Writing Away the Year

An outlet for the pain, anger and tears. I'm just someone, invisible, and writing away the year.

[writingawaytheyear]

You are Nothing to Me

Nothing,  do you hear that? Nothing. You are nothing to my heart, soul and body. You took my love, you took advantage of my feelings. I was pulled back in,  because I believed you. I believed,  something so unconievable. I believed, that what we once had was again retrievable. My heart aches for the times we had because they mean nothing to me. You are nothing to me. Because your promises to me? You broke. Yet I intended to keep every last promise I made. And I did, up until the day, that my second chance I gave was promptly gripped, ripped, and now destroyed instead of frayed. So many parts of me are void of your memory. So many parts of me,  have destroyed every memory. Every photo, every gift,  every love letter and note. Because, thats what you did the first time? But, I had hope. So I held on through the second time. But I was stupid, because now? You mean nothing to me. Because my life, is a sick and twisted reality. Thank God I’m happy now. Forgetting you. Forgetting us. I’m happier now that there’s nothing between us. There is no love,  no intimacy, nothing at all. Like you are to me. Nothing at all.

[writingawaytheyear]

Tiny, slim, skinny, underweight, thin, beautiful, model, ballerina, fit. Words that you say but you can't fully comprehend,  why do you tell me those things? I have to realize which ones I am. Am I underweight, am I thin? Is thin 'bad'?  Because I'm not sure if I'm comfortable in my own skin. You tell me I should be a ballerina, but I can't dance. Oh, wait. It's my body that makes you think that? It's because I'm not what society says is 'fat'. So you think that thin is beautiful? Let me tell you a fucking thing. Body is beautiful, weight aside.  Let's throw away labels, pounds and sizes. Be you be bold and know your body is beautiful. You are you, and you are beautiful. If every body was the same, there'd be no variety in life.  People are gonna give you hell, pain and strife and I want to fucking say you are worth more than life. You are made with intentions beyond our wildest dreams, that body of yours will make someone scream, every bit of you is perfect and beautiful.  Please, world. Become a place where there's not such thing as 'size'. Let our outsides, reflect our insides. Because thats what matters most.

[prince-cake]

some questions from my GIANT ASS LIST of Harry Potter questions

[lady-baconator]

i would really like to see this whole list please

[prince-cake]

heres the most of it then

[did-you-know]

[endcetaceanexploitation]

Washoe was a chimp who was taught sign language.

One of Washoe’s caretakers was pregnant and missed work for many weeks after she miscarried. Roger Fouts recounts the following situation:

"People who should be there for her and aren’t are often given the cold shoulder—her way of informing them that she’s miffed at them. Washoe greeted Kat [the caretaker] in just this way when she finally returned to work with the chimps. Kat made her apologies to Washoe, then decided to tell her the truth, signing "MY BABY DIED." Washoe stared at her, then looked down. She finally peered into Kat’s eyes again and carefully signed "CRY", touching her cheek and drawing her finger down the path a tear would make on a human (Chimpanzees don’t shed tears). Kat later remarked that one sign told her more about Washoe and her mental capabilities than all her longer, grammatically perfect sentences." [23]

Washoe herself lost two children; one baby died shortly after birth of a heart defect, the other baby, Sequoyah, died of a staph infection at two months of age.

[sonyvegaspro12]

more about Washoe:

after the death of her children, researchers were determined to have Washoe raise a baby and brought in a ten month chimpanzee named Loulis. one of the caretakers went to Washoe’s enclosure and signed “i have a baby for you.” Washoe became incredibly excited, yelling and swaying from side to side, signing “baby” over and over again. then she signed “my baby.”

the caretaker came back with Loulis, and Washoe’s excitement disappeared entirely. she refused to pick Loulis up, instead signing “baby” apathetically; it was clear that the baby she thought she was getting was going to be Sequoyah. eventually Washoe did approach Loulis, and by the next day the two had bonded and from then on she was utterly devoted to him.

*information shamelessly paraphrased from When Elephants Weep by Jeffrey Masson.

[georgiejohn]

Even more interestingly, after Washoe and Loulis bonded, she started teaching him American Sign Language the same way that human parents teach their children language. It only took Loulis eight days to learn his first sign from Washoe, and aside from the seven that his human handlers learned around him, he learned to speak in ASL just as fluently as Washoe and was able to communicate with humans in the same way she could.

[death-limes]

now if y’all don’t think this is the tightest shit you can get outta my face

[msannthropic]

reblog for the commentary

[junkfoodchimney]

My dad just said: at your age you’ll probably wanna try a lot of things. Boys, girls, being a girl, being a boy, being punk or goth or spunky. And im okay with that. As long as you don’t come home and tell me youre a republican

[mauridianhallow]

parents who care

[jadewolfheart]

[jadewolfheart]

[writingawaytheyear]

Similar to Dysphoria and My Mirror. And so much better at that.

[writingawaytheyear]

Dysphoria and My Mirror

I look in the mirror and I have a problem with what I see because what I see is not what you see.

The girl in the mirror is not who I want to be. The girl I see feels like a disease, I'm in the wrong skin it doesn't feel right.

It feels like I'm wearing pants too tight, but society won't let me walk around pants-less so I have to stay in tonight.

Dysphoria is me fighting the gender I was born with,

I want to be male bodied,

or at least act like I am.

With short cut hair, a three piece suit with freshly ironed pants.

I want shiny leather shoes, and a briefcase for work.

I don't want this dress, or that skirt.

I want to rid myself of the locks the locks of hair that fall there, and puff up in heat.

I want to rid my face of it's smooth, hairless feel. I want to know what it means to be who you want to be.

I fight this image, I fight it, because to my family. Dysphoria isn't real.

It's something they'd say I'd make up they;d tell me I'm diseased, send me to therapy, send me here and send me there, there'd be no chance of me cutting my hair to be short, cutting to feel comfortable in my own skin.

I have no way of feeling masculine.

To my mirror, I hate you still.

You're flawed, I'm flawed, I shouldn't be this still.

[writingawaytheyear]

There are days where I am so emotionless that I'd rather sit motionless in my closet instead of walking out my front door. Where I'd rather be surrounded by blankets and sob into a pillow because my depression sucks. There are days even more as of late Where I sit and wait And I always procrastinate. Days where all I want is them next to me, them to stop being so fucking busy. Days where I wish my mom would act normally and not talk about how sad she was that someone threw out her ice cream. There I days where I wish my dad hadn't died, even though he wasn't the best dad it'd still give me another place to go and hide and get tears wiped from my eyes. Because he sucked at times but when it came to loving his kids you couldn't find a more love filled man. There are days where I think as I look at my reflection in the mirror over the sink, Why am I here? what purpose do I serve? What about these days is worth living for anymore?

[writingawaytheyear]

This Society

Thoughts that occurred today

—

It’s sad we live in a world where one thinks only option is suicide, cutting and throwing up food after dinner. Why don’t people see the real problem here is society driving us to this insanity. You could just live in our shoes for one day; could hear everything that our mind has to say. Words we can’t speak; every moment of the week that we go by depressed and sad and think of suicide.

Because we feel like no ones on our side, we sit alone in a room, and cry we scream we deny ourselves happy dreams.

When will society realize we don’t have a say in what you think is our choice. My priority is high priority getting better is my priority it’s not sitting here letting you win this figh.t our priority is trying to beat our fight. trying to fight this fight. trying to keep on going every fucking night when depression hits.

[writingawaytheyear]

Freshman Fling

He didn’t want it, he said.

It was all in my head, that there that day when things escalated I had talked him into it, and things weren’t wanted. But I know he did, because it recurred not once, twice, or three times but enouh times that I can’t count.

That I remember the sounds that came from his mouth that he was always willing, but tried to blame it on me. When someone found out, and started discussing things with me. And then he started blaming, the girl who was 15. Whose heart was falling, because the boy who she thought she was with forever turned his back when he was under pressure. He said it wasn’t his idea; but he said so often that it was hard to resist the temptation that was my breasts I let him and said that it was okay, that cold winter day. Thinking that maybe it’d just be this once, but I had wants too. It wasn’t the case and it continued to escalate and quite often I was at his place,

but then when in June my stepdad found out. He flipped, he denied and left me sprawled out. Out on the pavement, my heart was in two. Because that 16 year old boy, couldn’t admit that I was just his toy. That he used me, he wanted me, but that he fucking denied. Because at 15, I had tears in my eyes. It was both of our faults, but he wouldn’t own up. So I took the fall and let him go free, no consequence for him. But a textbook for me. I almost was sent to live with family out west, because of the boy who couldn’t accept his consequence. He denied that he wanted it, but I know better. He can’t deny that he didn’t want it, it wasn’t rape. It wasn’t forced. It was taken in stride, his eyes shut and mouth open wide as he groaned and laughed and kissed me softly. But then when it was time for us to own up to our mistakes to the love we fell into. He didn’t own up, and his parents said nothing. It was still my fault, because then he was told by his father something you can’t believe “Girls like her, look for love in all the wrong places.” Well fuck you sir, because if  I looked for love in the wrong place Your son was the wrong place, and that’s fucking right. Because I saw that June day that he could play the game of love and sex

But when it came to owning and dishing out respect He ran away, his tail between his legs. Too scared to hear what needed said. He ran away, scared he’d be dead. He got off easy, and rumors spread. I was easy, and it was my fault instead. So to the boy who wouldn’t live up to his motives, I say fuck you, because you made things hell. Today I reflect, and know I did well with walking away from a boy who couldn’t own up and take some blame. Because the game you played had me slut shamed, I was told I was less, and your parents believed you. That I was the one who wanted it all, that you just went with it. Then I took the fall, but fuck you my Freshman fling.

[writingawaytheyear]

In My Head

It's in my head now,  that I deserve to have my head bit off. I deserve to be yelled at by people online, just about my life. Because I'm being irresponsible. Because I don't like adults ruling my life, or telling me what's best for me. I just want someone to look at me,  let me cry,  hold me close. I just,  it's hard. Because I'm scared. I'm becoming afraid to live,  for the sole reason that I'm letting people control me. Not physical or abusive type control,  but,  they're planning my life for me. And I can't take it much longer

[writingawaytheyear]

Forgetting

I'm forgetting what it's like to smile,  to let things not hurt me. Everything hurts,  and I forget how to feel anything but pain. How do you feel happiness when the world seems so meaningless.   I feel like people are forgetting me,  that I'm human too. That I have feelings,  though they aren't apparent. Though I can hardly feel anything but pain,  suffering,  sadness. That the depression comes in spurts,  and my smiles,  are because of hurt. It's alright,  I guess. The forgetting,  the people forgetting me. I'm not important.

[writingawaytheyear]

I'll never call you dad.

Who do you think you are,  after 12 years. Drunk, sick, and bringing me to tears. You aren't drunk now,  but you will be later. It's a slippery slope,  and there ain't no way to save you. We try to understand,  try to meet the demands. But you get worse and worse. Hurting us with words, and actions. Never physical pains, just things,  things that hurt. Stay out late,  fall asleep in that damned chair. Here I am,  sitting there. In the middle of the living room,  an anxiety attack building. I'm crying. You're leaving. You don't stop and see if I'm okay. Like you did that June summer day. When you found the note,  when you found what was happening. When you found that I was in over my head, that the boy wasn't right. That I cried every night. Because I felt broken,  beaten,  needing repaired He didn't hurt me like most boys would. But now.  Here I am. You're the one hurting me. Not with a hand, or a foot. But a mouth and a brain. You leave,  you get drunk,  and you come home again. I sit at my computer,  knowing that it's all l have. Today, is the day that I decide I'll never call you dad. You won't walk me down the aisle on my wedding day,  you won't get a say in who I date,  or where I stay. You don't get to tell me that I'm too young, to date who I want,  and love him all life long. Today is the day,  I gave you one last chance. But I'm crushed,  because you don't care. I've got tears streaming down my face,  and I'm pulling out my hair. You just don't seem the same,  as you did when I was young,  you don't play video games,  until midnight with me any more. It hurts my heart to say it yet again. But seeing as you've made no effort,  I have nothing else to do. I know it may hurt you,  but you've hurt me too. It's saddening to say,  but you will never be my dad. Though, it'll make one sad. I'll never call you dad. Because of all you've drunk. You come home late at night,  no matter what day it is. Whether you work,  or you're off. I smell the liquor on your breath. It kills me inside,  because that killed my first dad. And now,  here I am. Liquor has killed both dads.

[writingawaytheyear]

Scary

It's scary when you realize things you've never thought before,  that your ex is an adult now,  and you're yet a minor. And you've got a pain in your heart, because you feel that's a danger. When you realize,  that your best friend died at 16, and it was just because of a blood clot. Who gets a blood clot at 16? Why? It's scary, because I'm older than her.. and I'm still alive. It's been a year since she died.. and that's scary,  because it feels like it was just yesterday. When you find out that you're underweight,  but don't think on it..  until you step out of the shower,  and see the protruding bones and realize how much you hate the body girls would kill for. Even though it's your ideal body. You still hate it. I t's scary,  because I want to lose more weight. I want to scream at my ex. I want to be with my best friend. It's scary,  the things I think about in the shower.

[writingawaytheyear]

Sweet 17

Seventeen, just months ago. I'm ten months away from a long waited victory. The love of my darling,  my daring, loving, adult darling. I'm a sweet seventeen, young, innocent and bound to the rules of society. I can't wait,  my fingers reaching for that victory. So far from me, so beautiful and waiting for me. I'm young and bound,  lost but found. It's ten month away, till I see the day. I'll claim the victory,  my hands grasping the cup,  holding it high. Now, I am bound, and lost. Soon, I will be found in the dust, the dust that's settled around me. The dust that needs cleaned out of my memory. Sweet seventeen,  I can't wait for 18. I'll be sad to see you go, but dear friend.. we've got ten months to go.