{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia","title":"I do not want people to be agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.","subtitle":"Exercises in Reverse Culture Shock","author":{"name":"Best fuck-up this side of the Mississippi."},"link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"service.feed","type":"application\/x.atom+xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom","title":"I do not want people to be agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them."}}],"updated":"2010-06-30T02:12:00Z","entry":[{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:440132","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/440132.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=440132"}}],"title":"On being a very sweaty girl","published":"2010-06-30T02:03:34Z","updated":"2010-06-30T02:12:00Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"patriarchy"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"sweat"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"not so girlie"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"girlie"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"exercise"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"tennis"}}],"content":"I am a very sweaty human. I work out and suddenly, my body decides to eject all moisture via my pores. It is sort of disgusting.

As proof, when I came home from tennis tonight, everything I was wearing, with the exception of my sneakers, were soaked. With sweat. It was nasty. Granted, I biked to tennis and then played several sets in the sun before biking back. But I remain sweaty human being. An active, sweaty, human being.

I have never ever gained that lovely mythical equilibrium touted by deodorant companies, where you are just dewy when you exercise, not drenched in sweat. It generally looks something like this:



I look nothing like that. I look more like this:



When did I learn that it wasn't ok to sweat when exercising? That my body's natural reaction to me being hot is something to be ashamed of. Why do I see so many women in my local gym not exerting themselves to the point of sweating? And those of us who do, it's almost like a secret club. We nod at each other, as if to say, \"You're a sweaty human, I'm a sweaty human. We are here to sweat via exercise.\"

Granted, some of us are more dewy humans. But honestly, why is this a hang up for me? I am human, I like being active which causes perspiration. Why do I feel ashamed of it?

It's one of those ways that you're told you must be a girl or girl like in society. Can't be too active so you sweat a lot but you can't not be active, so you have to find this happy middle ground where you still hate your body for holding you back, but you can't just let go because then the patriarchy will kick you back into line via your female friends, your co-workers, media, and expectations.

So, to that I say, I was active today. I played my best tennis game yet, I biked, I walked, I drank lots of water, and my body is happy and sweaty, and the fact that I sweat through my sports bra and my t-shirt is a goddamn trophy saying I exerted myself and did a good job. That's all that matters, isn't it?"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:439370","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/439370.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=439370"}}],"title":"New Draft 5\/29\/10","published":"2010-06-01T01:38:27Z","updated":"2010-06-01T01:49:19Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"poetry"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"writing"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"drafts"}}],"content":" 
The heat settles heavily,
Crushing the body into the mattress;
Outside, the local drunks call to each other,
Echoing prayers for rain down main street.

The air suddenly lightens as if to answer
And when the rain comes,
with the weight of the air removed
the world exhales slowly,
while listening to the local drunks
shriek and duck for cover.<\/a>\ufeff"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:438274","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/438274.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=438274"}}],"title":"On questioning","published":"2010-05-03T16:33:49Z","updated":"2010-05-03T16:33:58Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"tired"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"thinking"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"religion"}}],"content":"Since I work at a Religious University, I am mandated as part of my contract to participate in certain religious ceremonies that directly relate to the university's activities. This weekend we had Baccalaureate prior to graduation. The sermon text was 1st Corinthians 13, which used to be a personal favorite. Now, the sermon actually had very little to with the passage, which is a pet peeve of mine, but that's neither here nor there and gave me time to think, which was nice.

For those of you who are not so religiously inclined, 1st Corinthians 13 is known as the love chapter. It presents and idealized view of love that is focused on service to others. It is commonly read at weddings because hey, it's the love chapter. As a young'un, I tried to live up to that ideal.

I've been really religious, not so religious and now I'm more of a strong agnostic than anything else, which has sort of happened over the past 6 months to year or so. A lot of the mental wrangling I've been doing recently has been encountering religion from the outside, which I'd never really done before, and questioning it. For instance,the idea that humanity is fatally flawed, which is actually a kinda horrible way to look at the world, because it assumes without intervention (divine, preferably), people are awful and will be horrible as a default. And I know I fall into that mental trap a lot. That's where 1st Corinthians 13 comes into play.

Basically, living up to that specific ideal is impossible and trying can make you unhappy because you spend so much time caring for others that you don't bother with yourself and then you spend your time sacrificing for others and not getting anything in return besides the assumption that you just do that and have no needs besides doing things for others out of love or a need to feel that you are being loving. Not to mention, after a bit, you start to believe that's the way you should be.

I think that I took things so literally that the only thing I wanted from relationships was to give, not any of the take and was attempting to be totally selfless. Thus the wonderful doormat impression that I do. It's part of the reason I'm very cautious of friends now, in that I don't know how to make friends very well without that doormat attitude and I assume the worst of people. Obviously this isn't the case for everyone, but I took shit kinda literally and that much literalism isn't good for the mind.

Tl;Dr: I used to believe, but now I don't really. I didn't question and now I do. I'm trying not to be a doormat anymore."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:435865","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/435865.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=435865"}}],"title":"ennia @ 2010-01-30T17:11:00","published":"2010-01-30T23:11:43Z","updated":"2010-01-31T21:53:32Z","category":{"@attributes":{"term":"pain"}},"content":"I don't like remembering that I was happy once, a long time ago. Happiness never lasts, and when it goes, it just reminds you how miserable you are now. It's like this stupid shining bubble of hope. I wish I didn't remember being happy. I wish I'd never been happy since it's so far away now and won't come again. It's not something I can learn, and therefore, I don't deserve it and it will never stay.

I don't deserve happiness, and never did and I wish the memories would just go away.


(Um, this is what goes on in my head when I go kinda crazy. 1-31-2010)<\/i>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:434741","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/434741.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=434741"}}],"title":"FYI","published":"2010-01-28T14:45:39Z","updated":"2010-01-28T14:45:49Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"cleaning"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"administrative stuff"}}],"content":"I just did a tiny little Flist clean. If you were removed accidentally, please tell me. I was only trying to remove deleted journals, not used ones."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:434375","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/434375.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=434375"}}],"title":"Yet another poem draft :\\","published":"2010-01-27T13:33:18Z","updated":"2010-01-28T04:47:30Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"poetry"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"drafts"}}],"content":"The stairs look like they've been there forever,
cracked and gray stone winding through the trees
that have sprouted in the large rock.
I feel that I have disturbed something in the shade,
That my scraped knees and ill fitting shorts do not belong
and will never belong in the shadows of rocks and trees
With the whispers of the river and the lake
Softly telling me that this quiet beauty
Is for those I cannot see."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:433295","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/433295.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=433295"}}],"title":"On Beauty","published":"2010-01-21T18:24:36Z","updated":"2010-01-21T18:44:27Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"beauty"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"politics"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"body issues"}}],"content":"I've sort of had these ideas rolling about for a few days. Mainly, our standards of beauty are screwed up beyond belief. We continually criticize ourselves(See Heidi Montag<\/a>, who recently got 10 surgeries at once to look nothing like herself) and the culture encourages it (see Christina Hendricks' recent press coverage<\/a>). We are sold things that solve problems we didn't<\/a> even<\/a> think<\/a> we<\/a> had<\/a>.

Therefore, I would like to declare a moratorium on saying bad things about yourself.

Please tell me in the comments, what you like best, in detail, about your physical appearance. You can pick more than one if you can't decide.



I love my eyes. I think they're pretty damn awesome. They're greenish hazel towards the center and sort of go out into dark green. And I have awesomely round eyes that look pretty no matter how little sleep I've gotten or how little makeup I put on. I wouldn't change them for the world. Not to mention, they aid in making funny faces frequently, so basically they're a win all around.

I like the fact that I have pretty insane hair. And by pretty, I mean both attractive and relatively. It makes life interesting and amusing."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:432993","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/432993.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=432993"}}],"title":"Archives and first hand accounts (AKA: The power of old documents)","published":"2010-01-19T03:27:14Z","updated":"2010-01-19T04:16:42Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"wounded knee"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"archives"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"documents"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"stories"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"thinking"}}],"content":"One of the reasons I adore what I do is the way that history is right there. The proof of what was said and done is on paper in front of you, and no matter how many years have passed, by reading and touching documents are a way to connect to others that you have nothing in common with, who you know nothing about, except that the information they knew was transferred to paper.

Needless to say, not everyone's information is that interesting. I really don't need to know about the issues with a military base, specifically ones that relate to plumbing. I don't really care that much and when you're reading pages of budgets, it isn't really information that really strikes you.

But sometimes, you read stories of such impact that it changes the way that you perceive the power of documentation.

Today, I worked on a file that contained first hand accounts from survivors of the Wounded Knee Massacre of 1890. First hand accounts of people who had lost family and friends, and watched them be gunned down in front of them. It's horrific, and sad, and horrible. When the accounts were written, many of the survivors were in their 70s or 80s. These were some of their last accounts of what happened there.

Documents tell stories. Some of them are just more obvious than others. The issue of plumbing at a Military base has a story behind it. Documents breath life into history and point to other stories that are waiting to be told.

Sometimes I forget that.

~~

I haven't even made it to reading the testimony in front of the sub-committee on Indian Affairs yet, so tomorrow could be a tad gory."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:424016","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/424016.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=424016"}}],"title":"On dance","published":"2009-12-12T03:19:47Z","updated":"2009-12-12T16:50:25Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"memories"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"health"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"exercise"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"things what i can do"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"mental health"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"dancing"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"parents"}}],"content":"I am hardly an expert, so this is going to be an extremely odd post.

Like so many things, it's been sort of drilled into my head that it was something I could not do, because it just \"wasn't [me].\" For instance, dancing seemed like something \"bad girls\" did. It involved moving one's body in odd ways, and titillating an audience. Or it was art, like ballet. And since I was fairly certain I couldn't do ballet, dancing was out of the question. This was not helped by me actually having all the grace of a baby giraffe with 4 left feet (I broke my toe tripping over nothing. Tell me that doesn't take some massive stores of awkwardness right there).

To be honest, I never liked dancing in high school or junior high, when most kids get on their dancing shoes. My arms and legs never seemed to want to go where they were supposed to (i.e. not hitting some other poor kid), and not to mention, body issues made me not really want to call attention to myself. I didn't learn to like dancing until I actually went to a club with some friends when I lived in England. And it was fun. The music was loud, I had had a drink, and I got down, awkwardly, with my bad self. But I haven't danced much since, besides doing silly dances in my kitchen (I am a master at silly kitchen dances).

Which brings us to this week. As some of you may know, I recently got a bellydance DVD<\/a>. After it arrived, it took me about 20 minutes to decide if I really wanted to try it. I am slowly working my way through bits of the DVD, and got to learn how to do undulations today. Needless to say, I didn't tell my parents, because omfg they would lose their shit. And on Wednesday, I went to my first dance class.

Class was fun, but apparently, I am not believable when I say I've never really danced before. As in, apparently I can pass for someone who has had dance classes. I mean, I'm taking the compliment with a hefty grain of salt, because, HA, I'm not that good after two weeks of DVD practice.

But on the other hand, if the instructor wasn't being overly flattering, then there's another thing that I was told I could not pick up with a bit of effort, that apparently I can do and pick up with a bit of effort.

So, neener, parental units. I can totally dance and apparently have always have been able to."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:422506","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/422506.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=422506"}}],"title":"In which an innocuous post about breakfast turns into something else entirely","published":"2009-12-06T16:12:41Z","updated":"2009-12-06T16:18:30Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"eating"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"issues"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"self-esteem"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"change"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"mental health"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"food"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"parents"}}],"content":"I have hot chocolate made with soy milk in a mug that's as big as my face and homemade french bread in a kitchen that has christmas lights. Best breakfast ever, Y\/Y? Only downside of the morning, I feel as though I have somehow strained a muscle under my boobs. I don't know how this would work, but whatever. Tylenol and light stretching should make that feel a bit better.

In more substantial news, I am trying to bully my way through this self-esteem book. Bully in that I am forcing myself to do it and read it. You know, instead of whining about like a 3 year old, I'm actually doing it no matter how hard it is. And it is hard. Really hard.

What led to the last three weeks' meltdown is tangentially related to the workbook.

You see, I'd been doing really well for a long bit there. I was feeling good about myself. I was cutting time off my mile. I was running better than I have since high school. I could go a week at work without feeling miserable and worthless (yeah, seems like a small deal, but it really isn't). I felt confident about my decisions at work and generally. My apartment was clean enough for me. Honestly, I was feeling better than I had been for a long time and I was relatively happy (aside from hating the town, but self-esteem can only do so much). Life wasn't perfect, and yeah, issues remained, but not feeling completely shitty about yourself helps a lot.

But being around my parents is like this sucking black hole of self-esteem. And I didn't realize it until I had some self-esteem to suck. Was I happier without self-esteem? No. Am I happier with it? Debatable, because now I know how bad things are, which doesn't really lead to being happy or content with ones choices.

While having some self-esteem is great, I don't have enough of it to ignore what my parents say. It becomes this horrible sinking feeling that every time I go home for some reason, I'm going to end up in a worse place than before. Perhaps it won't happen. Maybe I'll go home, have a grand old time, don't end up in nasty fights with my mother, and don't have another horrible realization like that no one ever listened when I talked about things I was interested in. Also, maybe it'll snow in hell this year.

So, for the first time ever, I am dreading Christmas and hoping I regain enough self-esteem to survive."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:421432","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/421432.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=421432"}}],"title":"procrastination on writing is best done with PIE.","published":"2009-12-04T02:08:02Z","updated":"2009-12-04T02:09:47Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"noform"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"trying stuff"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"living"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"drafts"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"parents"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"poetry"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fear"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"mental health"}}],"content":"Clawing towards something
Not knowing if you're going up or down
Not seeing a light to catch your bearings
Not understanding the language of currents
Not touching the mysterious goals.
Wondering at what point you should give up;
When reaching for a moving nothing
Is no longer what you need,
But instead to simply quit and
Gently float to the bottom.
All the while, frightened that the world
Flipped since the last time
You stopped struggling to keep up."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:420721","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/420721.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=420721"}}],"title":"This was going to be something completely different.","published":"2009-12-02T02:11:16Z","updated":"2009-12-02T02:12:40Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"opinions"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"profanity"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"weight"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"reposting"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"health"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"body issues"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"haes"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"public posts"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"food"}}],"content":"But then I wrote something better. As some of you may know, I'm a commenter on the website Jezebel. I used to be less comment happy, but whatever. Today there was a post that related to Health at Every Size (From now on known as HAES).

A bit of background: I not only recently discovered that my gallbladder was borked with a nice polyp, but also that I have a hypothyroidism. I realized this by fainting and throwing up at work multiple times, and gaining 20lbs in less than a year, which led to fun tests and surgery.

As part as this fun story, my parents told me I was getting fat, and were horrified to realize how much I weight. For reference, last I was weighed\/measured (on no food, in a hospital gown), I was 5'9 and weigh 160 some pounds. I am by no stretch of the goddamn definition fat. But my parents made me feel that I was fat. Which brings us to today's comments on Jezebel, which I will repost because they made me feel a bit good to put these thoughts down.

\"I am of what is considered normal weight, however, I am heavy for me. I gained about 20lbs in less than a year from a medical condition. And holy shit, suddenly judgy mcjudgerpants came out from everyone. My mom and dad called me chubby and fat, my co-workers told me I should eat better, and my guy friends were like \"WOO HOO, BOOBS\" (Some of my male friends are less than mature).

Oddly enough, HAES helped me accept the fact that my body was going through a bit of a moment. Bodies do that. You have health issues and stress and other issues. What I learned was that I shouldn't exercise because of the comments and try to lose weight, but I should exercise because it made me feel good. And you know what, I am (or will be once the doctor lets me again. Gallbladder polyps = Bitches) and it does make me feel good. And that's why I do it. I'm probably not going to lose weight until they get this health issue figured out, but who cares?

My worth isn't determined by a number on a scale or on the back of my trousers. And neither is my health. Because the number says I'm healthy, but really, that means absolutely jack squat.\"

In response to another poster who said she's made to feel that the only way she can be complimented is if she loses weight or is perceived as losing weight:

\" I had that happen before surgery (not after, as you tend to be really swollen), and my parents are all \"You haven't lost weight?\" Well, no, but because I've been getting healthier and stronger, I look a bit thinner. But it doesn't matter. What matters is if you feel good about yourself. Basically, my response was \"So?\"

I guess what I'm trying to say is, maybe you shouldn't worry about losing weight. I'm sure you're lovely and have loads of awesome things going on for you, oh internet person I have never met.

Take care of yourself with awesome food* and things that you enjoy and you'll feel a bit better. I'm not saying it's a cure-all. but it helps a bit to make it about you, not them. Do exercise that you like because you like it and because you want to do it. Or try things because you want to try it.

I still have my bad days. I've been having a fair number of them as of late, but it helps a bit to do what you enjoy for yourself and tell everyone else to fuck themselves. It's your body and life and not theirs.

Side effects of HAES are that it's great for your mental health to realize that maybe your body isn't what makes you awesome or not awesome. You have the same level of awesome no matter what you weigh or what size you fit into.

In short: *Cuddles* Been there, still there, still doing that, so I understand. But you're pretty damn awesomesauce just as you are. Gaining or losing weight won't change that basic fact.

* I enjoy food. A lot. So awesome things for me tend to involve tasty food.\""},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:420578","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/420578.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=420578"}}],"title":"Ennia can't find her regular person words today.","published":"2009-12-01T17:23:21Z","updated":"2009-12-01T17:24:49Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"lack of people words"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"bored"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"poetry"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"work"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"editing"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"not actually drinking at the moment"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"poor metaphors"}}],"content":"I catalog the mental scars,
creating my own personal collection
of classified memories,
Each with it's own title,
and subject and effects,
In a morbid science experiment of my own.

As I feel the need to rip open
the scars and scabs
that make up who I am, as if,
despite the many years,
I can drain the poisons from my mind,
Drip by burning drip,
Testing them for reality before
Placing them on display as old objects.

I catalog the varieties in my head.
Each drop adding to the index
But not lessening the agony of each.
By knowing what they are,
I might come up with an antidote,
that can exists without
the wine in this glass."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:420318","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/420318.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=420318"}}],"title":"you have all the power and I\u2019m petrified of you","published":"2009-12-01T00:53:09Z","updated":"2009-12-01T00:57:36Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"self-esteem"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"self-confidence"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"profanity"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"language"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"change"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"archives"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fuck this is gonna suck"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"everyone else"}}],"content":"Why is it so hard to call things what they are?

I'm having a time of it trying to reconstitute after the week. It sounds weird, but seems accurate. Like I'm trying to reform into myself after a week of fitting into other people's molds to avoid all out conflict.

Part of it is the lingering depressive episode I had before I went home, that I kinda squashed with a run on Thursday before surgery, and the other part is self-esteem stuff which means in part that you recognize that you are being or were treated badly. This, while I've been trying to practice it, hurts a lot. Because not only do you have to realize that you've been treated badly, those actions come with names like abuse and neglect.

Recognizing stuff means unpacking everything that I've taken for normal and placing it into these neater little boxes that say, \"This is what I was told about my worth\" and then mentally exploding it. It also means second guessing some of my decisions in the past, and that hurts even more. Did I do something because I thought I wasn't worthy to do something else? Did I make that choice to hide or did I really want to do it? Did I make those choices for a specific reason or because I was told it was the wiser thing to do?

Part of this is recognizing what I thought was a support system had huge gaping holes in it, in which my opinions were not valued and my activities were seen as worthless unless they fell within certain parameters. And that this was wrong. My dad always tells me not to take things personally, but when your major support system is your parents, ignoring what they think becomes problematic.

I'm not saying I'm an angel, I could have done things differently. I could not melt into the little mold they want of me next time I go home, or I can do what I want without telling them. But at times it seems like they have such a hold over who I am as an individual that I'm not sure I can stand up to them.

I would be lying if I said part of this wasn't motivated by a tiny* bit of jealousy. I want to be just like everyone else so badly. Someone who has interests and fuck the haters, who doesn't have to dissect everything to see if they're honestly responding to stuff or if they're just doing what people expect them to. I'm sick of having to work on this shit that seems to come so easily to everyone else. And I'm scared about what will happen if I finally am like everyone else and don't have to do this constant battle anymore, to shelve it for use on rare occasion of exceptional bad days. I'm scared about what will happen if I don't do this.

I just want this remembering to stop.

*Understatement of the century.<\/small>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:419464","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/419464.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=419464"}}],"title":"More drafts.","published":"2009-11-28T02:27:38Z","updated":"2009-11-28T02:27:49Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"feminism"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"poetry"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"tired"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"drafts"}}],"content":"The day you first realize that life is unfair
Is the day you first enter the fray
And it is the first day you understand
That fighting back is not something girls do.
And that fairness only matters when you fight
But that you don't have to fight for yourself.<\/i>

So, as they slowly remove your life, stripping bits
Of your dignity and your rights through neglect
At some point, you realize that you have no choice but to fight
As the people who said they would stand join in confrontation
Gently step back to those who would restrict your speech<\/i>,
While telling you your time has not come.<\/i>

When you fight you are called strident,
Shouted down by those who do not value your shouts
And only listen when someone like them speaks for you.
But taking up arms to fight them hurts
And the fighting leaves you beat,
As you insist your voice is legitimate.

But if every word you utter gives another thirst
and reason to start fighting.
While the constant battle rages
Between reality and fantasy;
Reality means the bout continues,
Taking a bit of you with the clouts.<\/i>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:417417","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/417417.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=417417"}}],"title":"ennia @ 2009-11-19T22:50:00","published":"2009-11-20T04:50:55Z","updated":"2009-11-20T04:57:39Z","content":"Clawing towards something
Not knowing if you're going up or down
Not seeing a light to catch your bearings
Moving towards nothing"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:415490","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/415490.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=415490"}}],"title":"HERE, HAVE A POEM.","published":"2009-11-15T23:46:58Z","updated":"2009-11-16T00:29:51Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"feminism"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"noform"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"poetry"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"drafts"}}],"content":"The day you first realize that life is unfair
Is the day you first enter the fray<\/i>
And it is the first day you understand
That fighting back is not something girls do.
And that fairness only matters when you fight for it.

So, as they slowly remove<\/i> your life, stripping bits<\/i>
Of your dignity and your rights through neglect
You realize that you have no choice but to fight
As the people who said they would stand join in confrontation<\/i>
Gently step back to those who would restrict your very presence.

When you fight you are called strident,
Shouted down by those who do not value your shouts<\/i>
And only listen when someone like them speaks for you.
But taking up arms<\/i> to fight them hurts<\/i>
And the fighting leaves you beat,<\/i>
As you insist your voice is legitimate<\/i>.

But if every word you utter gives another thirst
and reason to start fighting.<\/i>
While the constant battle
Between who you are and who you ought to be
Rages between reality and fantasy
Choosing reality means the bout continues.<\/i><\/i>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:415166","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/415166.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=415166"}}],"title":"Draft2","published":"2009-11-12T02:46:27Z","updated":"2009-11-12T02:46:40Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"alcohol"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"noform"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"poetry"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"writing"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"new"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"drafts"}}],"content":"My friend says
\"Society makes a good scapegoat.\"
And she is right.
For what else explains
The fear
The self-loathing
The abuse
That I inflict on myself?

If I can blame something
outside of my self,
Why doesn't the blame fall on me
for the choices I made,
Or the lack of choices I had?

And why do I feel
the need to rip open
the scars and scabs
that make up who I am, as if,
despite the many years,
I can drain the poisons from my mind,
Drip by burning drip

I catalog the varieties in my head.
Each drop adding to the index
But not lessening the agony of each.
By knowing what they are,
I might come up with an antidote,
that can't exist without
the drops of dark wine
spilling out of my glass."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:414941","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/414941.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=414941"}}],"title":"New poem of the day.","published":"2009-11-12T02:04:42Z","updated":"2009-11-12T02:57:48Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"poetry"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"writing"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"activist"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"public"}}],"content":"The day you first realize that life is unfair
Is the day you first begin to fight.
And it is the first day you understand
That fighting back is not something girls do.
And that fairness only matters when you fight for it.

So, as they slowly strip away your life
And your dignity and your rights through neglect
You realize that you have no choice but to fight
As the people who said they would stand for you
Gently step back to those who would restrict your very presence.

When you fight you are called shrill,
shouted down by those who do not value your voice
And only listen when someone like them speaks for you.
But taking up your arms to fight them costs too much
And the fighting leaves you drained,
As you insist you deserve to be heard.

But if every word you utter gives another hope
Or reason to start fighting.
While the constant battle
Between who you are and who you should be
Rages between reality and fiction
Choosing reality means the fight never ends."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:414240","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/414240.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=414240"}}],"title":"Not poetry. Gasp, shock.","published":"2009-11-07T16:03:01Z","updated":"2009-11-07T16:28:25Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"competition"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"self-esteem"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"open invitations to defriend"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"religion"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"thoughts"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"success"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"writing"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"abuse"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"bite me"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fear"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"rant"}}],"content":"I feel like I owe people an apology for not posting, not keeping in contact, and suchlike. But I also know that I don't owe anyone such an apology. This blog is kept sort of at will, and I haven't had much of that for the past year or so.

Needless to say, I've been busy. And miserable. On the other hand, I've learned a fair bit about myself and hopefully, some of the changes I'm making in my life will continue that sort of thing. I've also come to accept some of the things in both my past as what they were: Assault and pretty consistent verbal abuse. If you participated in it at all, fuck you. Seriously, go jump off a cliff and die. I can and will do better without you in my life.

I'm setting distinct boundaries now about how I wish to be treated and talked to. I'm also setting similar boundaries about where I go and hang out with. I've made a choice that quite frankly, I know some of you will dislike, but you know what? I'm going to be better for it, and if you disagree, well, that's your problem, not mine.

As part of these realizations, I have noticed that I've been stopped from doing things I want to do or things that would make me happy. I am at a point where I'm not entirely sure what I want to do or can do, or what makes me happy because I was afraid what other people would say or think.

Take this as an open invitation to kiss my ass. If I want to wear a lower cut top or sweater sleeves as leggings because I like it, I will. If I want to go play pool at the bar, I will. If I want to point out that you're being an ass, I fucking will. If I want to rant about feminism and rape culture, and my readings about religions, hell, and the kick ass awesomeness that is Milton, I will.

I'm through with this bullshit and I'm gonna do what I want. I'm not obligated to make you like me.

related: \"Once you become a \u201cvictim,\u201d you become open to the charges that you had any kind of a real choice, and were just too stupid and deserving of punishment to make the right one.\"<\/a>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:414086","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/414086.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=414086"}}],"title":"And now, for something completely different.","published":"2009-11-06T01:36:32Z","updated":"2009-11-06T01:37:01Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"alcohol"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"noform"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"poetry"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"writing"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"new"}}],"content":"My friend says
\"Society makes a good scapegoat.\"
And she is right.
For what else explains
The fear
The self-loathing
The abuse
That I inflict on myself?

And why do I feel
the need to tear open
the scars and scabs
that make up who I am, as if,
despite the many years,
I can drain the poisons from my mind,
Drip by drip

I catalog the varieties in my head.
Each drop adding to my knowledge,
But not lessening the agony.
By knowing what they are,
I might come up with an antidote,
that doesn't exist
outside of the drops of wine
that spill out of my glass."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:413920","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/413920.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=413920"}}],"title":"More drafts.","published":"2009-11-04T23:51:03Z","updated":"2009-11-05T00:00:24Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"poetry"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"writing"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"drafts"}}],"content":"Changed lines are in italics.

Draft 3

My lover's hair has waves as the ocean
It slides like water upon the sand
Upon the sheets in an unending motion.
But as she sleeps, the caressing hand
Maneuvering in the waves like a ship
Lost in a vast sea of darkening curls
As if the fingers would begin a trip
Loosening the hair into whirls
Showing the restful curve of her head
Or the line of small gold circlets in her ear
She shifts imperceptibly in the bed
Sighing at my gentle caress nearer<\/i>
Feeling her breath as a breeze
As it drifts across my own seas."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:413614","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/413614.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=413614"}}],"title":"Poetry\/sonnet returns.","published":"2009-11-03T03:19:18Z","updated":"2009-11-03T03:40:17Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"poetry"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"writing"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"drafts"}}],"content":"Changed lines are in italics.

Draft 2.

My lover's hair has waves as the ocean
It slides like water upon the sand
Upon the sheets in an unending motion.
But as she sleeps, the caressing hand
Maneuvering in the waves like a ship<\/i>
Lost in a vast<\/i> sea of darkening<\/i> curls
As if the fingers would begin a trip<\/i>
Loosening the hair into whirls
Showing the curve of her head
Or the small rings in her ear
She moves slightly in the bed
Sighing at the touch near'r
For<\/strike> feeling her breath as a breeze
As it drifts across my own seas.<\/i>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:413423","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/413423.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=413423"}}],"title":"Po-mo? Sonnet-esque (if you play a bit fast and loose with some of the rules)","published":"2009-11-02T03:44:43Z","updated":"2009-11-02T04:12:33Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"omgtehgayz!"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"poetry"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"writing"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"trying stuff"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"form"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"sonnet"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"ocean"}}],"content":"


My lover's hair has waves as the ocean
It slides like water upon the sand
Upon the sheets in an unending motion.
But as she sleeps, the caressing hand
Moves in the waves like a ship
Lost in a sea of dark curls
As if the hand would tip
Loosening the hair into whirls
Showing the curve of her head
Or the small rings in her ear
She moves slightly in the bed
Sighing at the touch near'r
For she is a whirlpool
Like the sea, her hair remains cool<\/a>
"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ennia:412933","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/412933.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/ennia.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=412933"}}],"title":"Poetry (edit)","published":"2009-10-30T00:18:27Z","updated":"2009-10-30T01:44:39Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"poetry"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"writing"}}],"content":"Poetry should be inscribed on the skin
like freckles
And scars
Poetry should run through veins
like blood
and infection
Poetry should burn the body
like fever
and fire
Poetry should be branded on the skin.<\/strike>


or<\/center>

Poetry should be inscribed on the skin
like freckles
And scars
Poetry should run through veins
like blood
and infection
Poetry should burn to the bone
like fever
and fire
Poetry should be branded on the skin."}]}