Something was pointed out to me, by one of my sisters no less, as to why people may be ignoring it [two posts back.] She didn’t say it like that but her question was, “What would posting that solve? Imagine him reading it. What would you want his response to be? What do you think it would be?“ I replied, “[It’s] Not really about him reading it, more of the people around him. Letting them know that someone they put on a pedestal is someone who would say something like this.”Her question was a valid and a good one. Another person said, “People would rather not deal with what they don’t understand or what they don’t want to understand.” These eased my anger and put me in a place of reflection and I came to a few conclusions.
I have very little feeling about how He responds it because I have learned that it is best not to carry the opinions of those who hurt you, but if I had to want him to have a reaction, I would want him to feel ashamed. Also, I am done being seen as the ‘evil one’ because people those around him only have half of the story. Anyone capable of saying things like that to a sexual abuse victim is not a white knight. Reasoning, why do I care about his friends? I wouldn’t want anyone to be friends with someone like that. I am also tired of awful people being praised. You wouldn’t praise someone who slapped and already wounded person, would you? I’m trying to change the way things work, I’m being the change I want to see.
It enrages and saddens me that people aren’t helping. Lack of understanding isn’t an excuse anymore; my mother doesn’t truly understand everything I’m going through but she is still trying to help, she isn’t be ignorant. The true issue is people not wanting to understand and to change because people are afraid of change. The more boastful they are, the least likely they are to actually help, but they continue to boast. I had already learned this but I only believed it when I asked for help yesterday and I’m not one of those Facebook users who posts, “Share this if…” I prefer action. Action like calling-out an asshole who criticizes someone going through PTSD from rape.
The action, the change, I want is for the true good people to win instead of those who are two-faced.
- Tagged action, anxiety, college, disorders, double standards, forward thinking, friends, grief, hating someone else, healing, ink skeleton, life, me, people, PTSD, rape, rape culture, reason, strong, surviving, time, truth, two-faced, understanding, women, writing
When do we lose out confidence? How does it happen? Why do we let things get to us?
Things have not been easy for me lately and the self hatred has been mounting. It has been impacting my grades and health more than I want to admit, so, instead of caving any further to my insecurities, I’m going to list my good qualities.
Sasha: “Smart, funny, playful, caring, creative, musical, lovely, lively, and loving.”
Deante: “Generally awesome.”
I’m a damn good writer. I make errors but I know how to grab a reader’s attention. I can play four instruments if you count my voice. I’m a good painting, sketch artist, potter, and designer. I write good songs and poems. I have a long memory. I can pull off wildly eccentric outfits. I have a talent for writing in Spanish. I know a lot about fitness, nutrition and mental health. I’m a great photographer and editor. I can bake like no ones business. I know a lot about animals and can usually recognize what animal by their bones. I’m good with History. Even though I suck at testing, I’m really good at math. I have wicked deduction skills. I’m good with cars, house repairs, and manual labor. I can work a hundred and five hour work week. I’m a natural at horseback-riding and driving. I’m strong mentally and physically. I’m loyal.
I’m not worthless.
- Tagged anit-self hate, anxiety, art, college, disorders, friends, ink skeleton, life, love, painting, people, reason, strong
This makes me very happy. Seriously, it does. I have been waiting like a creeper for it to return.
Much has happened since I last wrote. I finished my fall semester and I’m almost halfway finished with my second spring semester. I’ll be a sophomore by the summer. A sophomore in college. I don’t know how to process the realization that I’ve gone from a little fifteen year-old (I felt old then, though) to who I am now. It’s strange because looking back at pictures, I don’t look different aside from my hair. I have changed and there is no doubt about that.
Since I wrote:
I’ve been through a couple of breakups. My firsts. Those were fun. Not.
I know a lot of Spanish.
I’ve made more friends. They actually want to hang out with me.
I can play bass, sing and the piano.
My drawing has improved like a bad-ass.
I’ve gotten skinnier.
Been through some serious trauma.
Started my comic The Crazies.
I’m almost a sophomore.
I got a haircut.
The band got a song recorded.
I’m driving and I’m a good driver. Seriously! My parents trust me with the nice car.
I’m allowed to get a job this summer.
Then I shall use the money for another tattoo.
I got a tattoo? I think I wrote about that.
I have a reputation for my photography.
The lead singer of Panic At The Disco says I have a beautiful voice.
I can sight-read like a boss.
I found more skeletons.
Mom is urging me to start selling them.
Mom thinks it would be a cool idea to get one of my own skeletons tattooed on me.
I get called attractive a lot. (Weird.)
I’m almost nineteen.