Who I am

When it is all about me, I am selfish. When it is all about you, I am not myself.


I read a beautiful post a few days ago that touches on this. Of course it stayed with me because of it is relevant to my current situation. If you don't want to read the whole post here is a quote that I think sums it up "We end up honouring surface wants over the real life meat of who we are and the work that we do."-Schmutzie It has gotten to the point for me where I don't know what I truly want anymore. I have become so afraid of being who I am that it is a struggle of epic proportions to find what my heart wants.


What I want most is to be great. I grew up reading all these stories about epic adventures, and I wanted nothing more than to be the hero in one of those adventures. I wanted to save the world and all that jazz. I played all sorts of adventures with my dearest neighborhood friend. We would jump off tables trying to fly. We would play lord of the rings out in the backyard. And if one of us was acting too grown up we'd chastise each other for losing our imagination.


Somewhere along the way we drifted apart and I hid my imagination deep down inside of me. Too afraid to show it because it wasn't "proper". People don't want to be around the girl who takes jokes too far or says things that others don't understand. So now I have to learn to be a child again. Because my soul is aching to release the ideas that I've hidden away. 


So now I'm doing what my heart tells me and working on saving my school department, because this is my life and I deserve to try and help make things right.

Confessions of a Racist

I am white. I am proud to be who I am. And I hope you are proud of who you are. I don't assume you are any different from me. I don't assume that you are like me either. I certainly wont treat you differently because of it.

But I am a racist. I am naturally a racist because I'm white. I want to oppress you, just like my ancestors did. 

Because I am white and middle class and my parents have some money I must have no idea what it is like in the real world.

Because I enjoy doing hair and offer to help you with yours when you complain, I am a racist.

Because I try to laugh off your assumptions about my race, I am a racist.

Because I see you as human before I see your ethnicity, I am a racist.

Because I believe in respecting others needs, I am a racist.

Because I am blonde not only am I racist but I am stupid.

I don't understand. Maybe I can't understand. All I know is that one of the random labels that has been pinned on me is now racist.

People's Opinions

When I started this blog I meant to write about humor and day to day life. Then it became a sort of therapy. And then a way of making sure that I worked on my book. I used as a last thread to a connection I feared I'd lost forever. I've used this blog for lots of things, but not many of them actually focus on more than the personal.

I actually read the comments about something, I never read comments and for a good reason. Comments upset me, I hate to watch people devolve the way they do, fighting over something that they think is the end all and be all at that moment. Sometimes it is justified, but I feel like people have started to assume that just because someone has an opinion this person believes that thing is a fact. What ever happend to having an opinion and live and let live? I feel like we all feel like we are all missionaries that must convert the whole wide world. Yet when we close the tab, we walk away from our desks into real life do we have the fire about that topic anymore? Do we live our lives dedicated to that issue that we just had to enter the fray about? Maybe some of you do, and thats great. And don't get me wrong, I'm not against posting your opinion. I'm not against people of different ideas having discourses. I just worry, and I wonder what this world is coming to. Hopefully something good.

Actions Speak Louder than Words

This is a funny blog post to be writing, its a weird blog post to be writing. Words have been my whole life, I thrive on words, they give me life. Yet I can remember being a little and making noises trying to indicate my frustration, that I wanted help. I was alway yelled at when I final let out that guttural scream of I quit. If you needed help why didn't you ask for it? I thought I was asking for it? I thought the fact that I was visibly getting more and more agitated was proof. From then on I learned to put all of my faith in words.

Words are the only way that my parents told me they loved me, because their actions never showed it. And the older I've gotten the more their actions have shown contempt and dislike for me. And it hurts, because I can't survive. I am broken.

And yet I'm fighting, I'm always fighting. I'm bloody determined to beat this thing. But I've been fighting the wrong ways, I've been fighting to make others achieve things for me, and it just doesn't work that way. It never will work that way.

And then sometimes I turn around and I see all that I have lacked is standing there right beside me. And I want to fall down and weep because I don't know how to show that I understand. I dont know how to show. So I wrote this. Now I have to act it.