Aaaaand I'm back!

Yay! I'm back!
I got to South Carolina on Saturday, and let me tell you, it has been a wonderful time so far. Riding horse, getting lessons, seeing friends, listening to music, and sleeping in a quiet house.
I went to my litte sister's play on Sunday night, and it was extremely enjoyable. All of the kids did a wonderful job, and the producers and directors were awesome as well. I enjoyed socializing afterwards with everyone, although I must have answered the same questions a million times- "Where are you living now?" "How is your mom?" "How many siblings do you have now?" "What have you been doing with yourself?"- and now my life is even more boring than even I thought it was.
SO far this week, Jewel and I have just been going over old memories, laughing at them, and creating new ones. I mean, how many times do you get to say, "Ouch! the ceiling hit me in the face!"
Glo is gone this time around, and I really miss her. There isn't anyone to scold us when we stay up too late, or give out back massages, or take us into town whenever we want. I miss her quite a bit, but I know she is having fun where she is. And I'm really happy for her.
I got my first English riding lesson the other day, and it was really interesting. I'm just so used to Western that I could hardly do it right. But I think I managed to sit right once for about 3 seconds, so it's a step in the right direction!
Right now though, I need to sign off cause it's not raining as much anymore and WE SHOULD PROBS HEAD DOWN TO DHEC JULES- sorry had to yell that at her.
Lataaaaasss!

Learning to be Happy

So this was my epiphany over the summer, thanks to my wonderful therapist and just my time away from school:

I was miserable last year. I was bullied, depressed, angry, and learning to deal with a new me. Over the summer, I decided to live it up. Be happy.
And I was.
Every day, I slept in late, and stayed up and out of the house until at least 3 AM, sometimes later- a few times I didn't get home til my dad was up getting ready for work and I'd walk in the door. I was tired, but I was so happy.
I was spending most of my weeks with my boyfriend, his sister, her boyfriend (who is also my best friend), her best friend (who is now my best friend as well), and their dad. We stayed up late playing Dungeons and Dragons, Pinochle, Poker, Wizard, video games, going to Geeksboro, chillin' in my backyard, attempting urban exploring at night, all sorts of things. Often it was 2 AM and the night was still young.
During all this, we all got closer. This was our group.

And for the first time in a very, very, long time, I was somewhere where I felt accepted for who I was, disorders, weird quirks, and all, and I felt like I belonged.
And that is the best feeling ever.
This led me to realize that I deserve to feel happy. I deserve to feel loved. My past has nothing to with my present, and I am free to really be me. No more religion clouding my views. No more abuse. No more worrying about what will make others happy.

Instead, I started thinking about what would make me happy. When I get old, what am I going to say about my life? That I was sad, but I made others happy? Or that I didn't worry about what made others happy, and I made myself happy, and didn't worry about what people would think of my tattoo 40 years down the road when it starts to fade?
My view now is that as long as I am happy now, I will be happy later because I will have some amazing memories to share. Not being stupid to make myself happy, but actually having fun with people I love who love me.
So when band camp came around, I was ready to take on my senior year. I started coming out of my shell and making myself known and it has already worked miracles for me. I have more friends than I did last year.
I stood up for myself to the guy that has bullied me since freshman year and we are almost friendly to each other.
I am Uniform Manager for my band and it's awesome being able to make Kimbrough's job easier, plus making going to the games easier to get ready for. And I'm still ready to take on senior year.
I'm a big girl now. It's time to pull on my steel toed shoes and step out into the real world, no matter how scary and terrifying it is. And I'm thankful to my mom and step dad for forcing me to see the raw stuff, and not sheltering me from everything that's out there.
Cause now I feel like I'm actually ready.
I don't have everything figured out- far from it. I feel like I can't see any type of future for myself anywhere, and that scares me. But as long as I am happy, and as long as I keep trying, there will be something out there for me.

So I'm going over the Holocaust for my US History class.

I didn't know until a few months ago that the word Holocaust actually meant something.
It means, "Burnt Sacrifice."

When I was sitting in class, we had just finished watching some footage from Auschwitz, the death camp. I was already feeling nauseous and my head was screaming (I'm an impath, which is a different conversation/story you can message me about if you want, so it's doubly bad for me), but when I heard that definition, I almost threw up from the impact.

Burnt Sacrifice. God's chosen people, his holy children, burnt as a sacrifice. A peace offering? A sin offering? Retribution? Repentance? And what for? They are his chosen ones, Abram's offspring. Does a father give his favorite son the worst punishment of all?
The torturing, the screaming, the brutality, the insanity of this insanity?

I really appreciated what was carved on the cell wall of one victim- it echoes so many feelings inside, not only of my own life, but of the Holocaust: "If there is a God up there, he's going to have to beg my forgiveness."

Rant #2.

I somehow don't know where to begin this one. This one is a very touchy subject for me for many reasons. I don't want to upset people, but this probably will. I don't want to disappoint people, but this probably will. I will probably shock most of you and my dad and/or stepmom will probably call me in the next few days (love you guys!).

I saw a post earlier today by none other than the esteemed Kirk Cameron. Yeah, I like the guy. He seems pretty cool, and he's got a good sense of humor. But I disagree with him on some stuff (who agrees with everything someone believes?).

(SIDE NOTE: trying to keep my computer alive right now, this power cord doesn't really work and this might end up being posted later than I wanted it to. It's currently 2 in the morning and my meds are keeping me up but my mind is so tired I just want to sleep forever so this power cord thing might just be the last straw for tonight.)

So back to the post by Kirk.

It was about how sad premarital sex is.

Really? Really.

Ok, so, big deal. I've been taught since birth that you don't do shit with a guy until you're married. I mean, I grew up Amish. You don't even look the guy in the eyes until your wedding day (slight exaggeration there...maybe), much less hold hands, kiss, and no one even thinks about having sex because that is an unmentionable. I'm not getting into the different types of Amish here, so don't call me out on my Amish dating techniques. I know they all vary as much as different planets, I'm just giving the example of what type I grew up with.
So what is the big deal????
The big deal is, I don't agree with him. I don't agree with the way I was raised. I don't really *Want* to wait until my wedding night.
I admire the bravery of those of you who were virgins (or will be) on your wedding night.

I also admire your pain threshold. That shit is a mother.

My big deal is, why are we making our kids feel bad for taking part in something that is perfectly normal?? Yes, it's pretty damn special.
Yes, you're becoming one with another person, be they male, female, trans, bi, asexual, whatever. It's pretty special. And I don't think you should have sex until you know for sure and batshit certain that they are The One.

That said, I'm not going to make people that have sex with others besides Their One feel bad. I'm not going to walk around slut shaming or judging or creating depressing fanfiction about girls that are miserable for having sex just to get people to stop having sex.
From the beginning, sex has somehow been an expression of love. I love you. Let me show you just how much by taking you to a whole new level of happiness, by waking up your body and your emotions in a way they never have before. And that's pretty fantastic.
But this doesn't mean that it's wrong to express love to other people before you get married. This was never meant to be a wrong thing, a dirty thing, something we quickly tell our children to get away from while watching shows about ruined life and shoving birth control and condoms down their throat.
All that does is confuse them and give them inhibitions about their first time, no matter the circumstances.
Especially now that we have so much porn and R-rated movies all giving us unrealistic expectations about our first time.
So much so that now we expect a certain length in guys and certain boob sizes are considered to be acceptable while other's are just plain unattractive.
Suddenly if we don't look like porn stars, if our first time or second time or hell, even our bajillionth time didn't go like our favorite porno, we are awful at sex and then the dissatisfaction begins and the downward spiral in relationships begins.

Am i saying that sex shouldn't be awesome?
Am I saying that it is not special?
Am I saying that we should walk around and have sex with everything and everyone in sight?

None of the above.
What I AM saying is that, if someone wants to have sex, don't hate them for it. Encourage them to use protection. Encourage them to not have high expectations for their first time. Tell them everything you wish someone had told you about their first time so that they are prepared for all of the obstacles and the don't despise themselves afterwards. You can even strongly recommend that they wait a little longer to know for sure that they are doing the right thing, that they aren't just thinking in the moment, that they've taken time to talk to their partner and logically go through things.

But please, no slut shaming, no disapproval, no condemnation. Let them decide. It's their body, their life, you have no choice in the matter.

"I've found my Prince Charming."
How many times have I said that about the truly charming man I have by my side, the one that the powers that be have given to me to provide me with a guide, a soul mate, and someone that fulfills every need? Too many.

Honestly, I never should have said it.

I HATE Prince Charming.

Let me explain. I love my boyfriend with the kind of love that when I was little, I never thought I could possess- I didn't understand it. I knew that it was special. I knew that it was powerful beyond words. I knew that it hurt like hell.
And I knew, above all else, it was worth whatever demons and devils you fought against just for that love. Because if you're going to have that love, you're going to have to fight for it, or else it just isn't real.

But, Prince Charming? Superman (sorry, mom)? Knight in Shining Armor?

No. These characters are all either superficial womanizers who are more shallow than the shallow end of a pool or, they place a spandex suit and polishing their armor above fighting for a love that lasts.

I am sorry, but you cannot have the kind of love that lasts at first sight. Am I a believer in a *kind* of love at first sight? Yes, absolutely. My boyfriend loved me like that the very first time he saw me. But that isn't the love he has for me now.

Prince Charming was just so enraptured by Cinderella's boobs that he had to have her (that dress had a low neck, guys), and couldn't remember her face even after a few moments, therefore had to travel his kingdom looking for that same rack. Superman loved his suit. And yes, he saved the city and the people in it. But how many times did he lie to Lois just because he was a coward and couldn't come out and confess his love for her even though he was a geek (nothing wrong with geeks, but it is what it is). He was not confident in himself, and you cannot love someone fully until you learn to love yourself. The Knights in Shining Armor. Psht. You have the problem right there.

His freaking armor is SHINY.

Not only has he then not fought in any battles, he is so concerned with catching girls with something shiny that he probably neglects his training and is a soft wimp by now.

I honestly prefer someone who's been through shit. Someone who knows what heartache and pain are. Someone who cares more about me, inside me, than my rack (which is basically nonexistent) and my looks and attracting me with shiny things.

Rant #1 over. Rant #2 coming soon.

I'm a Senior!!!
After these last two loooooonnng years of walking down the same old halls, sitting in the same old seats, listening to the same old teachers drone on and on about the difference between Mitosis and Meiosis, the reason WWII started, what the two meanings of the word 'Apostrophe' means, after playing the same 4 measures over and over, dissecting a polynomial by the Quadratic Formula and getting the wrong answer every time, after singing the same songs for months.....
I'm a Senior.
After skipping down the halls with my friends, being chased by my boyfriend for one last kiss before the bell rings, after sharing a snack during World History with a few kids who are as hungry as me, sitting beside a really shy kid as awkward as me and finding that we're both ok with being awkward together, after every day of getting to play my problems away through some of the most awesome music I have ever played in my entire life, after meeting a teacher who was willing to sit with me in the early mornings and explain to me *why* Trigonometry worked until I got it and was the class star at Trig and Stats, after finding my place and helping create music that will live on for future classes............

I'm a Senior.

It's my last year at Northern.
My last Marching Band Season.
And by God, we'd better go to another State Championship.
I used to watch the Senior's faces as we stood in the stands- watched them as they wondered if this would be their last game, their last Fight Song, their last crazy cheer, their last field show, their last crazy marching style back to the band room where we celebrated like family.

Now, that's going to be me. While I hold my flute or sax up high, I'm going to be wondering, in the back of my mind, Is this the last time I will celebrate for another touchdown? Is this the last time I will wear my uniform? is this the last time I will march through my drill, stand at attention and hear the applause of the crowd? Is this my last stand? That's going to be me!
I'm going to be the kid that looks at all the Juniors aching to get out and I'm going to tell them, don't wish your high school years away.

Yeah, it has sucked, and it has sucked hard.
And yes, I hate school.
But there are some things that I would stay in high school forever for.
Marching Band, and every single moment that comes with it- the good, the bad, the ugly, the bitchy, the amazing, the fantastic.
Some of my teachers. Mr Simpson, Ms Barrentine, Mr Kimbrough. Life changing teachers- all personally interested in where you're headed and what they can do to help you get there.
Lunch ladies that dance with you in the cafeteria after school while you're celebrating the last day of school.
Random bus drivers that let you get in their bus so you can ride home with your friend.
Guidance counselors that surround you to help you graduate early, Principles and administrators that tease you and say hello every time they see you.

When I graduate, I'm going to walk out of those doors crying, but smiling through my tears.
Because I did it. I worked and fought through online classes, bullies, and fake friends just so I could have the honor of being one of Northern's first few students to graduate early. Just so I didn't have to stay in school til I was 20.
I'm going to walk up on that stage, get my diploma, and throw my cap in the air because I made it. Against all odds, I made it.
But I'm going to cry.
Because- no more marching band. No more late night parties where we celebrate another football game won. No more running up to Kimbrough after the game to get a celebratory hug and no more band camp.
No more watching Kimbrough dunk a basketball on his birthday. No more tugging and pulling and readjusting stinky uniforms that make us feel so tall and proud. No more gloves that don't fit, no more freezing nights where we huddle together to keep warm as we watch the football team score.

How bittersweet is this?