Innocence of a Child

Hello, everyone!! Look at me go, two blog posts in one month. I’m getting better at this already! At least I think it’s been in one month… Close enough for government work, anyway. Since converting to nightshift, my days are so thrown off it’s a little unbelievable. I couldn’t remember what day it was yesterday, and was genuinely panicked for a few minutes. Was it Tuesday, or Friday? Maybe it was Saturday? This was triggered by the fact that someone forgot to turn Sonic’s lights out (on the weekends they stay open until 11, weekdays at 10).

But, you didn’t come here to read about that did you oh loyal readers of mine. So we’ll move on to talk about my daughter. Now, in the past I’ve talked about her a little, but I’m not sure that I’ve gone into great detail about her. My daughter is absolutely brilliant. Brilliant, and a bit of a smarty pants. Every day is a new adventure, and now that I’m working I’ve learned how to take advantage of what time we do have together, rather than take it for granted like I did before. Which brings me to today.

For her birthday, my daughter got a sandbox. She absolutely loves it, because it combines her three favorite things: Being outside, playing pretend, and getting filthy beyond all imagination. She asked if I wanted to play with her, and I did just that. We made sandcastles and moats, walls and bridges. I taught her how to make a wall to protect the kings and queens inside the castle. She looked up from her castle and said “Yeah, we have to protect the queens in the castle!” “Queens?” “Yeah! Two queens live in that castle, mama, and they’re married!” A bit later she finished another castle, and informed me that two kings lived in that castle, and they were also married. They also wore yellow dresses to match the flag on top of the castle.

While all of this was incredibly cute, and very sweet, I felt a strange sense of sadness and confusion. I’ll start with the confusion. My daughter is way too young to understand that what she just said is considered taboo and “wrong” to so many people in society. She doesn’t understand what she’s doing, or why she’s marrying two queens and two kings together. She doesn’t understand the bible, or know who Jesus is. Yet here she is with two queens and two kings in drag (I guess this would make them drag queen kings) (Badum tsh). How, if homosexuality is a choice, can a four year old girl pair them together without so much as a hesitation?

The sadness is a bit more obvious. As I looked on at my daughter’s innocent game of pretend, I realized that I needed to cherish this as much as I possibly could. One day, someone is going to try and beat that out of her, and shove religion down her throat. One day someone is going to try and tell her that marriage between two women, and two men, is wrong. One day, she’s going to understand bullying, and hatred, and bigotry. I’m going to try my best to make sure she’s on the right side of that line, but at the end of the day, she’ll make her own decisions and walk her own paths. That hurts more than anything else. As a parent, I want to protect her from the world, and shield her from the hatred and the negativity that awaits her. I want to hold on to that childish innocence, and paint a picture of a perfect world for her. I never want to lose the way her eyes light up over something small to us, but is magical to her. Inevitably, however, it will happen. My daughter’s heart will become hardened to the world around her, and she’ll be expected to conform to the status quo, or face a life of being picked on.

I remember being a kid, and there was a woman wrestler on television. She was absolutely gorgeous. They were showing nude pictures of her on the screen, but her breasts and genitals were covered by a black stripe. I stated “Why don’t they just uncover her?” My mother immediately dragged me to my room to ask me why I’d said that. I remember panicking, because I didn’t want to get in trouble. I remember thinking that I wanted to see her beauty in its entirety (except way more simple because I was a kid), but that clearly wasn’t the answer she was looking for. So, instead, I said “Mom, I’m not gay.” Growing up, any time a reference to me being a lesbian came up, my mother would respond “Please, don’t.” or something such as.

So, of course, when I start finding women attractive, I began to hate myself. I remember experimenting with a female friend of mine, and feeling so disgusting and ashamed of myself afterwards. I hated myself more and more each day, because I was becoming the one thing my mother practically begged me never to become, what society had told me was wrong. I was becoming what kids had been bullied or killed over, what major debates were being fought over… It got to the point where I cut, because I wanted my outside to look as ugly as I felt on the inside. How could I disappoint everyone around me so much?

Then I woke up and realized… Fuck them. Fuck society. What has society ever done for me except cause me pain, and cause me to hate myself? How does that make me a better person when I am filled with just as much hatred as they are? How does this benefit me? It doesn’t. Instead, my pain gave society a different way to laugh, to mock, and to kick me while I was down. I wasn’t a child in pain, I was an attention seeker. I wasn’t taking off from school because I was sick, I was taking off from school because I was gothic and it happened to be the anniversary of Columbine, so clearly I was planning something. My suicidal thoughts weren’t real, they were a way to get everyone to look at me and pay attention to me. All of the above is shit that was actually said to me at one point or another, by various people.

So it makes sense that I would want to protect my daughter from this world, but I know that isn’t fair. Because it doesn’t matter what the world thinks of you, or what society tells you is right or wrong. It doesn’t matter how many times my mother, or the world, begged me, I still grew up to embrace my bisexuality. No matter how many times I went to a Baptist church, I still converted to Paganism.

The only thing I regret is losing my child like innocence. What I mean by that is sometimes I envy my daughter for how she looks at the world around her. It’s all simple, beautiful, and magical. I wish I could see the world like that again. I wish I hadn’t been tainted by hatred and evilness.

I sort of went off on an entirely different tangent there, and I’m sorry for that. The message, I suppose, I’m trying to deliver to you now is be careful what you say, how you say it, and who you say it in front of. The phrase “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” is untrue. Words have power. Words have more strength than anything else. Wounds will heal, but words will forever haunt you, and cut you with each time you remember them.

I know I’m going to make my own fair share of mistakes, and I know that I will create scenarios that will haunt my daughter just as mine haunt me. All I can really hope is, in the end, I will do right by her.

That’s it for today, folks. Sorry that went in a different direction that I thought it was, but apparently it needed to be said.

Things I’ve learned working in a hotel

I’m back!! I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted. Life has a way of stepping in and ruining all the fun.

The worst part is, I have had so many things I’ve wanted to talk about. But what I have in terms of inspiration is constantly being thwarted by my lack of desire to actually type it all up for others to read. Perhaps another time I will type up the blog that includes everything I’ve wanted to type about.

However, we are not here for what I may do, we are here to discuss the hotel business. Yes, I am proud to announce that I have finally managed to land myself a job, and I’m nearly finished with my third week. It is quite exciting, and challenging. As an introvert, I face a few struggles that an extroverted person wouldn’t. In my journey, I have picked up quite a bit of useful knowledge that I shall now share with you. I am typing this on my phone so forgive me any mistakes I may make.

1). Customer service is everything: When a person walks into a hotel, they are looking for a nice, professional person to hand all of their information to. You have to look the part, and act the part, even if you really don’t want to. This is, obviously, the same in every business from food to cars.

2). Multitasking is a bitch!: I’ve always been a pretty good multitasker, but I had to really step up my game. Often times I’ll have phones ringing, and people trying to get a room. You’re typing in credit card numbers in the machines, and giving quotes to the next person in line. I am horribly number dyslexic, so I struggle a bit with it. But I’m getting better.

3). Assholes exist here too: I’d been working for all of six days, and a ~~self entitled asshole~~ gentleman walks in. He starts spouting off all these questions that I don’t have the answers to, and gets angry with me when I explained I was new and didn’t know how to help. He slammed his hands on the counter and walked out, calling me an ignorant ass as he went. I also get people who get angry at me for the price. If it were up to me, I’d lower of. Which brings me to my next lesson…

4). Sympathy has no place here: I think this was the hardest lesson I had to learn (other than keeping up with math). During horrible weather, or so late st night they are falling asleep at the wheel, drivers are often shoved off the interstate and forced to get a room. The first few days I was here, I felt awful and would charge the lowest rate we offered. And that was a no no. After I sewed up the new asshole I’d been given by my bosses, I realized I was going to have to harden my heart. What is even worse than that is when you get people who are here for really sad reasons. I had a woman who hadn’t slept in days because her daughter was in the hospital having her fourth open heart surgery. She’d been forced to leave but didn’t want to go home, and chose my hotel instead. I hated. Hated. Charging her full price. But. This is a business, and businesses are here to make money. Sympathy, unfortunately, doesn’t make money.

5). You will become emotionally invested: I see a lot of truckers, a lot of travlers, and because I sit and chat with them, I tend to learn about where they are heading and where they came from. The incredibly nice ones I often find myself wondering if they made it to their destination safely. It’s a sad thought to realize that some of the people I see won’t make it. This leads into my next point.

6). Your sense of responsibility triples: Along with becoming emotionally invested, you take on a sense of responsibility for them, and their belongings. We have security cameras covering every inch of this place, and it is my job to keep an eye on the screens to make sure nothing gets stolen.

7). Your job doesn’t stop at the front desk: If you’re working in a small hotel in a small town, there may not be enough staff on hand to do all the jobs that need to be done at any given moment. When I first started working, I simply worked the front desk. On my second day, I was doing laundry. Fourth day I was fixing a computer. Fifth day I was typing up documents for my boss. Tenth day I was stripping down rooms, and delivering things up to people. When people ask what I do, I usually tell them I’m a personal front desk maintenance maid assistant.

8). Being a female in the hotel business sucks sometimes: I’ve only had this happen once, thankfully, but a guy took my niceness as flirting, and then started trying to have sex with me. Since I work in a hotel, it must also mean I can um…assist them in other ways.

9). You quickly learn your surroundings: Before working here, I knew the bare minimum of my town, and neighboring towns. Now I know every restaurant, gas station, etc in town, how far it is to the next towns, which towns would provide the better rates, and so forth.

10). Entertaining yourself is a must: On Mondays and Fridays, I’m always busy. During thr rest of the week, later into my shift, it gets very boring and very quiet. I was bored to tears during my first week, to the point that I started cleaning just so I had something to do. The lobby has a great shine to it now, though. This doesn’t stop at the slow days. You have to find a way to make this fun for yourself. I like to learn about people. So I make this fun by talking to them.

11). It’s like a family: I can’t speak for all hotel chains, only for the own I’m in at the moment. My boss told me they treat everyone like family, especially their employees. At first, I didn’t believe her. But it’s true! Her husband told me if I have problems with a person, tell him and they will kick them out, because “my life is more valuable than their money”. I’m sorry, I just don’t know a lot of businesses that would say that, and mean it. I don’t get mad and bitch about not wanting to come to work. Instead, I show up hoping to make them proud. I have value here, and I’m shown that often.

I feel very blessed. This job fell into my lap unexpectedly, and I love it.

Put Santa back into Christmas

I know, I am a terrible blogger. I go for months at a time updating everyone on everything happening in my life, and the proceed to fall off the earth for a bit. Such is the way of life, I suppose. It’s the curse of the Time Lords.

However, sometimes I stumble across things, and I allow them to brew so heavily within my mind that I cannot concentrate on anything else. That’s when blog posts appear.

Today I’m going to discuss Christmas, and why I think people suck.

As a child, I remember being so excited for the idea of Santa coming to my house and delivering so many wonderful gifts. Each year, it never failed, that Santa would slip a surprise gift under the tree (or outside) that I had not been expecting. It was a magical, thrilling experience. I would go to see family (which we only did twice a year), and I would exclaim with joy and pride how good I must have been to get such amazing gifts, including some extras!

Then the inevitable happened.

I’d lost a tooth, and gone into my room to put it under my pillow. I’d been sure to turn off the light before leaving, because I did not want to meet the wrath of mom. Just before my parents went to bed, I peeked down the hall, and my light had mysteriously turned itself on. Curious, I thought, and went to investigate under the pillow. Sure enough, there was money. My mother was in the bathroom, and I walked in to confront her (I was an awkward child, and now I am an even more awkward adult). In the span of a few moments, all the mysteries of life began to unravel. Santa wasn’t real, nor the Tooth Fairy, nor the Easter Bunny. In many ways, this revelation helped me learn to appreciate the efforts my mother and father went through, but I also knew that everything had changed.

The magic of Christmas, of Easter, etc, was gone. Since that time, I’ve struggled every year to find something that makes Christmas worth it. And each year I am met with disappointment. But why? Why am I met with such disappointment? Why is it so much harder to get into the spirit of Christmas, especially the older I become?

Because people suck.

Allow me to explain. In the day of mass media and social networking, we are constantly being smacked around with controversy. “Put Christ back into Christmas” “Take the Christmas tree down! It’s a Holiday tree!” “How dare you not say ‘Merry Christmas’!” “HOW DARE YOU TELL ME MERRY CHRISTMAS?!” and the argument from both sides: “YOU’RE STOMPING ON MY PERSONAL FREEDOM!”

GUYS.

SHUT UP. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.

We’re not in Braveheart. We’re not all walking around with blue pant and kilts. (Just take a minute and enjoy that mental image. You’re welcome).

First of all, I’ll briefly state that Christmas began as a pagan festival of Yuletide to celebrate the winter solstice. Second of all, does it even matter?

There are certain words in the English language (I can only say for the English language because I do not know others, but feel free to correct me if I’m wrong) that have, over time, lost their original meaning. They’re just words. We don’t question their origins, we don’t stop to think about the definition, we’ve just heard it in certain contexts for so long that we just automatically know what it means. Take the word “Whore”, for example.

Christmas has sort of become the same thing. No matter the origins, what it has boiled down to is a celebration of family, of friends, of bringing joy and happiness to one another by means of gifts, or food, or cards, or simply a phone call saying “I love you”. People have gotten to the point where they are just too easily excitable, they just want to bitch, moan, or fight about something.

If someone says Merry Christmas to me, a pagan, do you know what I say to them?

Merry Christmas to you too!

If someone wishes me Happy Kwanzaa?

Same to you, buddy!

Hanukkah?

Happy Hanukkah to you too!

Happy Holidays?

Happy Holidays to you, too!

It doesn’t matter what is being said, it doesn’t matter how you greet me. The fact is, you thought of me. And you tried to spread your warmth, your joy, to me in what ever greeting you choose.

Getting angry at someone for trying to be nice to you is the most selfish, childish thing you can do. And trying to force others to greet you in the fashion you deem appropriate is as stupid as going into a foreign country and expecting everyone to speak English to you. All this controversy does is ruin Christmas for those of us who just want to be happy. I’m SO sick of seeing this debate!

Perhaps it all began with teaching children about Santa Claus. Christmas was never overly religious for me when I was growing up. That has changed, a lot, and I just ignore it all for the most part. But each year, people get so angry at each other over a word. Over a holiday that is about being joyous and happy.

It’s getting to the point now where I do not want to spend time with family, and I dread Christmas each year, because of the shitstorm that becomes of it. But! I do it all regardless, because I do have a child.

Having a child has brought some of the joy back into my life regarding Christmas. Instead of receiving from Santa, I *AM* Santa! I get to be creative, I get to hide things, I get to sneak them out of their hiding spot, all the while hoping to the powers that be that I do not drop EVERYTHING in the process.

As a kid, all I understood about Christmas was it was about waking up early, getting wicked cool presents, and because both my parents were off for Christmas, I got to spend some rare quality time with them. Then I got to visit the rest of my family that I don’t get to see often, and eat amazing food. THAT is what Christmas became.

The point to all of this is… If a bunch of soldiers can set aside their difference during WWI and celebrate Christmas together, then we should be able to do the same. Instead of arguing over who is right, and who is wrong, why not embrace the spirit of Christmas and say whatever greeting you’d like. If someone says Happy Holidays, respond with Merry Christmas. If that is not your religion, just accept the fact that someone cared enough about you to greet you in such a way. Don’t shove your beliefs down everyone’s throat, I don’t care what religion (or lack thereof) you follow.

Live and let live.

If we could all just stop arguing, and stop hating each other for one. Day. We could bring the magic back, put the magic back into Christmas for everyone. Being an adult doesn’t HAVE to mean that Christmas sucks.

And remember. Santa is watching. Or Satan if you’re dyslexic.

Merry Christmas, Blessed Yuletide, Happy Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, Happy Holidays, etc etc etc etc.

The Job Interview from Hell

For those of you who know me in my personal life, you know that I had a job interview yesterday (Friday). What was difficult for me to explain at the time was how much of a cluster fuck it was from the very beginning. Instead of telling everyone individually, I’ve decided to blog about it instead.

I wake up at 6:50 in the morning after only getting about four and a half hours of sleep. That part was my fault, and I accept full responsibility for it. After fighting with my child, I finally manage to get the two of us ready and out to my friend Arwen. Which, by the way, a HUGE thank you goes to Arwen for A). Agreeing to watch her at the last minute and B). Waking up super early to watch her.

I leave Arwen’s, drive in the opposite direction to the interview which, as I learned, was about 20 minutes away from where I live. Not a terrible drive, and it is a distance I am used to driving.

I was told to meet a woman at 9 AM, and I arrived at the store at 8:45. I walked in, she wasn’t there yet. No problem, I was early. They’d just opened a diner across the street, so she was probably caught up over there. Not a problem in the least. I walked back outside and waited. And waited. And waited. 9:20 rolls around, and a woman pokes her head out of the door. “Were you here for an interview?” “Yes, ma’am, I am.” “What time were you told to be here?” “I was told to be here by 9.” “Oh. Okay.” She turns and walks back inside. Well….alriiight. I look back across the street and a few moments later I see a pregnant woman get into a car, and drive across the street and park beside me. “Are you Rebekah?” “Yes ma’am.” “Good, follow me, please.” Okay, this must be the woman I’m looking for. Awesome.

I follow her from the front of the store, all the way to the back of the store where she hands me off to the woman who’d poked her head out of the door in the first place. So…why was I left standing outside? Alright, no problem. The conversation between us goes as follows:

“Is there any shift you absolutely cannot work?”
“I would prefer evenings, but if I have to, I can work mornings.””Can you work graveyard?”
“I don’t want to, but if that is absolutely the only shift available, then I can.”
“We have a store on Goodwill Road that needs a person on graveyard.”
“I don’t know the area that well, so I’m not sure where that is.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It isn’t very far.”

I was then led inside and handed an application. After filling out everything, I then was required to do math (with no calculator. Flashbacks to high school started in my head), but I was proud of myself. I only got one problem wrong and I was only off by a dollar. (Hey, they didn’t say I couldn’t check my math with a calculator).

She sits down to talk to me a few moments later, asking me the usual questions. “Tell me about yourself. What are you strengths? What are you biggest issues with coworkers?” etc. I handle it all with ease and grace I didn’t know I possessed. I even made her laugh!

She tells me that she’s made her decision, but she wants another opinion. The opinion happened to come from her sister. While we wait for her sister to come over, she begins explaining to me about the other store. Which, as you may recall, she explained was not far. “It’s completely crazy over there. I don’t really go over there much anymore, and they have no managers for graveyard.” You’re really going to send someone who hasn’t worked since 2007 to a store with no structure? Really?

A few moments later, her sister wanders over. She’s the obvious shy type, and I mean EXTREME shy. Can’t look me in the eye, twitches a bit, etc.

“You’re really willing to travel from your home to Goodwill Road?”
“Well, as I was explaining to her -points to interviewer- I’m not familiar with the area, so I don’t really know where that is.”
“That’s Exit 31.”
“….Excuse me…?”
Basically, add on an extra 20 miles from where I live. Comes to a grand total of about 40 minutes. Working graveyard where I won’t get off work until 6 AM. Uhhh no. So I told her I wasn’t interested in that.
“Oh, I’m not going to hire you over there. That isn’t practical at all. -She turns to look at her sister- Don’t we still need someone here?”
“Yeah, at the store across the street.”
Why didn’t you tell me that to begin with instead of trying to send me 20 miles in the opposite direction?
“Well, I’ll have to talk to them and see if they need anyone over there, then get you set up. Thank you for coming, we’ll be in touch.”
So…I’m being dismissed….So much for “Guaranteed job”….So I stand, give them my best smile and thank them for their time. Finally I ask them “Do you know how long it will be before I know something?”
“You’ll know by Monday.”

O_O Okay…

So I leave. I drive back to my house to get something to drink. At this point I am rather angry. I was lied to, passed to a new person, lied to again, passed to another person, and then dismissed. Kay. So I drive back to my friend Arwen’s house, and decide to sit and chat with her. In the time it took me to get to Arwen’s, they’d called again. No voicemail though, so I assumed it was them. My phone goes off again a little bit later but I wasn’t able to get it. So when it goes off a third time, I grab the phone and rush out. The conversation goes as follows:

“Hello, is this Rebekah?”
“This is she.”
“Hi, this is -interviewer-. I was wondering if you could start Sunday?”
“What time on Sunday?”
“We’ll need you here at 6 AM for three days of training.”
“Can I be guaranteed evening shifts?”
-She gets a horrible attitude.- “Well not for training. Those girls on evening shift don’t know what they are doing and they aren’t qualified for training you. One has been here for a week, the other has been here for three weeks. There are things you need to know that can only be taught on morning.”
“Ma’am, that isn’t what I meant. I meant after training was done, will I be guaranteed evenings?”
“I don’t know what you’ll work but you’ll probably have to work graveyards. I don’t know when, you might only work it a few days out of the week but yeah you’ll work graveyards.”
“Can I call you back so I have time to think about my options and discuss this with someone?”
“-exasperated sigh- Look, I don’t have all day. In fact, I’m not even going to be here in the next hour. When were you thinking about calling me back?”
“Probably this afternoon, but I was under the impression that I would have until Monday.”
“Well I need to know now. If you don’t want this, then tell me right now so I can move on to other people who want the job.”

Quick run down so far: Lied to, passed to a different person, lied to again, passed to a different person, dismissed, had someone pop an unnecessary attitude with me, and now she’s essentially saying “Make up your mind or you don’t get another chance.” So not having any options at that point, I told her I could guarantee sunday but I wasn’t sure about any other day.

“Fine, just let me know and we’ll reschedule if we have to. See you Sunday.” -click-

I realize that I am not in the position to make demands. I am not in the position to even really be picky. But if these people can’t even get the hiring process right, and they are already acting like complete bitches to me, how the hell am I supposed to work with and for them? How am I supposed to trust anything they say?

It is rather sad when an applicant is more professional than the people interviewing them. The interviewer kept texting while interviewing me, and the other manager couldn’t even look me in the eyes. How the hell did they get to be managers? UGH.

I deserve a bit of respect. I need money, yes, but I don’t need it badly enough to be treated like shit before I’ve even gotten the job and been officially hired. This is just ridiculous bullshit.

So that’s the story of the worst job interview in history.

Dare to Hope

I feel as though I may have cheated my readers a little bit this morning by giving you such a short post. No worries, I hope that I can more than make up for that with this one. When I woke up today I actually had no intention of writing another blog post, but circumstances are always changing, and I felt inspired. What inspired me, you might ask? A man named Nick Vujicic.

Nick Vujicic, for those of you who do not know, is an Australian-Serbian man born with a condition known as tetra-amelia syndrome or, to put it in terms we can all understand: He was born with no arms and no legs. He travels around the world giving motivational speeches, and I have to say, it brings me to tears. My mother actually showed me a video of his years ago, but what he was saying didn’t really make sense even though it was entirely relevant to what was happening in my life; I simply wasn’t ready to listen. I am now, however, and I have found myself in a completely different state of mind than what I originally was.

What makes Nick Vujicic’s speeches so profound is the fact that he starts by making jokes at his own expense, but then grows completely serious. He looks into the crowd and tells everyone “I love you. I don’t care what you’ve done, or who you are. I don’t care what you look like, because that doesn’t matter. I love you.” And though he is religious, and he says he found his strength in God, he encourages everyone to find strength in whatever they need–be it religion or otherwise.

I think that is the problem with the world. We are too busy judging those around us. Whether they are gay, straight, black, white, Latino, European, etc. We judge based on the religion they choose to practice, the choices they’ve made in life, because we want everyone to be perfect. I’m here to tell you there is no such thing as perfect. Beauty is literally in the eye of the beholder. The outside shows nothing of what is on the inside, and if we would look past our judgements, we may actually find we like some of the people we’re tossing down. This point is validated when Nick states

When I first stepped onto this stage, a lot of you felt sorry for me. A lot of you pitied me. You don’t anymore, do you? No, of course not, because you know me. You know what I’ve been through, you can see what I overcame. You’d want to be my friend now, wouldn’t you? Of course you would! But as you can see, I still have no arms and no legs. At this point you’d say, ” So what? Who cares?”

I’ve mentally written this blog a handful of times already, and each time I reach this point, I’m never sure where to begin.

I’m not perfect. I do not want to be perfect, as there is too much stress. I know what it’s like to feel as though no one likes you, or no one wants you around. I know what it feels like to think you’re not good enough, or pretty enough. I’ve been beaten down, I was pushed to the end of my rope on many occasions; one of them nearly slid me to the end. But I came back. I’ve popped up, and I’ve kept going. It’s true, we all worry a little about what people around us think, even if we are too proud to admit it. We’re always trying to please someone. But my question is why? Why are we so worried about browbeating others into thinking like us, and why do we care so much about what others think? The world around us is full of bullies, whether it is in the form of a kid in school, or a corporate business owner. People are constantly pushing and shoving others down–the only thing that changes is the motivation behind it.

I, too, have been told “You’re not good enough”.

What Nick Vujicic has taught me today is to have hope. I wish I’d listened then, perhaps I would have been a lot better off. But the beautiful thing about hope, is it isn’t too late to change. I’ll never be a supermodel, I’ll never be Einstein. I’ll never have a voice like some of the singers in history, I’ll never have a writing talent like Anne Rice. But I am me, damn it, and there is only one me.

You are more precious than diamonds. All the diamonds in the world.

And that is true. There is only one me, just as there is only one you. There will only ever be one you. Never again will there be another you.

My life has made a drastic change over the course of these past three years. I was annulled, married again, became a mother. I divorced again, I lost friends, I reformed some old connections.

There have been days where I just sat, and I cried. I remember the first night when my now ex-husband walked out, and I cried. I sobbed. I panicked. I mourned what the relationship had become, and celebrated what it had once been. I allowed myself to panic, feeling I deserved at least one night. But when the sun rose the next day, my daughter was going to need me, and I needed to pull myself together. So I did. I sat there and I had my arguments with my now ex in my mind. I made him sit and listen to me, and I told him everything he needed to hear, things he didn’t listen to before. At first, I thought that was enough. Until a few months later I realized I still had anger and hatred in my heart for him.

Then I realized that I’d never really be at peace with anything, or anyone, if I held that hatred. Which then led to the realization of just how much hatred I have in my heart towards a lot of things. Hatred is a poison, and it slowly kills us each day. Perhaps you cannot physically die by hating someone or something, but you lose a piece of yourself each day that you left fear, anxiety, and hatred control you. So this time, I had my arguments. I made him listen, but this time…. I let him speak, and I listened. This is all in my head, of course, so I’m sure I was a lot crueler to myself than he would have actually been.

The next day when he came to drop our daughter off, I took him outside and I forgave him. But then I turned around, and I said I was sorry. I don’t know if he knew precisely what I was apologizing for, as he’d not been present for the mental arguments–which is probably a good thing.

I used to feel so much hatred and feelings of betrayal from my friends because I felt as though they’d left me and they’d abandoned me. I hated them because I felt they weren’t showing me what I deserved. And sometimes that may be true, and I will always be hurt by certain things, I am better than that. So instead of hating them, instead of hurting them, I’m going to simply show them why *I* think I deserve better, by being a better person to them.

I felt so much hatred towards my mother, and towards my father, for a lot of things that happened growing up. I held onto that hatred for so very long, and I used to worry that it meant I’d lost valuable time with them. I’ve struggled, I’ve had my arguments, and though I am still hurt by a lot of things, I even managed to forgive them both. I cannot change the past, but I can change the future.

One step at a time: That’s the other thing Nick Vijucic stresses. You cannot take two steps at once, it has to be one step at a time. I have a long way to go before I find my own inner peace, before I am free of this hatred, but I will get there. One day at a time.

I am lonely, and I am afraid, but I have hope that with one step forward each day, I will become the person I want to be. I need to cast my fears aside, and I need to run headlong into life. I am better than that. I am better than the person I was yesterday, and tomorrow I’ll be a better person than I was today.

Instead of worrying about what everyone is wearing, or thinking, or how they look, or act…Instead of trying to make everyone fit to your ideas of perfection, or trying to fit into another person’s ideas, just be yourself. Be happy with yourself, with how you look, who you are.

No I’ll never be any of those things I mentioned above. But they will never be me either.

Do you dare to hope?

I never really knew what my purpose in life is. Hell, I still don’t really know. But maybe, just maybe, this is meant to reach someone. Maybe, just maybe, this will save someone. That being said….

You are beautiful. I don’t care who you are, what religion you practice, the color of your skin. I don’t care what grades you made in school, or what you can or cannot do. I do not care about what you’ve done in your past, because it is just that: The past. I love you.

Dare to hope. Dare to dream. Do not settle for those who cannot love you for who you are. Be you. Love yourself.

For those of you who may be interested in hearing more about Nick Vujicic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snDQe3tWwRQ

Thank you for reading.

Insane in the membrane

I distinctly remember being a kid, being told to go to bed, but instead of doing so I would stay up for hours and read. I love books, I always have. I enjoy reading them, losing myself in them, so forth.

Now I find myself experiencing a bit of that youthful rebellion, but more it isn’t simply because of my love for reading, but a lack of wanting to do anything else. I have no desire to eat, and I especially have no desire to sleep. I hate what my dreams bring, and I despise what waking life makes me feel.

A constant longing for something I cannot have, a need that will never be mine. An ache burns within me, craving to be filled. To sum it up: I’m lonely.

By reading, I can experience love a thousand different times, a thousand different ways. I cannot be lonely, because I need only to reread the books to visit my loves again. If only life were like a book. Sigh. Unfortunately, I suppose, it is time for this lonely reader to head off to bed.

I slip now to a place,
Where troubles cannot go,
Deep within my mind,
A place only I know.

And though it’s often a frightening,
Dark and twisted place,
I find myself strangely welcoming,
This cold and dark embrace.

Sometimes I try to run,
Sometimes I try to hide,
Truth be told, I know I’ll never,
Shake these shadows from my mind.

Embrace it I shall, and stitch together,
What remains of my sanity.
I can only hope the darkness within,
Can spare some mercy for me.

Fare thee well, until the next post.

My Review of Affliction SPOILERS

I literally just finished reading the newest book from Laurell K. Hamilton named Affliction. It is the 22nd book in her long running Anita Blake Vampire Hunter series.

Before I begin let me just say that I am a huge LKH fan, and have always been so. She’s disappointed me–what author, artist, or musician hasn’t in some form or fashion?–a few times before and honestly there are quite a few books that I would have just left out entirely, but I stick by her because I like her writing style and sense of humor.

Needless to say when Affliction came out, marking the 20th year since Anita first hit the market, I was ecstatic! What better way to celebrate than by buying the newest book from the series? So I did, and immediately began reading.

Here is where it gets a bit spoiler happy, but I will try to avoid the major ones. If I can’t, they’ll be marked with a huge red SPOILER!!!

You have been warned. Turn back now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The book begins with Anita sitting in her office, explaining to the reader how uncomfortable she is with her guns strapped to her body. She’s also giving us a bit of background as far as where she’s working and who she is. It’s a nice little game of catch up to those who might be coming along later in the game.

Her secretary bursts through the door and explains she has a call on her phone and it’s a woman who is incredibly upset. After some confusion, they realize it’s Micah’s mother, and she answers the phone in a panic.

The next few chapters are spent with her on the phone with Micah, then Jean-Claude, then Nathaniel, then Jean-Claude again, then Micah again. Alright, no big deal, she’s getting things in order and she’s stuck at her office. Makes sense to me.

And while all the talking on the phone is fine, one thing did irk me about the entire set up. You see, authors will do this nifty trick when they’re trying to help A). New readers who picked up late in the game and B). Old readers who may just need a quick reminder, by often times having the character reflect, or explain briefly in narration what a particular word means, or who a person is. Anita does this quite frequently throughout the books (which was a bit much at times), but there were moments when she was doing this in casual conversation. For example, she and Jean-Claude were on the phone, and he began explaining to her some of the politics behind her visit–even if it was just a standard visit to see Micah’s father in the hospital. In this conversation, he says something about Nimar-Ra and Nimar-Raj, and then begins explaining it to her as though she’s somehow forgotten what these words mean. Instead of saying “Oh Jean-Claude, shut up I know this already.” She carries on the conversation and proceeds to do the same to him. This is why I don’t like when authors explain things in dialogue like this, because it makes the characters sound stupid, or it’s just bad form. Keep the reflections and explanations out of the dialogue.

Then there is some turmoil at the airport. Jean-Claude does not accompany her, as it’s just a standard visit to see Micah’s father. Nathaniel tags along for emotional support because he is their partner.

Upon reaching the hospital, the cops start giving her hell because they think she’s going to move in on their case. After telling them over and over that she’s just visiting Micah’s family, they finally cut her a bit of slack and let her through. She goes up to the room where the doctor tells her his father has a disease from being bitten by a zombie, and it’s making him rot from the outside in.

But wait. Zombie bites aren’t contagious like that. Whaaaaat?

And just like that, Anita decides she’s going to take the case over after all.

It was fun, and exciting, a new disease that no one had heard about–not even Anita. It was nice to finally see her so clueless.

But most of the book was wordy, circle arguments and conversations as she tries to find herself and find answers.

Micah’s character changed quite a bit in this book, which I could sort of understand considering his father is in the hospital dying from a disease they don’t know how to cure. But some of it just seems very…..odd.

He’s throwing his relationship with Anita and Nathaniel in his family’s face, for example. This is not the attitude you have when you’ve been estranged from your family for ten years now. It’s just not.

SPOILER!!
~~~~~~~~~
He’s, apparently, been lying to Anita for quite some time, and she’s not happy about it. But her more grown up self eases through it to keep a major fight from breaking out.
~~~~~~~~~~~
END SPOILER

We get to see a lot of old characters coming back round, some that she’d only seen or spoken to on the phone before. An old nemesis that didn’t get a lot of airtime comes back to play as well, so that was nice.

A very tragic event happens, and though Anita mourns him, she’s a bit inconsistent with it all. It’s hard to explain what I mean without revealing the spoiler, so I’ll just leave that for you to read and see for yourselves.

Edward pops back into the picture, and they team up again. Which was pretty awesome!

While I was reading, I was so excited. There was the fear, the anxiety, the wonder. I did not want to put the book down! I stayed up until 7 AM reading as much as I could because I just had to know what happened next.

And then the ending happened.

And I hate myself a little.

The beginning, as stated, was slow starting. Which was fine, with the exception of a few things here or there, it was completely understandable and believable.

The middle was drawn out a bit, but it only added to the thrill and excitement of getting to the end. It was like the biggest hype-man you can imagine.

I was getting ready to sign on to Amazon, without even finishing the book, and toss down a five star review because I was so excited! I’m glad I didn’t.

In the space of one chapter. One. Chapter. The book concludes. And it was a relatively small chapter at that. I might even say in the course of two paragraphs, it concludes.

The last chapter is wrapping up the loose ends that LKH forgot to cover in the book itself, and voila, the books is over.

So again. Slow beginning, GREAT MIDDLE, dropped off a cliff into the conclusion.

Is Laurell K. Hamilton just growing tired of writing Anita? I used to think that wasn’t possible but now that I stare at this book I’m starting to wonder.

There is a HUGE revelation in the book, though, but it does point to things rapidly coming to an end. Normally I would be disappointed, but honestly at this point I think it might be the best thing that could happen. I will still be sad to see it go.

What could have fixed this? It seems to me like LKH’s brain was just a little too scattered, and if she’d managed to keep notes in order and made conversations a bit more realistic, that would have been nice too.

There was minimal sex, so that was nice. But one of the sex scenes made me a bit uncomfortable.
SPOILER!!!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As we all know, Nathaniel is a submissive but every once in a while he likes playing dominant. Anita plays bottom in this with Nathaniel and Nicky. It threads the line between what is acceptable, and what is not. It just seemed way too dangerous, and was a bad use of BDSM. I’m sure there are going to be quite a few people in the BDSM community that are going to be even more upset about this than I am. Other than that particular scene, the rest of the book is business as usual.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
END SPOILER

If Laurell K. Hamilton had just spread out the ending and made it a bit more involved, THAT would have been amazing too. This book had so much. SO MUCH potential!! If the ending matched the middle, I would have immediately posted a five star review, or tried for higher, because this would have been the greatest book in the series in my opinion. But because of the quick ending, I bumped it down to a four. I almost feel gracious doing that too, actually, which is a feeling I do not like.

Let’s just state here and now that old Anita is dead. She died the moment she took Jean-Claude to her…well….bathtub.

That being said, however, the series didn’t really start to suffer (in my opinion) until about book 10. I keep reading, keep reading, hoping that I can regain some faith in this series. I wasn’t a huge fan of Kiss the Dead (or whatever it’s called), as it began quickly, built up to the end, and then just suddenly dropped us off the cliff into a conclusion. Sound familiar?

So to wrap it all up, pros:

Very thrilling, very engaging.
Minimal sex
A blast from the past in a lot of ways.
Did I mention minimal sex?
Big revelations that a lot of people have been waiting for, I think.
Lots of “air time” for a few older characters.
Brand new disease that no one has heard of.

Cons:
Things seem a tad bit chaotic, like LKH didn’t quite have her notes on straight.
One of the sex scenes was a bit too on the dangerous side, and seemed badly executed (ha ha).
The ending was way too quick, as though LKH had grown bored of her own writing and needed a quick fix.
There is a lot of bad light cast down on a lot of the male characters, and that gets to be a bit much at times.
A lot of things weren’t very realistic.
Did I mention a quick ending?
I recommend the book, but I have to warn you to prepare yourself for the ending. Otherwise it is a good book.

I will probably continue to read and see this series through to the end. Laurell K. Hamilton is a great writer, and the Anita Blake Vampire Hunter books are a great idea. I will continue to support this author, even if I don’t actually agree with a lot of what she has written, and I will watch this series end.

Insom-nom–nomnia

Another sleepless night. I toss, I turn, I try to make my mind sit still long enough to sleep just a bit, but it seems to have run off and left me.

I wish I knew what was causing my sudden restlessness. I’m not more stressed than usual. I’m eating the same. Point is, nothing has really changed in the day to day life. So why is it that I am suddenly so awake and alert, despite having hardly slept over the course of a week and a half?

Is something coming? Is my subconscious trying to prepare me? Is there something I’m not seeing? What eats at my brain so? I just want to rest and relax. I want my mind at ease without taking drastic measures. Sigh.

Circle Societies: Are They More Deadly than “Shock Rockers”?

“Spoken like a true circle queen. See, skinny, socially-privileged white people get to draw this neat little circle. And everyone inside the circle is “normal”. Anyone outside the circle needs to be beaten, broken and reset so that they can be brought into the circle. Failing that, they should be institutionalized. Or worse – Pitied. Why would you feel sorry for someone that gets to opt out of the inane courteous formalities which are utterly meaningless, insincere and therefore degrading? This kid doesn’t have to pretend to be interested in your back pain, your secretions or your grandma’s itchy place. Imagine how liberating it would be to live a life free of all the mind-numbing social niceties. I don’t pity this kid – I envy him.—–House, M.D Episode Lines in the Sand

While the show House, M.D was still airing, I fell in absolute love with the lead character played by Hugh Laurie. He was an ass, a big one. What made me really love him was the fact that he did not care about what society thought of him, no matter the circumstance. He went the extra mile, he helped others that would be otherwise overlooked (for whatever reason), and he was an intelligent man. The quote I’ve posted above for you is probably one of my favorites, because of how true it is.

I first started this post with the intention of showing the world why shock rock isn’t actually all that shocking, but I’ve decided in the process of writing multiple drafts that I would turn this into much more. In order to do that, however, I am going to have to slice open a lot of my own wounds and let them bleed. I will have to walk down a dark memory lane that I would prefer never to see again, but in order to get my point across I must provide ample evidence–and since the best evidence is often our personal experiences, I am left with little choice. For such a cause as this, however, I am willing–and happy–to do so.

Though I was not aware of the actual “Circle Society” concept, part of me always knew of its existence. When I was in fourth grade, I changed schools. I wanted to desperately to fit in, as I had no friends. I’d spent the early part of my life surrounded by adults, and I spent preschool-third grade surrounded by friends. This was, to say the least, a huge change for me. Not only was this school bigger than what I was used to (the school I originally attended was preschool-12th, all in one building. This was just two grades and the numbers were about equal in attendance), but there were a lot more rich, white people. The jump I made, therefore, was not just in school and town, but now I was surrounded by an entirely different social class. Unfortunately, our money didn’t change with it, so I was still middle class trying to play up to the expectations of the first.

I remember there was this girl, a bit younger than me. She and I were friends so long as her posse wasn’t nearby. Well, wanting so desperately to fit in I decided I wanted to try to be their friends as well. They looked down their noses at me at first, and then put me through a series of vigorous tests. Yes, you read that correctly. I had to prove myself worthy enough to be in their circle, and this was only the fourth grade! I was told who I could and couldn’t speak to, how to dress, how to talk, etc. I was given a list of the latest “slang” that I had to use at any given moment. If I were to ever get in trouble, I was told to play stupid because “that will always get you out of trouble”. There was no friendship here, only numbers and status quo. Needless to say it did not take long for me to realize that I’d rather be alone than be caught up in such closed minded behavior. The moment I realized I did not need them, I started gathering other friends and created my own little circle, and we were the misfits of the schoolyard.

I wasn’t done trying to fit in, however. The way the school system was set up in this town, I changed schools once more to go to middle school. Some of my friends accompanied me, others went off to different schools, and I was again left alone. But I can honestly say I tried my hardest to fit in. I read magazines, I kept up with the music that was “in” at the time, so forth. I tried, once more, to be friends with the popular girls (individually a lot of these girls were pretty awesome to have as friends, it was only when they were in pack formation that they became the demon spawn of all that was popular). I went to church, joined Christian functions and clubs, etc. Looking back now I rather hate myself for how long I stayed in my land of self discovery when it seemed everyone around me had already found their place in the world.

There was one person who meant the world to me. She was my sanctuary. When things got tough at home, I ran to her side. She never judged me, only tried to help me. I wish there were more people like her in the world, because it would be a far better place if there were. My 6th grade year of school, however, she passed away from cancer and I was left feeling completely alone. This is not a good place for a soon-t0-be teenager to be, especially one who already feels rather isolated. I was not really accepted in my own family (because I was not male), I was not accepted in the groups of people around me (because I wasn’t rich, or stupid, enough), and now the one person I could rely on was gone….

A darkness began growing within me, one that I could not explain to those around me. I could not put into words what I felt festering within my mind, so I turned to poetry. That was my new release. I began dressing in all black, because that is how I felt. Black and dark. This may seem rather cliche’ to you, but this was the closest I came to finding myself at that age. I isolated myself even further, preferring to sit out and read rather than participate with the others. I embraced that feeling of darkness for the longest time, but even still part of me longed to fit in. If only I could have killed that piece of me earlier on, perhaps I would not have experienced much of what I have.

I was taken to a therapist that diagnosed me Depressed (No duh), and medicated me to the point that I became a zombie. At least, that’s how I describe it. I felt nothing. It was a terrifying feeling, to tell you the truth. I felt no emotions, I felt no joy. Only that darkness grew within me and begged to be released. I cut myself, mutilated my arms and still carry the scars to this day. It was the only way I could feel anything. It started off as simple cuts, just to remind myself that I was still alive, but steadily those little cuts did nothing for me and they became burns, slices, cuts with scissors, etc. I remember having an eraser and scrubbing the skin off of my hand just to try and make sense of what I was feeling inside, and make it a physical feeling. That’s why a lot of people cut or self mutilate. Emotions are illogical, they are not physical things. It is very hard to fix something that is not physical. But when cutting yourself, you’ve put into physical means what you are feeling on the inside, and a physical wound can be fixed. (Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form condoning self harm. If you feel the urge to self harm, please seek help from someone. It does not have to be a therapist, or psychiatrist, but seek help somewhere.)

The psychiatrist I was seeing that had me so medicated ended up being just another money hungry jerk who saw only dollar signs when he looked at me. I felt completely betrayed and no matter how many times I tried to tell those around that the medication was not working, no one would listen to me. Finally one night, I decided “No one will listen to me. I do not feel alive. Why should I keep walking around like an animated corpse?” and tried to overdose on some of those medications I’d been described. I had a terrible sense of irony even then, you see, and I wanted the cause of my death to be the very thing that was supposed to “help” me.

People say that attempting, or committing, suicide is cowardice. I disagree. When you are faced with your own death, and you decide to take it, it is one of the bravest things you’ll ever have to decide. The braver thing, however, is telling this feeling, this urge, to end your own life “No. I will not go through with this.” I hate hearing people talk about teen suicide and say things like “It’s just the “in thing” now.” I’ve been in this situation, I know what mindset you have to be in to go through with it. In those moments after I took those pills, I accepted my death and for those few moments I felt peace at last.

Obviously I am here, and I am writing this to you, so you are aware that I did not succeed in killing myself. I was taken to the hospital where my stomach was pumped (ew), and after a night in the ICU–as well as a few days in a regular room–I was shipped off to a mental rehabilitation center. I was alienated there as well. My first night there, a girl who was meant to be my roommate threatened to kill me. Keep in mind, I’m 13 years old at the time. That terrified me. The patients–with the exception of that girl–were actually quite nice to me. It was the people that were supposed to “help” us that were cruel. I was made fun of on a daily basis, and if some of the other patients taunted or teased me they weren’t stopped (in fact, often times these “counselors” would jump in to join the “fun”). There was one girl in particular that I became very close with, and I clung to her like she was the last solid thing on this earth. As a result, I was openly called “a disgusting lesbian”. Nine days I spent in this place. Nine days of hell. Nine days of never ending torment from people that were supposed to better us. Though I suppose they were preparing us for the real world, and they helped make me stronger. According to my medical records and tests, I wasn’t depressed, I was bipolar. The drugs that the first psychiatrist had prescribed me had actually proven to increase suicidal tendencies in people under the age of 18, and I was on quite a few drugs.

I felt paranoid, out of place, and now I was bullied because of the fact that I’d been in a “nut house”. One girl even shoved me to the ground and told me “What, too stupid to die or something?”

Now, here’s where the story changes. As alone, and horrible as I felt, I reached out for anything that would help. Back when MTV played music (I know, what a concept right?), I would leave that channel on all the time. Late at night one evening, I discovered The Osbournes, which then led me to discover Ozzy. I grabbed that and held on to it, siphoning as much of it as I could find. I remember his lyrics hitting home in a way I’d never experienced before.

All the things I put me through
I wouldn’t wish my hell on you
You’ll never know what’s going on inside

Just another lonely broken hero
Picking up the pieces of my mind
Running out of faith and hope and reason
I’m running out of time
Running out of time

Trouble always seems find
A way to live inside my mind
My haunted head and me remain alone
Underneath my masquerade
A simple man who’s so afraid
I try to find a light to guide me home

I remember one night I was talking to a friend of mine on the phone, a very dear friend who saw me through a lot of my internal demons. I regret to this day hurting her like I did when I attempted suicide, and I’m not sure that she’s ever completely forgiven me. But I digress. On the phone, had MTV in the background, the Osbournes had already gone off and I remember saying “I just wish someone understood what I was going through. I just wish someone other than you understood me.” And as soon as the sentence left my mouth, the premiere of mObscene, by Marilyn Manson, came on. I looked into his eyes, and felt immediately a connection. I cannot describe it, but I knew that anyone who looked like that HAD to understand what I was feeling.

I became obsessed with Ozzy, Manson, Queen, Black Sabbath, Alice Cooper, etc. All these “shockers” that people warned against. I felt a connection with them, I felt like I belonged with them. They were putting my feelings into words that I could never find on my own. I started cutting myself a bit less and less, but still I was not quite the same. I was getting closer, though! So close to finding myself and finding where I fit in.

One day, during my Physical Education class, the teacher wasn’t there so we started watching a movie called Bowling for Columbine. Marilyn Manson comes onto the screen, and of course the other girls (who bullied me constantly–they were the ones who said I was just too stupid to die)) started making fun of him. “He’s weird.” “Bet he worships the devil” “That mother fucker is insane.” Then, of course, they all looked at me. “Do you actually like this fucker?” “Yes I do.” “You’re just as fucked up as he is.” I took that as a compliment. “Really? You really think so? That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all year. I’m so glad you think of me as intelligent, open minded, and not afraid to say what I think.” And she shut up. Oh my god. She. Shut. Up. She stopped picking on me! I could have done happy dances!

As we were watching the interview, an almost magical thing happened. The room had fallen completely silent, and I could actually hear what was being said. Michael Moore asked:

If you were to talk directly to the kids at Columbine or the people in that community, what would you say to them if they were here right now?

I leaned closer, wanting to hear precisely how Manson would answer. When he did answer, it felt like he was talking directly to me.

I wouldn’t say a single word to them I would listen to what they have to say, and that’s what no one did.

That stuck with me. To this day it sticks with me. No one had listened to me, and look where I’d ended up. I knew, in that moment however, that I would probably never meet Marilyn Manson. But it was such a relief to know that if the day ever came, he would listen to me. More importantly, he would understand. That’s what I lacked in life. Someone to listen to me, and someone to understand me. I was still on medication at the time, and it was making me feel terrible. I felt paranoid all the time, I felt upset constantly. I could not handle my emotions, or the world around me. I tried (once more) to tell everyone that the medicine was not working. No one listened, again. When I heard him say that, I finally had the courage to do what I felt was right. I had the courage to do all of this on my own, because I had the release I needed and it didn’t involve cutting, it didn’t involve counselors or therapists. It didn’t involve people controlling my life for me. It involved me taking control of my own life and deciding that no matter what this “disorder” brought my way, I was going to beat it. If people that I looked up to could stand in front of the public eye and beat their demons all the time, damn it, so could I.

Music was my inspiration, and music was my weapon.

People like Ozzy Osbourne and Marilyn Manson are weird. They’ve done a lot of fucked up shit. But because they did a lot of fucked up shit, they understand it better than anyone else. They aren’t shocking, they are being blunt and pushing things into your faces that make you think. That’s what a lot of people don’t want to do. They don’t want to think. System of a Down is the same way.

These same circle societies are the ones who point fingers at them. Marilyn Manson, Ozzy Osbourne, etc caused my son/daughter/friend, etc to commit suicide. I highly doubt that. Chances are, your friend/son/daughter, etc wasn’t that balanced anyway. Shock Rockers promote evil and worship Satan, it says so in their music. No, actually if you read the lyrics and comprehend what they are saying, there is a far deeper message.

Side note, did you know that the word “Satan” means to “oppose or rebel”? Meaning if you’ve rebelled against something at any point in your life, you are being Satan. “Hail Satan” therefore means “Yay rebellion!” Sort of. Lol.

Shock Rock is designed to entertain, to make you think, to make you accept what people try to make you forget (political, religious, etc happenings), and so on.

“But what about the children? Do we want to promote this message to our children?” A). You are the parent. You should control what your child sees/hears, etc. If your child is listening to Black Sabbath, that is not the fault of Black Sabbath. The members of Black Sabbath did not come into your child’s room and say “LISTEN TO US OR WE’LL CUT YOUR ARM OFF AND BEAT YOU WITH IT”. B). Yes, how dare we promote free thinking to our children. C). While you’re telling them not to go to that Alice Cooper concert, but handing them money so they can go see that horror movie everyone is talking about, you might want to rethink your standing as a parent.

Shock Rockers are scapegoats, because it is easy to blame them. They’re in the public, they’re, supposedly, shocking….But people need to start taking responsibility for their own actions rather than blaming the closest person around them. Unless these people actually walk into your house, you cannot blame them for the actions of your friends/children/family members.

This does not just apply to music, of course, it applies to everything in the world. Books, for example, have always been a very deep thinking tool, and weapon–a weapon that is, let’s face it, far deadlier than music will ever be–ever since the printing press was invented. No, further still, since written language was created. Humans are deadly.

I know this blog has been quite long, and I thank all of you for reading this in its entirety. I could continue on in this fashion for ages, but I will simply wrap up with this.

If you, my dear reader, have felt alone, confused, etc and have contemplated suicide, I urge you to find your sanctuary in something. I urge you to find your release in anything that will help you. You are not alone, no matter how you may feel. You do not have to find your sanctuary in music as I have done, but find it somewhere. The world does not get better, but you can become stronger and battle it.

If you seek help, friendship, etc, you are more than welcome to leave a comment or contact me in some way. I make myself readily available, and though I am not a trained psychologist/therapist/psychiatrist, I can listen and I will try to help in some way.

But most importantly… Everyone needs to remember that the circles of society are not the place to be. Be happy with who you are, create your own circle, and be proud of yourself. Do not care of the closed minded hatred they spew, you are stronger than that. Walk your own path, discover who you are.

Thank you all once more for reading this, and I hope it’s provided a good amount of insight as well as, possibly, helped someone.

My First Concert Experience

Let me simply begin by stating that I have horrible social anxiety. Horrible. The idea of being in a large crowd scares the crap out of me and makes my skin crawl. For example: I remember a specific event about a year and a half ago when I was attending my then husband’s birthday party. There were so many people in that house, and it was so loud everywhere I went, I finally ended up locking myself in my car for ten minutes just to recuperate. Later that evening when everything had calmed down, I felt like my skin was going to crawl off my body. And that particular event involved his family, people I’d known for quite some time and had been around on many separate occasions.

Needless to say, concerts were a biiiiig no no for me. Until now.

We discovered that Marilyn Manson and Alice Cooper were touring together back when the dates were first released, and immediately I wanted to go. But that socially anxious and awkward part of my brain said “OHGODNONONONO.” Even more heartbreaking was realizing they were coming nowhere close to me. As quickly as the feeling, the urge, to go washed over me, it left again.

My friend Joanna and I used to obsess over Manson when we were 15, and I’ve grown up listening to Cooper all my life. She contacted me with a plausible way for all of this to work out….All that was left was to convince my brain that I wanted to go.

We chose the cheapest tickets (Well into the nosebleed section), and my friends Joanna, Rachel, and I prepared. I guess my brain was still in denial, because I didn’t feel the usual anxiety. We left for Dallas (about 4 hours away from me), and the closer we got to the theater, the more nervous I became.

We arrived, bought a t-shirt, changed, and then headed up to our nosebleed section, only to find a guy waiting there for us.

“There are three of you, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well I have good news for you. Your section didn’t sell well so we’re moving you closer to the action.”
“No fucking way. Really?”
“Really. Here are your tickets, head back down and find your seats.”

The tickets we had were about 28 bucks a pop. The seats we ended up in were 65 dollars. I was about 8 rows back from the pits and had a beautiful shot at the stage. It was brilliant.

Marilyn Manson steps out onto the stage, and immediately all social anxieties disappear. I started moving and swaying with the crowd, just enjoying myself. I screamed and yelled like everyone around me, I sang along without worrying whether or not it sounded good. Manson began with a very…almost childlike and playful demeanor, dancing about the stage. Midway he slowed down, seeming almost groggy. At one point he ended up on the infamous stilts, and a stagehand kept getting in his way and he nearly hit him. Which is understandable because really, if he’d fallen he could have been severely hurt. Towards the end he was right back to playful and fun.

We had an intermission, and then Cooper took to the stage. I was a bit worried at first because I know a lot of his classics like… School’s Out, Poison, Hey Stoopid, etc, but other than that I’m not familiar with him. Let me just tell you this. Even if you are not familiar with Cooper’s stuff, you NEED to see him perform. He owns that stage and he is completely comfortable. His theatrics are phenomenal, and he definitely knows how to work a crowd. I lost my voice. In fact, two days later, I’m still a little croaky. THAT’S how amazing this experience was. He did the straight jacket, the snake, the guillotine, and Frankenstein.

But the best part about all of this was after. We walked out of the arena and realized we were way too flooded with adrenaline to try to drive, so we were going to sit on the curb to relax. I happened to glance back and saw a fence, and directly on the other side of it I saw tour buses. There were other people standing there, not many…probably about 20, and none of them were wearing VIP passes.

And that’s how I got to meet Alice Cooper.

Alice Cooper walked out, and I didn’t care about my shredded vocal chords, I screamed. He waved and held up a finger, and I thought “Crap he’s not coming back.” But he DID! And he took the time to go down the line and autograph all of our tickets. About midway down the line he steps back and starts laughing, then says “Have you guys ever seen that show The Walking Dead?” “Yes!” “You guys kind of remind me of the zombies.” We start laughing, and then I lean in and say “Well if you hire us, we’ll work your next set for you.” AND HE LAUGHED. HE FULL ON BELLY LAUGHED AT ME! I was like “OH MY GOD ALICE COOPER THINKS I’M FUNNY!” In hindsight he probably just thought I was stupid, but in that moment it was a truly magical experience.

Marilyn Manson didn’t come out, which was disappointing but hey. I did get to watch his tour bus leave. I waved at it and everything. I also saw Twiggy leave.

All in all, it was a magical experience and I am very glad to have rid myself of that anxiety long enough to experience this. I probably would have kicked myself if I hadn’t. Unfortunately, I have figured out a downside to concerts.

They are like a drug. You go to one, suddenly you want to turn around and do it again. It’s so hard to return to reality after going to a concert, especially one you get really into. In my mind, that concert wasn’t just a once in a lifetime thing. I’m still trying to convince myself that I cannot just turn around and go back to that, go back to see my heroes. Reality sucks in comparison sometimes, you know?

The other downside is….MAN I was sore. My vocal chords were so shredded I sounded like a mix between an old woman and a prepubescent boy. About an hour after we left the concert I realized “Oh crap. I have to prerecord my radio show tomorrow.”

I wore it all with pride, however. I even made it through the full hour of prerecording my show (though I probably won’t listen to the playback). Why did I torture myself like that? Because I was proud. I was proud of myself for pushing myself to do something I’d never done before, meeting someone I would have never met otherwise, and for getting over my fears. So thank you Alice Cooper and Marilyn Manson for not only helping me get over my fears, but for also popping my concert cherry. You guys are amazing! Thank you for giving me one of the most amazing moments of my life.

I was going to include a section of this blog where I discussed the downside to societies, and why I think people like Marilyn Manson, Alice Cooper, and Ozzy Osbourne aren’t so bad, but I have decided to wait for another day. So stick around!

Web Weavings

Where shadow and light dance

Author: Jackie Sieks Writes