In any case, happy reading. Sorry I've been gone so long.
~Kara
2013/11/09
New Blog on the Side
Hey, all. So, I don't know about you, but I think it's a little ridiculous that neither Katie nor I have posted in close to a year. I'm going to fix that, but because everything I've had the inspiration to write about fits into a very different theme than our androgyny blog, I've started a separate one. It's called Ramblings of an Amused Atheist and I'm sure you can find it from my profile.
2012/12/10
This is why I can't study
It's that time of year again. Finals week. Amazingly, I didn't have any finals today. I'm supposed to have two finals tomorrow, but I might take three of them. (I know. I'm such a rebel...) And I attempted to start studying for my film final because if I get a 91 on the last project, which doesn't have a grade up yet, and a perfect score on the final, I can just barely make an A. I don't usually study, but I suppose it's worth it.
Anyway. First chapter I was skimming in my textbook is on audio. All the technicalities of audio, because you can't teach aesthetics in a textbook. You really can't teach aesthetics at all, except as relative to other things and as vague generalizations. Nothing will look perfectly appealing to everyone. But I'm not here to rant about that... Okay. Tell me you know that most audio cables have "male" and "female" ends. Well, they do. It doesn't take much imagination to see why. But XLR cables are not at all obvious. See? Which one is female? Is it the one that, when they're connected, is visible around the other? NO! The other one is female. Because we're not just looking at the arrangement visible when they're connected, but at the actual metal where electricity is conducted. Inside the male-that-looks-like-female end are three prongs, and they go into holes in the female-that-looks-like-male end. And no one ever listens to me when I try to explain that XLR cables are androgynous and that it's not as obvious as it should be. I mean, really. I know what to look for, but when they're connected, they look like they should be opposite. Hmph.
Since we're talking about ways to remember things that don't help me, let me discuss "righty tighty, lefty loosey." The major problem I see with it is that when a point on the top of a circle moves left, the point exactly opposite (on the bottom) moves right, and vice versa. But last time I brought that up and said that we should have a rhyme of some sort to tell us whether it was clockwise or counterclockwise, someone snapped at me that "no one knows what clockwise and counterclockwise are!" Forgive me, but analog clocks aren't that ancient and forgotten. Everyone else I've talked to knows exactly what clockwise and counterclockwise are. *sigh*
And the moral of the story is: I cannot study because I only wind up ranting at technicalities and why they should be wrong even though I don't need to study that fact. Am I studying now? No, I'm ranting.
That's all. Technicality-based geek rant. Sorry to bore anyone. :P
Anyway. First chapter I was skimming in my textbook is on audio. All the technicalities of audio, because you can't teach aesthetics in a textbook. You really can't teach aesthetics at all, except as relative to other things and as vague generalizations. Nothing will look perfectly appealing to everyone. But I'm not here to rant about that... Okay. Tell me you know that most audio cables have "male" and "female" ends. Well, they do. It doesn't take much imagination to see why. But XLR cables are not at all obvious. See? Which one is female? Is it the one that, when they're connected, is visible around the other? NO! The other one is female. Because we're not just looking at the arrangement visible when they're connected, but at the actual metal where electricity is conducted. Inside the male-that-looks-like-female end are three prongs, and they go into holes in the female-that-looks-like-male end. And no one ever listens to me when I try to explain that XLR cables are androgynous and that it's not as obvious as it should be. I mean, really. I know what to look for, but when they're connected, they look like they should be opposite. Hmph.
Since we're talking about ways to remember things that don't help me, let me discuss "righty tighty, lefty loosey." The major problem I see with it is that when a point on the top of a circle moves left, the point exactly opposite (on the bottom) moves right, and vice versa. But last time I brought that up and said that we should have a rhyme of some sort to tell us whether it was clockwise or counterclockwise, someone snapped at me that "no one knows what clockwise and counterclockwise are!" Forgive me, but analog clocks aren't that ancient and forgotten. Everyone else I've talked to knows exactly what clockwise and counterclockwise are. *sigh*
And the moral of the story is: I cannot study because I only wind up ranting at technicalities and why they should be wrong even though I don't need to study that fact. Am I studying now? No, I'm ranting.
That's all. Technicality-based geek rant. Sorry to bore anyone. :P
~Kara
2012/11/05
(creative pun-based title) with a song at the end ♪ ♫
Am I overloading you with college-related rants yet? No? Well, give me another chance.
I watched V for Vendetta early this morning. (like, 11pm last night through this morning) with one of my wingmates. Two others begged out because they had homework, but made it clear they wished they could watch with us. Partially disproving Katie's theory that conservatives don't understand and cannot like that movie, I'm probably the only liberal person here, but it's still pretty popular.
And I'm honestly baffled why it's so popular. As I said, I watched it with someone on my wing - she's in between someone I would call an acquaintance and someone I would call a friend. And EVERY scene I liked and remembered from last time I watched it, she squirmed at. I'm not sure why she was so excited if she hated the best parts of the movie. I mean, Valerie's whole story gets to me every time. The first time I saw it, I was in tears during her coming-out scene. I'm terrified my parents will do the same, and I feel for her. Despite the terrible ending she faced, Valerie's autobiography was basically my favorite part of the movie... Fortunately I was texting Katie, and looked up at the end of the coming-out scene, too late for it to emotionally hit me; by the time Valerie met Ruth and they kissed, and remember this is a fairly tame kiss by Hollywood standards especially for a movie with a relatively old intended audience, my wingmate freaked. "Oh, gross!" I hope she didn't notice me wince at that, or if she did notice, I hope she assumed that I was also upset by the movie, not by her comment. Similarly, she freaked out at the scene at the end where V slaughtered everyone as they tried to reload their guns. That's one of my favorites for the effects they included, but evidently that much blood (which is nothing compared to Sweeney Todd, another movie I like) was just too disgusting to look at. I think we agreed that both scenes with explosions were fantastically done, as well as when the dominoes fell and made his signature Ⓥ, but I've fixated strongly on her reaction to a tame lesbian kiss.
Why? Well, in case it's not obvious, I'm dating a girl and I definitely felt attacked by that repulsion. Valerie and Ruth did not make out. They were not kissing until neither could breathe, they did not try to immediately get inside each others' pants like in some movies. (And this is an R movie, a lot more could have been shown without affecting the rating.) Sure, it was longer than a quick peck, but it was just a kiss. Chick flicks show much more involved kisses, ones which often involve exchanging saliva and grabbing insatiably onto each other, and I can almost guarantee you she would like that. That would not be "gross." What girl doesn't like watching a happy couple make out on screen, vicariously sharing their happiness? (I mean, I don't like chick flicks, but sometimes I still enjoy watching a couple kiss, especially tamely like that. Movies make it seem so artistic...) So it's not that a kiss is too crazy for my conservative "friend" to see. It's the fact that two girls seem to like each other and suddenly ALL SYSTEMS ARE OVERLOADED, THAT IS HORRIBLE. It was a harsh attack, and she doesn't even know it hurt me. It would be worse if she knew, even if it meant she toned down her (verbal) homophobia for my benefit, because then I would be judged directly too.
I tried to mention it to someone else, (one of the others that would have watched VfV with us if it weren't for homework) that it was weird watching that movie with different groups of people I tried to ask what someone might see in the parts of the movie that I didn't think were spectacular that could still draw that level of adoration for the movie, and then I realized that I can't just say "I'm liberal, and I liked the scenes with gay people even though they died, because I'm gay and I can relate, but I don't know what you see when you don't like that." I can't say that, or my nonconformity is right back in the spotlight, encouraging people to judge me. That was the beginning of a long downward spiral today as I realized just how much I am repressed, how I cannot be myself, and that I don't belong.
Some of you who know me might realize this, but to anyone else, let me just say that it would be an understatement to assert that being "gay" is just the tip of the iceberg of reasons people here (well, Christians anywhere) would judge me, reasons I don't fit in. I can't be myself here, because at best I will be scolded for my "life choices" and I don't want to try to guess what the worst would be.
People are loving when it comes to "everyday struggles" like homework or not getting enough sleep, and they generally seem to care about everyone they meet, but that doesn't mean that if I were to come out, it would just be accepted. No, I would be treated like an addict. I would be stigmatized, and people would ask if my "gayness" was "getting better" to check in with me as though it were a problem, not realizing that such a question is an insult. I don't choose to like girls. I don't choose to like boys. I recognize physical attraction to people, and I recognize when I'm crushing on someone. Both are rare, but they've happened often enough that I can recognize them. I can't control it. Sure, I can choose to act on it or not, and I keep that in check. That's why I don't even flirt with anyone other than Katie, because I'm not the cheating sort. But the fact that I'm not just a hormone-driven animal does not mean that I want to break up with her if anyone ever realizes I'm dating a girl, just to make them happy or more comfortable or proud of me. I like who I like, I love who I love, and no one can change my mind for me. I want the right to marry the person I love, or to make a stupid decision and marry a person I think I love, just like anyone else. I want my perfect wedding just like any other girl.
I don't want to be told "oh, you can't date that person because she was born with two X chromosomes." That's as bad as racism. People have told me that people can decide their own orientation, it's "not like racism because you can choose who you like." Well, most people fall in love with someone of their own race, the opposite gender. Some people fall in love with people from a different race, which used to be stigmatized, and some people fall in love with people of the same gender, which is still stigmatized. Don't tell me it's different, because it's really the same issue underneath. I cannot choose my chromosomes, nor the parts my body has, no more than I can choose my skin color. Nor can anyone else.
But no one here will recognize that. Here, there's just an understanding that "everything the bible says is relevant to everyone's lives, and strict conservative morals, preferably straight from the bible, are the best." And in several places the bible seems to indirectly say "don't be gay," but never directly. (But that's too long a tangent for now.) Well, I'm sorry, but I was already fighting a faith crisis before I came here, and nothing has helped. If anything, it's gotten worse and I've gotten more antagonistic. I don't want the bible thrown in my face, I've grown up in the church, so chances are, I've heard the verse before. I want to be listened to, to be treated as a person even if I reveal that I disagree with much of the moral code here.
I have a feeling I'm being redundant and boring you all, so I'm going to cut it off there and give you a song quote that ironically sums everything up at the moment.
Until next time
~Kara
Oh yes, by the way. Why can't my birthday be a few months earlier? I want to vote tomorrow, and I'm "too young". I'm in college. Whoever is elected and their policies will affect me after I graduate and enter the working world before I'm allowed to vote regarding the presidency. That makes a lot of sense. But whatever. I guess since I'm just a child, I cannot make my own decisions. I cannot be trusted to make intelligent decisions. Of course. It's all so clear now. That fits wonderfully with my self image of a good student, I won't have to modify either idea in order to accept them both.
Okay, now I've become cynical. I'll just shut up now. /endrant
I watched V for Vendetta early this morning. (like, 11pm last night through this morning) with one of my wingmates. Two others begged out because they had homework, but made it clear they wished they could watch with us. Partially disproving Katie's theory that conservatives don't understand and cannot like that movie, I'm probably the only liberal person here, but it's still pretty popular.
And I'm honestly baffled why it's so popular. As I said, I watched it with someone on my wing - she's in between someone I would call an acquaintance and someone I would call a friend. And EVERY scene I liked and remembered from last time I watched it, she squirmed at. I'm not sure why she was so excited if she hated the best parts of the movie. I mean, Valerie's whole story gets to me every time. The first time I saw it, I was in tears during her coming-out scene. I'm terrified my parents will do the same, and I feel for her. Despite the terrible ending she faced, Valerie's autobiography was basically my favorite part of the movie... Fortunately I was texting Katie, and looked up at the end of the coming-out scene, too late for it to emotionally hit me; by the time Valerie met Ruth and they kissed, and remember this is a fairly tame kiss by Hollywood standards especially for a movie with a relatively old intended audience, my wingmate freaked. "Oh, gross!" I hope she didn't notice me wince at that, or if she did notice, I hope she assumed that I was also upset by the movie, not by her comment. Similarly, she freaked out at the scene at the end where V slaughtered everyone as they tried to reload their guns. That's one of my favorites for the effects they included, but evidently that much blood (which is nothing compared to Sweeney Todd, another movie I like) was just too disgusting to look at. I think we agreed that both scenes with explosions were fantastically done, as well as when the dominoes fell and made his signature Ⓥ, but I've fixated strongly on her reaction to a tame lesbian kiss.
Why? Well, in case it's not obvious, I'm dating a girl and I definitely felt attacked by that repulsion. Valerie and Ruth did not make out. They were not kissing until neither could breathe, they did not try to immediately get inside each others' pants like in some movies. (And this is an R movie, a lot more could have been shown without affecting the rating.) Sure, it was longer than a quick peck, but it was just a kiss. Chick flicks show much more involved kisses, ones which often involve exchanging saliva and grabbing insatiably onto each other, and I can almost guarantee you she would like that. That would not be "gross." What girl doesn't like watching a happy couple make out on screen, vicariously sharing their happiness? (I mean, I don't like chick flicks, but sometimes I still enjoy watching a couple kiss, especially tamely like that. Movies make it seem so artistic...) So it's not that a kiss is too crazy for my conservative "friend" to see. It's the fact that two girls seem to like each other and suddenly ALL SYSTEMS ARE OVERLOADED, THAT IS HORRIBLE. It was a harsh attack, and she doesn't even know it hurt me. It would be worse if she knew, even if it meant she toned down her (verbal) homophobia for my benefit, because then I would be judged directly too.
I tried to mention it to someone else, (one of the others that would have watched VfV with us if it weren't for homework) that it was weird watching that movie with different groups of people I tried to ask what someone might see in the parts of the movie that I didn't think were spectacular that could still draw that level of adoration for the movie, and then I realized that I can't just say "I'm liberal, and I liked the scenes with gay people even though they died, because I'm gay and I can relate, but I don't know what you see when you don't like that." I can't say that, or my nonconformity is right back in the spotlight, encouraging people to judge me. That was the beginning of a long downward spiral today as I realized just how much I am repressed, how I cannot be myself, and that I don't belong.
Some of you who know me might realize this, but to anyone else, let me just say that it would be an understatement to assert that being "gay" is just the tip of the iceberg of reasons people here (well, Christians anywhere) would judge me, reasons I don't fit in. I can't be myself here, because at best I will be scolded for my "life choices" and I don't want to try to guess what the worst would be.
People are loving when it comes to "everyday struggles" like homework or not getting enough sleep, and they generally seem to care about everyone they meet, but that doesn't mean that if I were to come out, it would just be accepted. No, I would be treated like an addict. I would be stigmatized, and people would ask if my "gayness" was "getting better" to check in with me as though it were a problem, not realizing that such a question is an insult. I don't choose to like girls. I don't choose to like boys. I recognize physical attraction to people, and I recognize when I'm crushing on someone. Both are rare, but they've happened often enough that I can recognize them. I can't control it. Sure, I can choose to act on it or not, and I keep that in check. That's why I don't even flirt with anyone other than Katie, because I'm not the cheating sort. But the fact that I'm not just a hormone-driven animal does not mean that I want to break up with her if anyone ever realizes I'm dating a girl, just to make them happy or more comfortable or proud of me. I like who I like, I love who I love, and no one can change my mind for me. I want the right to marry the person I love, or to make a stupid decision and marry a person I think I love, just like anyone else. I want my perfect wedding just like any other girl.
I don't want to be told "oh, you can't date that person because she was born with two X chromosomes." That's as bad as racism. People have told me that people can decide their own orientation, it's "not like racism because you can choose who you like." Well, most people fall in love with someone of their own race, the opposite gender. Some people fall in love with people from a different race, which used to be stigmatized, and some people fall in love with people of the same gender, which is still stigmatized. Don't tell me it's different, because it's really the same issue underneath. I cannot choose my chromosomes, nor the parts my body has, no more than I can choose my skin color. Nor can anyone else.
But no one here will recognize that. Here, there's just an understanding that "everything the bible says is relevant to everyone's lives, and strict conservative morals, preferably straight from the bible, are the best." And in several places the bible seems to indirectly say "don't be gay," but never directly. (But that's too long a tangent for now.) Well, I'm sorry, but I was already fighting a faith crisis before I came here, and nothing has helped. If anything, it's gotten worse and I've gotten more antagonistic. I don't want the bible thrown in my face, I've grown up in the church, so chances are, I've heard the verse before. I want to be listened to, to be treated as a person even if I reveal that I disagree with much of the moral code here.
I have a feeling I'm being redundant and boring you all, so I'm going to cut it off there and give you a song quote that ironically sums everything up at the moment.
All I know is I'm not home yet. This is not where I belong...The irony is that it's a Christian worship song. But the sentiment holds despite my twisting it out of context. I do not belong here. This is not home. I wonder when I'll feel at home anywhere.
Until next time
~Kara
Oh yes, by the way. Why can't my birthday be a few months earlier? I want to vote tomorrow, and I'm "too young". I'm in college. Whoever is elected and their policies will affect me after I graduate and enter the working world before I'm allowed to vote regarding the presidency. That makes a lot of sense. But whatever. I guess since I'm just a child, I cannot make my own decisions. I cannot be trusted to make intelligent decisions. Of course. It's all so clear now. That fits wonderfully with my self image of a good student, I won't have to modify either idea in order to accept them both.
Okay, now I've become cynical. I'll just shut up now. /endrant
2012/09/27
I should be doing homework
I should, but I'm not. I can't quite focus on homework because I'm antsy and upset. (and tired, but that's beside the point.) So you wonderful, patient readers get another dose of ranting-Kara. Much less angry than last time.
I don't know what it is, but I've been feeling very alone lately. Okay. That's misleading. I know exactly what the problem is. I'm a pansexual girl in a conservative environment with an eroded support structure.
Because seriously, what support do I have? Well, there's a not-quite gay-straight alliance here, and even though the structure and community within that group is comforting and very safe-place-ish. But that meets infrequently, and I don't know anyone from there enough to contact them and suggest hanging out. I mean, I've basically just met the group once. I have a few friends from at home, but only about two of them that I'm close enough to that we keep in contact now that I'm at college, and both consistently take weeks to respond to messages I send because they're at least as busy as I am, and presumably not desperate for friendly human contact. I text Kat about everything, of course, but she's usually (rightfully) stressed about her own life issues. Workplace stress, family issues... It's not as cathartic as I'd like when I can vent to her because then I feel guilty when she becomes sympathetically stressed about my issues as well as her own. Besides, all our commiserating eventually degenerates into "I miss you!" which adds yet more negativity. Long term relationships are such fun like that...
Other people who promise to listen and not judge (online, where I can be anonymous and spill everything that's bothering me, hopefully to a sympathetic audience, but able to cut my losses if I'm unlucky) still wind up preaching at me, and when I bring up examples, I only seem to get comments on "that logic got lost between Point A and Point B" or "that metaphor isn't valid," which sure feels like I'm being judged. I would probably grudgingly accept specific things pointed out, like where the logic got sidetracked, or reflections on specific comments. But that vagueness feels like a thinly disguised, "you're wrong and I'm trying hard not to tell you straight up that you're wrong because I don't want to seem mean." Yes, my school offers free counseling to students, and we have been assured that we can talk about little issues or big ones, they're there to listen and help. But I still can't get past the fact that I will be defined by my problems. Going to a counselor implies problems, the focus is fixing problems, and they don't know me outside the context of my problems. I just don't like the idea of that, even if a counselor might be a good listener. They're not my peers, so it would be much harder to develop a sort of friendship where we hang out and respect each other outside the context of a counselor-counselee relationship. I'm also not sure I want to hear or follow the advice I'm likely to be given at a Christian counseling center, which will boil down to "how can we convince you to be straight so it's not a problem?"
What I really need is someone here to trust and be truly close to. Someone to whom I can rant and feel listened to, who can give me a hug when the world is unfair. But I don't trust people enough yet. Even when I trust them to be honest or consistent, I don't trust them not to freak out if I come out or admit to other issues, which I certainly have. Who doesn't? The one person I semi-came out to (I said I was bi, since that's a more commonly understood term) needed a while to accept it. Days later, she was finally confident enough to ask awkward questions like "you don't... like me, do you?" I don't want to burden her with my problems, since a simple coming out was rough enough. And I suspect a lot of people here will respond the same way at best.
Have I missed anyone? Who am I supposed to turn to? I mean, I've got you blog readers, and I can feel like I'm telling the world and imagine any number of sympathetic replies, but in reality, probably four people will read this all the way through, maybe one will be truly upset on my behalf, and no one will comment or teleport here to give me that hug.
~LonelyKaraIsAlone
Yes, by the way, I know I chose to be here. I love my college. It's just like any other part of life: good and bad, and the bad gets more publicity than the good.
I don't know what it is, but I've been feeling very alone lately. Okay. That's misleading. I know exactly what the problem is. I'm a pansexual girl in a conservative environment with an eroded support structure.
Because seriously, what support do I have? Well, there's a not-quite gay-straight alliance here, and even though the structure and community within that group is comforting and very safe-place-ish. But that meets infrequently, and I don't know anyone from there enough to contact them and suggest hanging out. I mean, I've basically just met the group once. I have a few friends from at home, but only about two of them that I'm close enough to that we keep in contact now that I'm at college, and both consistently take weeks to respond to messages I send because they're at least as busy as I am, and presumably not desperate for friendly human contact. I text Kat about everything, of course, but she's usually (rightfully) stressed about her own life issues. Workplace stress, family issues... It's not as cathartic as I'd like when I can vent to her because then I feel guilty when she becomes sympathetically stressed about my issues as well as her own. Besides, all our commiserating eventually degenerates into "I miss you!" which adds yet more negativity. Long term relationships are such fun like that...
Other people who promise to listen and not judge (online, where I can be anonymous and spill everything that's bothering me, hopefully to a sympathetic audience, but able to cut my losses if I'm unlucky) still wind up preaching at me, and when I bring up examples, I only seem to get comments on "that logic got lost between Point A and Point B" or "that metaphor isn't valid," which sure feels like I'm being judged. I would probably grudgingly accept specific things pointed out, like where the logic got sidetracked, or reflections on specific comments. But that vagueness feels like a thinly disguised, "you're wrong and I'm trying hard not to tell you straight up that you're wrong because I don't want to seem mean." Yes, my school offers free counseling to students, and we have been assured that we can talk about little issues or big ones, they're there to listen and help. But I still can't get past the fact that I will be defined by my problems. Going to a counselor implies problems, the focus is fixing problems, and they don't know me outside the context of my problems. I just don't like the idea of that, even if a counselor might be a good listener. They're not my peers, so it would be much harder to develop a sort of friendship where we hang out and respect each other outside the context of a counselor-counselee relationship. I'm also not sure I want to hear or follow the advice I'm likely to be given at a Christian counseling center, which will boil down to "how can we convince you to be straight so it's not a problem?"
What I really need is someone here to trust and be truly close to. Someone to whom I can rant and feel listened to, who can give me a hug when the world is unfair. But I don't trust people enough yet. Even when I trust them to be honest or consistent, I don't trust them not to freak out if I come out or admit to other issues, which I certainly have. Who doesn't? The one person I semi-came out to (I said I was bi, since that's a more commonly understood term) needed a while to accept it. Days later, she was finally confident enough to ask awkward questions like "you don't... like me, do you?" I don't want to burden her with my problems, since a simple coming out was rough enough. And I suspect a lot of people here will respond the same way at best.
Have I missed anyone? Who am I supposed to turn to? I mean, I've got you blog readers, and I can feel like I'm telling the world and imagine any number of sympathetic replies, but in reality, probably four people will read this all the way through, maybe one will be truly upset on my behalf, and no one will comment or teleport here to give me that hug.
~LonelyKaraIsAlone
Yes, by the way, I know I chose to be here. I love my college. It's just like any other part of life: good and bad, and the bad gets more publicity than the good.
2012/09/11
Watch Your Words... They Matter More Than You Think
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..?
...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.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)