Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Everyone is entitled to their own opinions. Everyone is entitled to their own beliefs. As long as we are all respectful towards each other, and try not to limit each other’s rights.

In an ideal world, no one would ever do anything offensive, no one’s feelings would ever be hurt, everyone would agree, and there would be peace. That isn’t ever going to happen.

I’m an idealist. An optimist. But I know that people often times say things they don’t mean, or make statements without having an understanding of the implications of their words. There are sayings and words that have become ingrained in our society to mean something that they don’t actual mean.

I try not to jump to conclusions about a person when it comes to these things. I try not to jump to conclusions period. I especially try not to judge a public figure (celebrity, actor, politician, etc.) too harshly for statements (okay, it depends on the severity of the statement) made off-hand in front of a crowd. Speaking off the cuff is hard, even to a seasoned professional. Things get said that may not have the meaning you apply to it, or an opinion may be expressed that they haven’t had time to flesh out or develop.

Good, kind people can say things that I find offensive or off-putting. But does one statement define that person? Or are we all growing and developing our thoughts and opinions every day?

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

"These are the things about my body: It does not always want to get up. Some days I have to spend an hour forcing myself to loosen the muscles that have, overnight, clenched up like fists.

It craves caffeine and the Internet, bubble-baths and green tea. It wants wine and laughter and books and soft sheets. It wants to be spoiled and taken care of and let go of. It wants to stop being stretched like a sugar pull.

There are days where I want to smash every mirror in the whole goddamn house—and other days, better days where I think anyone could see me and fall in love.

It is not vanity, it is not ego. It is sure, like the melting of summer into autumn, hands on a railing, mothers loving their children and kissing them goodbye at the gate.

No one will ever commemorate my beauty. There will be no parades, no parties thrown in my honor, no glossy magazine covers smelling like ink and skinny and perfect skin. This body is all I have. It is stubborn and slow to rise and it wants everything, god, it wants the world, it does. It just wants. Wants.

It wants to stop being asked, What do you look like? When you can see for yourself. When you can see."

— Kristina H., “On Getting Asked About My Appearance”

Friday, March 1, 2013

The daughter of an alcoholic

Being the child of an alcoholic is... Well, it's tough. I've been living with my mom's problem all my life, and it never gets easier. I know how to handle it, to contain it, but the feelings it evokes in me are the same.

Whenever she calls me while she's drunk (like the 4 times yesterday, or when I spoke to her just now), I get frustrated, I get anxious, and I get angry. And I hate feeling that way. I hate having to remind myself to take a deep breath while I'm listening to her talk, so that I don't snap at her. Because me getting angry at her doesn't do anything for anyone's benefit. Whenever that happens, I'm always the bad guy. I'm the bitch.

And it isn't ever going to be different. I stopped thinking she would change a long time ago. My grandma (my mom's mom) always told us (my sisters and me) that we just needed to let her know that we didn't like her drinking and she would get help. Yeah, we've done that. I've poured bottles of tequila down the kitchen sink, I've hid her alcohol, I've yelled, I've cried, I've fought. It isn't about me. It was never about me, or what I wanted, or what I needed.

And I accept that. I understand that. It doesn't make it any easier.