and chat - and let me get a look around and feel for the place. It'd be an awesome job, as it is part time and can work around my school schedule. Tomorrow should be good. Pissed off my sister, too, because apparently she was planning on stealing the car for the day or whatever - denied!
It's spring break. I would, of course, spend my spring break basically at the house feeling like shit. Pretty much fitting...
Monday, I found out a pretty damned amazing piece of news - I have health insurance under my parents still. Do until I'm twenty five or twenty six. Meant I could go to the doctor, get the meds, and actually try and fix this stupid mess of allergies. I also talked to the doc while I was there about my gender "dysphoria". He told me he actually has a couple of patients that are transgender / transsexual, and he told me to call my insurance company and find out what in-network psychologists handle gender dysphoria, so that I can start actually moving on stuff. He looked at me and said, if it's wrong, it needs to be fixed. I don't think that there's much more I can say beyond the fact that the Doctor said so that will convince my parents to actually let me start figuring this out beyond just... wearing female clothing alone or somewhat in public.
I'm with the Doc though. I need to figure out what's going on and try to "fix" it... whatever fixing really is. So, I should probably call the insurance company tomorrow or Monday. Mental health is a.... touchy subject.
Not really much else to say. If I remember something in my sinus-induced state, I'll probably edit or start writing a new post.
Until next time.
Peace.
2012/03/07
There are no words....
This past Friday, tornadoes ripped through our state. Monday morning, the headlines in the local rag (paper) were of volunteers who went down to help clean up the messes. I looked at my parents and said, I need to do this. They both simply said, "okay". Tuesday - yesterday - I started doing research. Stonewalled, mostly... Couldn't find anything online really telling me where I could volunteer to help. Finally, ended up calling the county court. They redirected me to a fire station, which I then called. They gave me the information I needed, and told me to be there this morning. This county is about an hour and a half, give or take, from my house. Seventy or so miles. (Blame road work and back roads for slowness.) I drove in, hauling a fair amount of butt, and went to the school where volunteers were being directed. Asked what needed to be done. Ended up at the other school, where I spent the day moving water, boxes of clothes, food, supplies... Everything. It was amazing how much had been donated. A semi load had shown up... yesterday? with a bunch of gear in it, and it'd all be unloaded and began to be sorted. By the end of the day today, the gym, which had been amazingly full this morning, was almost completely empty. We had so many truck loads to the different distribution points in the community that I lost track.
My entire body is sore.
Friday, probably Saturday, and all through next week, I'm going to go down there to help out. Try to help these people... get back on their feet. Hopefully. All through today, I'd talk to some random person, and the typical "hey, how're you" "fine, how're you" kind of talk would be exchanged. Yet... I was overwhelmed by emotions. These people are hurting in a huge way. They don't show it - I only saw a single tear shed all day at the school - but it's there, just beneath the skin. It only took a few minutes of talking for the man speaking to shed that tear, but... It's there. Most of these people have barely slept in the past five days, yet they're still doing everything they can. Even through everything, these people are strong. Stronger than I could ever possibly imagine... But the pain is still there. I knew it was going to happen - I knew I'd feel it, see it... I just didn't expect the sheer amount. My emotions literally shut down within the first two hours from being overwhelmed.
These people have had natural disasters occur to them before. They are no stranger to the pain, the anger, the fear of them. They know how to respond, how to get moving, how to make things happen, and how to get things back into shape. They're still hurting though, even though they try to hide it behind the "this has all happened before, it'll all happen again" mentality.
There are no words when a disaster like this strikes. I had no idea what to tell anybody today when it came to talking about it. I mean, what can you say? "I'm sorry." What's that even mean in a situation like this? We're talking about people who have lost their homes, their vehicles, e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. Right now, I can't even fathom that. The only thing that can really be done is to trek on, to try to make the best of the situation and repair things as best as possible - even if it doesn't seem like there's anything to repair. These people trek on, even though there were at least two deaths in their county, so much loss...
I wish I knew what to say to people after things like this happen. I've lost people before. More than I'd care to admit to anybody else, much less to myself. This is the second time in a week that I have had no words for a situation.
Earlier this week - Tuesday morning - my sister looks at me as she's getting ready to go to school and tells me that her best friend's older sister committed suicide the night before. I had heard many good things about this girl, and it left me rather shell shocked. After my sister walked out the door, my mom came back and hugged me, because that's all we could do... There just were no words. What do you say to somebody when they found out they lost one of their friends to them taking their own life?? I haven't managed to figure out what to say, still, and I've gone through this too many times myself. There's no good way to comfort people in these situations.
On top of all of this... I learned a couple things today that I'm not so sure I wanted to know. Although, it makes it easier to know where to put our money... Red Cross are a bunch of assholes. All I'm gonna say. And FEMA are too, but we knew that. People, if you're going to donate your money to someplace where it'll actually be useful, try to find out if a local bank (local to the disaster area) has set up a fund, and if there hasn't, try to find out through the local courts, government offices... Churches, even, and I rarely will say that. Still more likely to get the money to the actual problem, as opposed to just paying employees. I'm dead serious about this.
*Sigh.*
I want to see these people quit hurting so much, which is why I'm planning on going back down there as much as I can over the next week. I have class tomorrow, so I can't go then, but beyond that... next week is Spring Break. So definitely going down to the county as much as I can.
I wish I had the answers. I really do.
Until next time.
Peace.
My entire body is sore.
Friday, probably Saturday, and all through next week, I'm going to go down there to help out. Try to help these people... get back on their feet. Hopefully. All through today, I'd talk to some random person, and the typical "hey, how're you" "fine, how're you" kind of talk would be exchanged. Yet... I was overwhelmed by emotions. These people are hurting in a huge way. They don't show it - I only saw a single tear shed all day at the school - but it's there, just beneath the skin. It only took a few minutes of talking for the man speaking to shed that tear, but... It's there. Most of these people have barely slept in the past five days, yet they're still doing everything they can. Even through everything, these people are strong. Stronger than I could ever possibly imagine... But the pain is still there. I knew it was going to happen - I knew I'd feel it, see it... I just didn't expect the sheer amount. My emotions literally shut down within the first two hours from being overwhelmed.
These people have had natural disasters occur to them before. They are no stranger to the pain, the anger, the fear of them. They know how to respond, how to get moving, how to make things happen, and how to get things back into shape. They're still hurting though, even though they try to hide it behind the "this has all happened before, it'll all happen again" mentality.
There are no words when a disaster like this strikes. I had no idea what to tell anybody today when it came to talking about it. I mean, what can you say? "I'm sorry." What's that even mean in a situation like this? We're talking about people who have lost their homes, their vehicles, e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. Right now, I can't even fathom that. The only thing that can really be done is to trek on, to try to make the best of the situation and repair things as best as possible - even if it doesn't seem like there's anything to repair. These people trek on, even though there were at least two deaths in their county, so much loss...
I wish I knew what to say to people after things like this happen. I've lost people before. More than I'd care to admit to anybody else, much less to myself. This is the second time in a week that I have had no words for a situation.
Earlier this week - Tuesday morning - my sister looks at me as she's getting ready to go to school and tells me that her best friend's older sister committed suicide the night before. I had heard many good things about this girl, and it left me rather shell shocked. After my sister walked out the door, my mom came back and hugged me, because that's all we could do... There just were no words. What do you say to somebody when they found out they lost one of their friends to them taking their own life?? I haven't managed to figure out what to say, still, and I've gone through this too many times myself. There's no good way to comfort people in these situations.
On top of all of this... I learned a couple things today that I'm not so sure I wanted to know. Although, it makes it easier to know where to put our money... Red Cross are a bunch of assholes. All I'm gonna say. And FEMA are too, but we knew that. People, if you're going to donate your money to someplace where it'll actually be useful, try to find out if a local bank (local to the disaster area) has set up a fund, and if there hasn't, try to find out through the local courts, government offices... Churches, even, and I rarely will say that. Still more likely to get the money to the actual problem, as opposed to just paying employees. I'm dead serious about this.
*Sigh.*
I want to see these people quit hurting so much, which is why I'm planning on going back down there as much as I can over the next week. I have class tomorrow, so I can't go then, but beyond that... next week is Spring Break. So definitely going down to the county as much as I can.
I wish I had the answers. I really do.
Until next time.
Peace.
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