That last post I wrote 5 days ago. I posted it today, back-dated. I have been rethinking the blog. I have been thinking that I want a radical mothering blog, but I want to blog about myself as well. My inner and outer journey. My complete self. I was planning to split the blog into two. I haven't felt inspired to do so.
So i am thinking, what is this blog about? Shall I create a separate blog for the part about mothering? For my non personal-healing and growth ideas? My non-integrated blog?
Well, I haven't figured it out yet. And since I am trying to shed the "writer" label, I can't say if and when I will make this decision, so I guess I will continue as is for now. hmmm.
Holistic parenting in a fragmented, capitalistic and institutionalized world?
Friday, November 25, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Shedding Labels
This last while, I have found myself, after the worst 6-7 months of the decade, immersed total confusion. Circumstances have become better, but I am not sure what to do with them, with me. As I have written before, being all these things that I am, or say I am, or think I am - musician, writer, activist, anarchist, feminist, traveler, artist, mother, creative, intellectual etc. - is just so confusing and time consuming. Am I really all this stuff? Are they callings? Or are they just the labels that I have acquired? I know that many people don’t like to be labeled, and neither do I, but isn’t saying that you are anything labeling yourself? If you say you are a teacher, aren’t you labeling yourself? I see labels as an integral part of identity. But I have also come to know that sometimes acquiring labels, especially for long periods of time, hinders change. (I see this in mono-thinking conservatives and liberals all the time). It can be hard to shed a label once you have been wearing it for a while, even if it isn’t really you anymore. They can also lead to insecurities. “How can I be an artist if I am not even making art?”
When I was younger, I was very anti-label. I never tried to fulfill a roll, in fact I may have been actively trying to not do what what expected of me. I was just me, I liked it that way and damned if you tried to pigeon-hole me. Though I must admit, adults were good at labeling me. To my mother, I was “the creative child,” to the school I was an “at-risk” student. I ignored them.
I started dressing Death Punk/gothy not because I was one, but because I wore the clothes that I thought looked good. I had one goth friend, but didn’t hang out with goths for the longest time until they started gravitating towards me…if I dress like one am I one? And of course I am using the word goth to cover everything I was called (death rocker, death punk, goth, kooky spook, gutter goth…all variations). When I was around 22 or 23, I was labeled anarchist by a group of anarchists. It happened after a long discussion about my political views with a collective that was meeting at my house, that one of my roommates belonged too. I was quickly welcomed into the collective. Later I decided to adopt the label diligently, largely due to people’s misconceptions about anarchism. I have helped open up a lot of minds about the ideas that exist within the many nuances of anarchism. I expanded and still expand many people’s understanding of that particular label. I also don't want the black blocs and what some called “lifestyle anarchists” to dominate people perceptions about what anarchism is. But by this time I was being labeled a rocker.
I was also going to a digital art college at the time, and read a book called “Art and Fear” for one of my classes. At this point, I took the scary plunge and started calling myself an artist. Now for me, that was big, because my mother is a very serious artist. She often accuses other (most) artists as not making “real art.” So to me, calling myself an artist meant I had to make “real art.” And the story goes on…I acquired more labels through expressing who I was and doing the things I loved.
Now, I find myself confused. Not knowing who the hell I am and what the hell I am doing. So I am shedding labels the best I can. Going back to the young me, who rebelliously shunned labels. (Anothers one of my first labels – rebel). I am going to be me only. And I look at the Occupy movement and I wonder if the times are changing, and labels are becoming less useful…or maybe new ones are being created. The media and powers that be are furiously trying to label the movement. Labeling makes things easier to pick apart and analyze in superficial ways. It makes us be able to wrap our heads around something. They can’t wrap their heads around the movement. We can’t even wrap our heads around the movement. No one could define the complexity of the movement in words. Perhaps we could describe large parts of the movement via book and film. We can experience it. The truth is, we really can’t even wrap our head around the complexity of a single human being. We CAN experience being one. I wonder what labels OWS will adopt or be dubbed. I wonder what labels Occupy Petaluma will adopt or be dubbed.
So, this is a time of shedding. Not thinking about labels. Shedding some baggage. Refusing labels. I am looking forward to experiencing myself in the future. See what old labels come back, what new ones I might have adopted. Or if I just refuse to decide to ever call myself anything again.
When I was younger, I was very anti-label. I never tried to fulfill a roll, in fact I may have been actively trying to not do what what expected of me. I was just me, I liked it that way and damned if you tried to pigeon-hole me. Though I must admit, adults were good at labeling me. To my mother, I was “the creative child,” to the school I was an “at-risk” student. I ignored them.
I started dressing Death Punk/gothy not because I was one, but because I wore the clothes that I thought looked good. I had one goth friend, but didn’t hang out with goths for the longest time until they started gravitating towards me…if I dress like one am I one? And of course I am using the word goth to cover everything I was called (death rocker, death punk, goth, kooky spook, gutter goth…all variations). When I was around 22 or 23, I was labeled anarchist by a group of anarchists. It happened after a long discussion about my political views with a collective that was meeting at my house, that one of my roommates belonged too. I was quickly welcomed into the collective. Later I decided to adopt the label diligently, largely due to people’s misconceptions about anarchism. I have helped open up a lot of minds about the ideas that exist within the many nuances of anarchism. I expanded and still expand many people’s understanding of that particular label. I also don't want the black blocs and what some called “lifestyle anarchists” to dominate people perceptions about what anarchism is. But by this time I was being labeled a rocker.
I was also going to a digital art college at the time, and read a book called “Art and Fear” for one of my classes. At this point, I took the scary plunge and started calling myself an artist. Now for me, that was big, because my mother is a very serious artist. She often accuses other (most) artists as not making “real art.” So to me, calling myself an artist meant I had to make “real art.” And the story goes on…I acquired more labels through expressing who I was and doing the things I loved.
Now, I find myself confused. Not knowing who the hell I am and what the hell I am doing. So I am shedding labels the best I can. Going back to the young me, who rebelliously shunned labels. (Anothers one of my first labels – rebel). I am going to be me only. And I look at the Occupy movement and I wonder if the times are changing, and labels are becoming less useful…or maybe new ones are being created. The media and powers that be are furiously trying to label the movement. Labeling makes things easier to pick apart and analyze in superficial ways. It makes us be able to wrap our heads around something. They can’t wrap their heads around the movement. We can’t even wrap our heads around the movement. No one could define the complexity of the movement in words. Perhaps we could describe large parts of the movement via book and film. We can experience it. The truth is, we really can’t even wrap our head around the complexity of a single human being. We CAN experience being one. I wonder what labels OWS will adopt or be dubbed. I wonder what labels Occupy Petaluma will adopt or be dubbed.
So, this is a time of shedding. Not thinking about labels. Shedding some baggage. Refusing labels. I am looking forward to experiencing myself in the future. See what old labels come back, what new ones I might have adopted. Or if I just refuse to decide to ever call myself anything again.
Labels:
healing
Friday, November 04, 2011
Princesses
This beautifully sums up all my criticisms of Disney princesses (and a lot of those horrible sexist stories that fairy tales became). Except for the part about Disney's monopoly of princesses.
A couple months ago, when Ramona was wearing her princess dress, we ran into a little girl who insisted on knowing what princess Ramona was, (as in Ariel, Belle, Rapunzel, etc.) as she didn't recognize the dress. She could not fathom that princesses existed outside of Disney Characters.
A couple months ago, when Ramona was wearing her princess dress, we ran into a little girl who insisted on knowing what princess Ramona was, (as in Ariel, Belle, Rapunzel, etc.) as she didn't recognize the dress. She could not fathom that princesses existed outside of Disney Characters.
Labels:
gender
Monday, October 31, 2011
re-entry into life, rethinking the blog
As my crazy work schedule winds down, I find myself mired in the chaos of an unattended life. Not the good kind of chaos, the uncomfortable kind. The house in total disarray and me lacking the energy to do anything about it. The regret of missing the beginning of what seems to be the biggest social movement in my adult life. A feeling of estrangement from my daughter and fear of loosing our connection. A feeling of estrangement from society. The realization that in doing everything that I do, I can’t do anything well. Many things aren’t working, and as I reenter my life I see an opportunity to make some major decisions about it. I need to pair down.
I have started with the decision to forget working in public education. I can not meld into the professional world. I have spent too much time trying to fit into places that I don’t and I am done. And I hate the way that it has made me constantly want to correct people’s grammar (especially people’s tendency to use adjectives in place of adverbs). I loved the fluidity of the English language before it was netted in my standardization and Webster.
But outside education I am a writer, a videographer, and artist, a musician, a single parent, an activist, a “home educator,” an intellectual, a traveler and wanderer, a member of the working class, an urban homesteader…how do I manage? I want to spend time with people too!
I shall start with integration.
Video is a great tool. It is a job I feel comfortable doing. It is an outlet for creativity. It is something I can be paid for. It is a project I can do with my daughter, and help her learn. It is a way to document. Video is a tool for activism.
Writing is something I love. It keeps me sane. It is a form of activism for me. I recently stopped journaling after reading an article from someone I respect saying that in order to be a “famous “ writer, I should write for others, and not waste time journaling to myself. I took the advice and it had devastating effects. For me, writing is not only a mode of communication with the outside world, but a mode of communication with my inner self. I am an introvert and much of me is deeply buried. Writing is an exercise in digging. I am working on adding journaling back into my life. When I journaled regularly I liked my writing.
I am rethinking my blog. What is it here for? I liked it when more mothering was happening in my blogging. When my mothering looked like acts of rebellion. But really I guess it still is. I feel strong in my ideas about how to raise my daughter without regular schooling, at least for the short term. I have plans. I am determined to have a life that doesn’t revolve around my daughter as well. And integrated life is an act of rebellion.
I don’t feel like tackling the other stuff on my list right now…
We will see where all the sticks fall as I come out of super worker mode. 55 hour work weeks plus 6-7 hours of commute time is a lot, even for a hip mama. The cat is laying herself on my wrists as I type this.
I have started with the decision to forget working in public education. I can not meld into the professional world. I have spent too much time trying to fit into places that I don’t and I am done. And I hate the way that it has made me constantly want to correct people’s grammar (especially people’s tendency to use adjectives in place of adverbs). I loved the fluidity of the English language before it was netted in my standardization and Webster.
But outside education I am a writer, a videographer, and artist, a musician, a single parent, an activist, a “home educator,” an intellectual, a traveler and wanderer, a member of the working class, an urban homesteader…how do I manage? I want to spend time with people too!
I shall start with integration.
Video is a great tool. It is a job I feel comfortable doing. It is an outlet for creativity. It is something I can be paid for. It is a project I can do with my daughter, and help her learn. It is a way to document. Video is a tool for activism.
Writing is something I love. It keeps me sane. It is a form of activism for me. I recently stopped journaling after reading an article from someone I respect saying that in order to be a “famous “ writer, I should write for others, and not waste time journaling to myself. I took the advice and it had devastating effects. For me, writing is not only a mode of communication with the outside world, but a mode of communication with my inner self. I am an introvert and much of me is deeply buried. Writing is an exercise in digging. I am working on adding journaling back into my life. When I journaled regularly I liked my writing.
I am rethinking my blog. What is it here for? I liked it when more mothering was happening in my blogging. When my mothering looked like acts of rebellion. But really I guess it still is. I feel strong in my ideas about how to raise my daughter without regular schooling, at least for the short term. I have plans. I am determined to have a life that doesn’t revolve around my daughter as well. And integrated life is an act of rebellion.
I don’t feel like tackling the other stuff on my list right now…
We will see where all the sticks fall as I come out of super worker mode. 55 hour work weeks plus 6-7 hours of commute time is a lot, even for a hip mama. The cat is laying herself on my wrists as I type this.
Labels:
activism,
confusion,
creativity,
education,
parenting
Monday, October 17, 2011
Selling the body and the mind
Taking a minute to write. Something I haven’t done in a while. I worked 25 hours in on Saturday/Sunday. Might pull the same thing again tomorrow. Work comes in waves it seems. Just the way I like it. I had been remembering fondly my days working on the fish processor boats in Alaska. We would work all day every day for months, and then be set free with a large check to explore the world, or support our families. Some people think I am crazy for liking that sort of work, but I do. For one it is work. Like real honest work, and something of value is actually being produced. I have always been confused by people’s fear of work. Maybe because “labor” is so poorly paid. I was just saying a month ago, that if I could take my kid onto a fish processor boat in Alaska, that is what I would do.
When I work 30, 40, or even 25 hours a week for someone else, then go home and love my child and my garden, there is little time for me to work on my own creativity - writing, video, music, etc. My mind is dominated by a job. If my mind is already going to be dominated by a job (i.e. be a slave to it), I would much rather just be a “worker” full tilt every day all day and then get paid and go on my way, have my days back to do the things I want to do. I find it sad that so many people go through their life never really sure what they want to do…since we spend it working at a job or looking for a job.
I got a job on a farm. My daughter hangs out on the farm with the kids of the farm owners and the ponies and goats, and dogs…you get the picture. I do that 40-50 hours a week over 4 days. I don’t have to use my creativity or brain-power to make someone rich. The farm-owners pay 160% of the going rate for the workers (cause they are self-proclaimed socialists who shy away from buying machines to replace humans and play great music). My mind is free to have its own thoughts as I work (and I have jotted some amazing stuff down during my long hours). I may have to sell my body to make a life for my daughter and I but at least I don’t have to sell my mind. And I have always found labor work environments so much more tolerable and lively than the average office.
I also am partnered with a couple non-profits, both for whom I work about 6.5 hours a week for- admin, desktop publishing and video. So I work about 13 hours a week outside of the farm job. These jobs feel good. The farm job will last a two or three more weeks. Then the harvesting will be mostly over. I will be able to buy a bass amp, some clothes, pay off the credit cards, rethink my blog, join (physically) the Occupy Movement with my daughter (there’s talk of renting an RV at the farm), take my disabled mom (who lives off $850 a month) on a wonderful trip somewhere beautiful, and Ramona will finally get to meet her dad in Costa Rica.
When I work 30, 40, or even 25 hours a week for someone else, then go home and love my child and my garden, there is little time for me to work on my own creativity - writing, video, music, etc. My mind is dominated by a job. If my mind is already going to be dominated by a job (i.e. be a slave to it), I would much rather just be a “worker” full tilt every day all day and then get paid and go on my way, have my days back to do the things I want to do. I find it sad that so many people go through their life never really sure what they want to do…since we spend it working at a job or looking for a job.
I got a job on a farm. My daughter hangs out on the farm with the kids of the farm owners and the ponies and goats, and dogs…you get the picture. I do that 40-50 hours a week over 4 days. I don’t have to use my creativity or brain-power to make someone rich. The farm-owners pay 160% of the going rate for the workers (cause they are self-proclaimed socialists who shy away from buying machines to replace humans and play great music). My mind is free to have its own thoughts as I work (and I have jotted some amazing stuff down during my long hours). I may have to sell my body to make a life for my daughter and I but at least I don’t have to sell my mind. And I have always found labor work environments so much more tolerable and lively than the average office.
I also am partnered with a couple non-profits, both for whom I work about 6.5 hours a week for- admin, desktop publishing and video. So I work about 13 hours a week outside of the farm job. These jobs feel good. The farm job will last a two or three more weeks. Then the harvesting will be mostly over. I will be able to buy a bass amp, some clothes, pay off the credit cards, rethink my blog, join (physically) the Occupy Movement with my daughter (there’s talk of renting an RV at the farm), take my disabled mom (who lives off $850 a month) on a wonderful trip somewhere beautiful, and Ramona will finally get to meet her dad in Costa Rica.
Labels:
capitalism,
poverty
Monday, September 19, 2011
Working on Paradise
I was home for a day from camping, and then went to Mendocino to visit a friend. She happens to live in an intentional community. Its still forming. They have a beautiful house. Their first baby chicks ever hatched while we were there. So sweet. It was great and it was nice to feel so comfortable somewhere. I like it. Community. Self-sufficiency. They are eventually planning to be completely self-sufficient, off the grid, ect.
What else is great is that they live walking distance to a town. Boonville. In Mendocino County. I always picture the off-the-grid, intentional communities to be way out in the middle of nowhere for some reason. Off the grid can be in the middle of town! I used to live on the Mendocino Coast, which was amazing. When I spoke to people there, I didn’t feel like an alien like I do in most places. But due to the fact that I can’t weather the gray and fog and I got lonely so far from any urban center, I moved to Oakland, then Petaluma. Now Boonville is a little more populated that the Coast, closer to cities, and the weather is similar to here. And virtually no one wears make-up there. That right there sort of reflects the nature of the town. Fuck Fake, masks, status quo. Be your self. But then the grass is always greener on the other side. I would miss a music scene if I were there for one…
And I am not ready right now to move somewhere like that, or I would inquire on becoming a stakeholder. Right now I need to enjoy this place I just acquired, have some space and quiet for some inner searching and personal development. But it did inspire me to begin seeking likeminded people around me (I hear more and more are coming) and to work on my house, to bring back that feeling of self-sufficiency I was building a year or two ago. As soon as I got home I started working on making my home into a home, as well as writing on a piece I have been working on for a couple months called “Home.” I turned two dead areas of my yard into fertile (I hope) garden beds, planting carrots, beets, broccoli, snow and sugar peas. I moved two giant terra cotta pots to my upstairs porch which is the sunniest place I have to start my patio garden and Ramona planted a large pot of wildflowers in the yard. I started growing some sprouts in a jar today. AND I have begun looking at plans for building a small chicken coop, and asked my neighbors if they would mind chickens. Coincidentally, the neighbor behind my fence just got chickens yesterday. I am just a little nervous to ask the landlord. But I figure if I make the yard from a dead slab of dirt and weeds into a paradise, how can they say no? So I am working on the paradise part.
What else is great is that they live walking distance to a town. Boonville. In Mendocino County. I always picture the off-the-grid, intentional communities to be way out in the middle of nowhere for some reason. Off the grid can be in the middle of town! I used to live on the Mendocino Coast, which was amazing. When I spoke to people there, I didn’t feel like an alien like I do in most places. But due to the fact that I can’t weather the gray and fog and I got lonely so far from any urban center, I moved to Oakland, then Petaluma. Now Boonville is a little more populated that the Coast, closer to cities, and the weather is similar to here. And virtually no one wears make-up there. That right there sort of reflects the nature of the town. Fuck Fake, masks, status quo. Be your self. But then the grass is always greener on the other side. I would miss a music scene if I were there for one…
And I am not ready right now to move somewhere like that, or I would inquire on becoming a stakeholder. Right now I need to enjoy this place I just acquired, have some space and quiet for some inner searching and personal development. But it did inspire me to begin seeking likeminded people around me (I hear more and more are coming) and to work on my house, to bring back that feeling of self-sufficiency I was building a year or two ago. As soon as I got home I started working on making my home into a home, as well as writing on a piece I have been working on for a couple months called “Home.” I turned two dead areas of my yard into fertile (I hope) garden beds, planting carrots, beets, broccoli, snow and sugar peas. I moved two giant terra cotta pots to my upstairs porch which is the sunniest place I have to start my patio garden and Ramona planted a large pot of wildflowers in the yard. I started growing some sprouts in a jar today. AND I have begun looking at plans for building a small chicken coop, and asked my neighbors if they would mind chickens. Coincidentally, the neighbor behind my fence just got chickens yesterday. I am just a little nervous to ask the landlord. But I figure if I make the yard from a dead slab of dirt and weeds into a paradise, how can they say no? So I am working on the paradise part.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Getting out of a rut and plastering my face all over my house
Well, I haven't been writing anything for public, just private. Self-medicating, being uninspired, feeling trapped, going though loss feelings, gaining an X-guy...and going camping!
And wow, what a difference a few days away makes. I have to say I would implode if I were not able to travel. Since I can’t afford to really travel right now, I went with my daughter up to Sierra Foothills, next to the most beautiful river that I know of. Though I didn’t get silence due to my chattering daughter, I did get out of the rut that staying in my town, in my house puts me into. The first night I spent hours laying in the tent worrying about things at home, but soon the change of scenery disrupted my worry/thought loop.
By the end of the trip I was refreshed and full of ideas and to get back to work on my home and garden, to work on my writing and to work on my music playing. X-guy was completely out of my mind and I felt relieved to be free of him finally, after two weeks loss feelings. I hadn’t realized how much energy he sucked and how unmanageable our relationship was until I was able to look at it in hindsight. I was suddenly so much more grateful for the friends I have (sometimes I can take my relationships for granted).
I also decided to tackle something that has been bothering me forever, something I need to change for my own personal growth. Though my daughter is beautiful and very photogenic, almost every time I see a picture of myself, I am repulsed. When I look in the mirror it isn’t so bad, occasionally I even think I am hot, but seeing my face and expressions frozen in time is usually sort of hideous for some reason. It is annoying. I am not very judgmental of the way others look, though sometimes very beautiful women make me uncomfortable. Maybe jealously…cause jealousy is uncomfortable. I don’t have a hard time seeing beauty in a lot of people. Many times it is their uniqueness that I find beautiful. But not when I look at me. I am often afraid to be seen without make-up.
Growing up, my sister was the pretty one. My sister hated me and made sure I knew I wasn’t wanted, that I was repulsive. I was also very awkward and an easy target for kids as well as always being the new kid at school. I was also often the only white kid in a sea of children brought up in poverty and under white oppression. What I am trying to say is that I grew up thinking I was ugly, repulsive, disgusting. Then as a teenager I started getting some attention. But what I noticed is that the attention always seemed to be hinged on how sexy or pretty I made-up myself. All superficial stuff. So then I was like, oh guys like this fakeness I can project. They don’t like me.
So when I was camping I took many many pictures of my self. No make-up, dirty, in the morning, whatever. I decided to print them all out on 8x11 pieces of paper and hang them around my house. Stare at them every day. Stop being repulsed by me and rather see me as clearly as possible. Get used to my face, begin to appreciate my face. Start to draw my face. Self portraits. See what I really look like and then learn to appreciate it and see the beautiful uniqueness in my own face. Is that being extreme? In a way I think it sounds crazy, but on the other hand, I am tired of being repulsed by myself.
It would also help in my relationships with men. I am always suspicious when someone compliments me. I have this feeling, way down inside that they are saying what they are saying cause they want sex or something else. That they say it to everyone. I get "You're Cute." somewhat regularly (what does that mean anyway), but that is about as meaningful as saying "good job" to a child. And then if I think they really do think I am pretty, then I am afraid for them to see me on a bad day, au natural. It is very unhealthy and something I need to grow out of. Thus, weeks of staring at me shall commence, soon.
And wow, what a difference a few days away makes. I have to say I would implode if I were not able to travel. Since I can’t afford to really travel right now, I went with my daughter up to Sierra Foothills, next to the most beautiful river that I know of. Though I didn’t get silence due to my chattering daughter, I did get out of the rut that staying in my town, in my house puts me into. The first night I spent hours laying in the tent worrying about things at home, but soon the change of scenery disrupted my worry/thought loop.
By the end of the trip I was refreshed and full of ideas and to get back to work on my home and garden, to work on my writing and to work on my music playing. X-guy was completely out of my mind and I felt relieved to be free of him finally, after two weeks loss feelings. I hadn’t realized how much energy he sucked and how unmanageable our relationship was until I was able to look at it in hindsight. I was suddenly so much more grateful for the friends I have (sometimes I can take my relationships for granted).
I also decided to tackle something that has been bothering me forever, something I need to change for my own personal growth. Though my daughter is beautiful and very photogenic, almost every time I see a picture of myself, I am repulsed. When I look in the mirror it isn’t so bad, occasionally I even think I am hot, but seeing my face and expressions frozen in time is usually sort of hideous for some reason. It is annoying. I am not very judgmental of the way others look, though sometimes very beautiful women make me uncomfortable. Maybe jealously…cause jealousy is uncomfortable. I don’t have a hard time seeing beauty in a lot of people. Many times it is their uniqueness that I find beautiful. But not when I look at me. I am often afraid to be seen without make-up.
Growing up, my sister was the pretty one. My sister hated me and made sure I knew I wasn’t wanted, that I was repulsive. I was also very awkward and an easy target for kids as well as always being the new kid at school. I was also often the only white kid in a sea of children brought up in poverty and under white oppression. What I am trying to say is that I grew up thinking I was ugly, repulsive, disgusting. Then as a teenager I started getting some attention. But what I noticed is that the attention always seemed to be hinged on how sexy or pretty I made-up myself. All superficial stuff. So then I was like, oh guys like this fakeness I can project. They don’t like me.
So when I was camping I took many many pictures of my self. No make-up, dirty, in the morning, whatever. I decided to print them all out on 8x11 pieces of paper and hang them around my house. Stare at them every day. Stop being repulsed by me and rather see me as clearly as possible. Get used to my face, begin to appreciate my face. Start to draw my face. Self portraits. See what I really look like and then learn to appreciate it and see the beautiful uniqueness in my own face. Is that being extreme? In a way I think it sounds crazy, but on the other hand, I am tired of being repulsed by myself.
It would also help in my relationships with men. I am always suspicious when someone compliments me. I have this feeling, way down inside that they are saying what they are saying cause they want sex or something else. That they say it to everyone. I get "You're Cute." somewhat regularly (what does that mean anyway), but that is about as meaningful as saying "good job" to a child. And then if I think they really do think I am pretty, then I am afraid for them to see me on a bad day, au natural. It is very unhealthy and something I need to grow out of. Thus, weeks of staring at me shall commence, soon.
Labels:
confusion,
seeing,
tribulations
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