to be fair

To be fair, I’m not positive he raped me. The doubt is what kept me from telling anyone for a year. The doubt is what made me sprinkle it into conversation with a light-hearted tone when I finally felt ready to tell someone.

What I do know is that I feel broken. What I do know is that I struggle with trust. What I do know is that I find it impossible to be intimate: either the loud voice in my head yelling ‘HE’S USING YOU! WHY WOULD ANYONE CARE ABOUT *YOU*’ stops me before anything starts, or I end up subconsciously contorting my body into bizarre shapes, squishing my thighs together as tight as I can. “what are you doing with your legs?” someone once asked. I cried for hours the next day. What was I doing with my legs?

It is possible that on the morning of my surgery two and a half years ago, I put my panties on inside out. It is possible that at a certain point during the day while I was still groggy from the anesthetic, I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans myself. It is possible that on this same day, I experienced random, non-menstrual vaginal bleeding. To be fair, it seems far more likely that these three things all happened than my doctor taking advantage of my unconscious body.

The factor that can’t be ignored is the uneasiness I felt when I went to the bathroom and saw all that blood. I have tried all this time to brush it off as my dramatic nature or something. The shame I feel to accuse (within myself) my doctor of committing such a horrible act. The shame I feel to compare what *might have* happened to me with what really does happen to half of the world’s female population. How Dare I? Who Am I To Say Such Things?

These thoughts have been crippling me all this time. They have changed my life for the worse. I am the world’s champion of pushing people away. I would rather spend all my time alone because spending time with other people always feels forced and fake. I like who I am, but I can’t comprehend why anyone else would.

To be fair, maybe these thoughts have nothing to do with my being sexually assaulted (or my impression that maybe I could have been). But in any case, I’m finally admitting to myself that I do need help and that not being able to figure out my emotions on my own isn’t a bad thing. That there is an alternative to crying every day. That sometime in the future, I may consider myself worthy of a loving relationship with someone whom I truly believe has my best interests at heart.

This realization has been such a long time coming for me. Please don’t tell me to get my hymen examined. Please don’t tell me the answer lies in me trying to see the glass half-full rather than half-empty. Don’t tell me to drink less alcohol. Don’t tell me that therapy is a joke.

To be fair, maybe I should cut down on my three drinks a week. To be fair, maybe therapy won’t benefit me. Maybe I’ll spend hours of my time and hundreds of my dollars for a stranger to stroke my ego and call me a victim and I won’t grow from it at all. But to be fair, maybe I will. These are my lessons to learn. Can’t you just support me in that? 

social media

it's seems lately, a trend among people i know is unplugging from social media. at first, i was like "yes. i'm doing that" and deleted my facebook account. about three weeks passed before i re-activated it. it was at this point (in june) when i began thinking each time i go online: what am i getting from spending this time? i don't even try to think this, it's just automatic. it probably has to do with the fact that my mom only gave my siblings and i one hour of leisure time on the computer each day per person and if we wanted more, we had to actually pay money for it -- at the time, it was SO annoying cause like, how could i possibly get my sim promoted in just one hour?, but i'm absolutely going to do this with my children and they're going to hate me for it! can't wait!

anyway, i like facebook a lot. is that uncool to say? i like seeing my friends, current and past, sharing their engagement photos or announcing a pregnancy or writing about their jobs. it's fun! it brings me genuine happiness. i also like the videos of pygmy goats that my dad shares to my page and the one-minute crock pot recipes that are all over my newsfeed.

i have found that other platforms aren't as ... what's the word? ... agreeable? i deleted my tumblr account a few years ago because it was a time waster; i could scroll on that shit for HOURS. pinterest was the same story, except i never even started that, i knew it was bad news. i had a snapchat account, but i legitimately could never figure out how it worked (am i 23 or 83, honestly).

the lastest account to bite the dust was my instagram. i kept asking myself why i (or any of the people i follow) was posting certain photos. am i stunned by this latte art or am i trying to inform the public that i'm having a latte today? also, how did i have so many followers? don't they realize my content is completely art-less and mostly stupid?

i began to imagine people taking their photos, what they looked like positioning stuff into making the best image so they can get the most likes. i know this isn't how all people use their instagram accounts, but c'mon, you know a lot of it is that. i began to see it as so shallow and trite, i had to get off of it.

i have to admit, shamefully, that it has been an adjustment. it's weird (in a good way!) to have so much less to look at on my phone. plus, i think sharing my photos on a blog rather than via an instagram account makes it more permanent and personal.

i feel like there's so much pressure to be as connected as possible. i'm even a little fearful about what not having an instagram might mean for how employable i am! nevertheless, i was getting nothing out of it. if anything, it was stressing me out and pissing me off. why would i do that to myself? your online experience is just that, yours. if you like being on 100 different platforms, do it! if you want to throw your computer out the window and start using your old razr again, go for it!

i'm enjoying this dumbed down social media presence. it makes me want to do more to sculpt what i have. i've been thinking about deleting my apps on my phone and only allowing myself to be on social media when i'm on a computer... but that will come when i'm truly ready because being rash means failure if you're me.

also, i kept my twitter. i love twitter. twitter forever.

a cheesy first post

i'd like to begin this new blog by asking myself a question: if i know what makes me feel good, why do i put myself in positions which will make me feel bad?

"what makes me feel good" refers to a multitude of things: reading a book, having intellectually stimulating conversations, eating well, breaking a sweat every so often, having encouraging thoughts about myself and others, getting enough sleep. i know how i feel when i have these things in my life. i feel content and complete. so why is it that i deprive myself of these things? all I know is that i'm ready to start phasing the rest out- the negative experiences, the mornings spent wallowing in regret, the days spent too tired to enjoy the sun - as cliche as this sounds, life really is too short to spend it unhappy. we owe it to ourselves to spend our time being well; we're worth it!

so, here's this blog. a way for me to document what makes me feel good, possibly a way to remind me what makes me feel good when i'm not feeling so good. my journey to finding and maintaining constant wellness and joy. this space is for me to write about anything that brings me happiness.