Stigmas and The Lives We Live

There’s a thousand different things that can happen in a day. We can create a reason for a stranger to smile, we can find money on the ground, we can find love or heartbreak, and something that happens on a daily is, we are judged. There are so many different stereotypes and taboo things in this world. Some of them I get, but some of them I can’t wrap my head around. We were never created to be these perfect beings. We all have flaws, and none of that should fully overshadow how people see us. I get it, I am a far cry from perfect. I haven’t had the best time growing up, and that has affected me in many different ways. I’ve been abused in many different ways, I’ve felt like crap about myself, I’ve had good self-esteem and terrible self-esteem. I’ve made my rounds, and that’s okay. I’m human. I eat, I sleep, I breathe, and I mess up. Sometimes it can be larger than other times. Why should that define me as a person? Aren’t we taught to not look back? So why do we allow our pasts to mark our futures with a label?

A little back story about me. I grew up in foster care. Not because my parents didn’t love me, but because they likely weren’t ready to be full time parents, and that’s okay. They didn’t love each other, but they did love us. I was sexually assaulted at the age of three. No I do not remember it, but I do have the paperwork to prove it. I moved into one foster home when I was nine years old. Everything seemed okay. I got to talk to my mom and dad every now and then. Two years after moving in, I found out that my nana passed away. That was probably around the last time I spoke to my mom, until I was a legal adult. Not because I didn’t want to talk to her, but because CAS (children’s aid society) decided that we would be better off without her in our lives. They were wrong.

The only mother figure I grew up with was my foster mother. She was a terrible woman. Because of her I have a hard time dealing with women trying to “mother” me. Remember how I was nine years old when I moved in with them? Well by the time I last saw my mother I was eleven. I was a tomboy, and I had some behavior issues. That’s pretty normal for a kid my age. When middle school started, things went slightly down hill. By the age of thirteen I had begun to self harm. Why, you may ask. Well my foster mother and I didn’t get along very well. We had very different opinions on things, I was bullied in school, and my brother disappeared, moving to a different home all together. My world flipped upside down that summer before I started high school. Now my social worker at the time wasn’t the best either. My foster mother was abusive to me. Not in a physical way, so I guess to some people it didn’t count. But because of her my self esteem was lower than it ever had been. She’d make me feel fat and ugly. I would wear a little bit of make up on my eyes (emo phase), a lot of dark colours, and skinny jeans, and I looked like trash. I wasn’t allowed pants smaller than a size 7 (26/27) or else they weren’t flattering. But if I dressed like a girl, I looked like a slut. The shirts she’d pick out, or that she’d get me as a present, were skimpy or inappropriate. There was no surviving her onslaught of mental, emotional, and verbal abuse. But again, that’s not physical, so I was actually okay. (please note the sarcasm)

The self harm continued deep into my high school years. All the way through to grade 12 to be exact. So did her abusive ways. I had a therapist, but at one point, my foster mother decided that it wasn’t working, so I stopped going. I found out my boyfriend of a year had cheated on me with my anorexic friend, which happened at a time that I felt the most ashamed of my body weight, which wasn’t that much. I’ve been 130-135 pounds since I was about fifteen. I found out after I had tried to kill myself. My foster mother forced me to go to the hospital, only to tell them that it was nothing more than for attention. I had over 200 cuts all over my body, including places like my inner thighs, wrists, and my throat. But obviously I just wanted to be forced to walk in front of my younger brother, (who up until that point, I had hid all the self harm from,) forced to get into an ambulance, and go spend an entire Saturday in the hospital.

I had a small video chat conversation with a “psychiatrist” who decided that there was nothing wrong with me. At this point I had been self harming for two straight years, trying my best to hide the scars and the fresh marks. I didn’t walk around in tee shirts, or shorts when there was marks to be seen. I learned how to hide it, learned how to lie. It became so easy to not make eye contact, to just smile and say “Oh, my boyfriend’s cat needs her nails cut” or stupid shit like that. No one really cared enough to try and see through the lies.

When I was sixteen, I had forgiven the guy who cheated. Well forgiven isn’t the right word. I tried to forget what had happened but it didn’t work. In the end I ended up cheating on him in spite, and that action has haunted me to this day. I hate myself for what I did, but I hate my foster mother more for what happened after the event. The guy I had cheated with lived with this guy who’s two years older than me. He went to high school with my brother. Well I was spending a lot of my time hanging out with these two guys, so my foster mother pretty much told me that I shouldn’t spend so much time with guys that I wasn’t dating, because “it looks a little whorish. I mean, what will people think?” this made me feel like I couldn’t tell her about anything. The guy who went to school with my brother took advantage of my naivety, and he raped me. He won’t ever think that he did anything wrong. To him he was just hooking up with a pretty girl. A girl who’s tears couldn’t stop his action. A girl with a foster mother who would never believe that she didn’t want it.

The self harm got worse after that. I never told my foster parents, because I knew that they wouldn’t have protected me. I was probably just asking for it, or I had changed my mind last minute. I mean, it’s what girls do all the time. We can never make up our minds. When we say stop, we really mean keep going. Don’t and no must sound like do and yes. Girls just never know what they want, so it’s a boys job to make the decision for them, right? (again, note the sarcasm.)

The same year, near the end of grade 11, shit hit the fan at my foster home. My foster mother and I got into a heated argument. Hurtful things were said, tears were shed. I slunk down to my basement bedroom, shut the door a little too hard, My foster mother came down, threw my door open, yelled how much she fucking hated me, and punched me in the arm. Oh look, now it’s abuse because she actually physically hit me. But wait, I didn’t tell anyone for a few months, so it must not have happened. I mean no evidence means no crime right? Well that’s how it ended up being. My word against hers, and mine wasn’t valid because I was a messed up child who just didn’t like the woman.

Why I didn’t tell anyone about it for a few months was because I couldn’t bare to leave my little brother there alone. He was my saving grace and I love him more than anything. If guardian angels are real, he’s mine sent to earth in the form of a beautiful boy four years younger than me. Eventually I snapped and couldn’t take the abuse anymore. I made a decision for myself for once, one that didn’t involve hurting myself physically, but it did leave its emotional toll. It caused a rift between me and my angel. I’m sure he resented me for leaving him, after I had done my best to always be there for him. Even though I wasn’t there with him, I was always his biggest fan. I moved to a different foster home, and things still weren’t great.

They were lovely people at first. But then the division came when I refused to follow their beliefs. As a foster kid who is seventeen, I am allowed to be what I want to be. And unluckily for them, that was a non religious, homosexual. I still loved black clothing, I liked harder music, and I was very much my own person. I started colouring my hair, and got my first two piercings (besides the basic ear lobe). I started to feel more like my own person, more like me. But they started saying shit to my social worker, and it got to the point with her that she told me I was extremely judgmental and that I don’t have friends because of the way I was dressing. So once again I was brought down, my little bit of self esteem earned burned in the fire created by more people who were supposed to protect me and build me up. Everyone in this world likes to pretend that they are on your side, until you don’t benefit them anymore. Oh, I also dated my foster brothers’ best friend. Well, it wasn’t really dating. I was his little dirty summer fling when he didn’t want to be with his baby mama. They are married with two kids now, and she’s my age. At least good things can happen for some people. Just not ones who have already been dealt a shitty hand at the start of life.

Now at the age of twenty, I’ve been in an emotionally abusive relationship (which I kind of regret leaving) I moved to the city, where I had a chance to be with someone I’m pretty sure I’m in love with, but that didn’t work out…again. He says that we can’t be anything more than friends even though he likes me more than that. Apparently there’s two ways a hard childhood can lead you. A path where you still want to embrace love and relationships, and a path like the one he is clearly on. Pushing people away when they get too close. I’ve been the third party of a relationship (both other parties knew, but that didn’t last long) I’ve had one night stands, and I’ve been assessed for mental illness.

Many things in my life are taboo, or have a bad stigma around them. Mental illness? “there’s meds for that.” “just get over it” “look at the positive things in life. that’ll make it better.” So many stupid statements from people who don’t understand that depression is hard to work with, it’s hard to live with. I also suffer from CPTSD (complex post traumatic stress disorder) and general anxiety disorder. As well as a few things I haven’t had confirmed. I don’t do well with groups with more men than women, I have panic attacks for no reason, my emotions are uncontrollable, and I am a complete pain in the ass too deal with. I feel like I’ll never find love, my self esteem is still low, but want to know something?

My life is one huge stigma, but I’m still trying. I look in the mirror every morning and try to give myself a smile. I put my shoes on and walk to the bus. I get on, even when there are large amounts of men and head to work, where I deal with many different people, both in person and on the phone. I face my fears of living every day, and I fight my struggle my own way. I’m doing okay, I’m slowly making it. I’m only 20 years old, and still I’ve carried the weight of the world on my shoulders. I’m rebuilding my relationship with my baby brother, I have a great relationship with my mom and step dad, I have a 3 year old step sister who looks up to me, and who I adore.

Life can be a bitch sometimes, but we just have to put up the middle finger and say Fuck You to the negativity. I know it’s hard, but it can be done.

To the Boy Who’ll Never Love Me

I know that I can be complicated, and frustrating. I know that I can be cruel, or over emotional. I can be many negative things, but I have so many good things about me. I love with all my heart. All I ever wanted to do was love your broken pieces, so that one day they’d be whole again. I fell in love with the façade you allowed me to see, then destroyed it all by allowing me to see the true you. 

You lead me to believe that you cared for me, even in the smallest way, but today you proved otherwise. It’s funny how a person can desire someone for so long, and never even get a fraction of that desire back. 

But it’s strange. I’ve come to the realization, that your rejection doesn’t kill me like it did before. It may have to do with me pouring my heart out to you. I told you I loved you, you said nothing, yet I still feel 100x better. Maybe I should have done that all along. 

I love you R. I feel like I might have always been in love. I went from watching you from afar, to calling you my friend, to realizing that these feelings were more than lust. Because you see, I didn’t want you for your body. I wanted you for your mind. For all the things I knew you really had to offer the world. You on the other hand, clearly just wanted me for sex. 

I hope that you’ll read this someday, and that it’ll make a ping in your gut to tell you that it was about you. I love you more than I ever could have told you too your face, but you’ll always just be the boy who never loved me back. 

Back to Where I started

I find it really hard when we can’t choose who we love and when. In life our hearts just decide on a person and you are left to deal with whatever situations arise from those feelings. I deal with the constant struggle of feeling guilty because I love who I am with, but I’ve also realized that my feelings for another has grown past the stage of liking. I’ve known this one individual for three years now, and I have liked him from the very first moment I laid eyes upon him, but I’ve been with my boyfriend for two years now.

I had been able to resist these feelings up until this past summer, because he had never had the same feelings. This summer he admitted to liking me too. We tried to be together and it didn’t work out. I was devastated and didn’t know what to do with myself. People started to worry that I was becoming an alcoholic due to how often I got drunk in a single week. Him and I hadn’t talked for just over six months, until recently. We got back in touch, and I was instantly reminded of how I felt about him.

He asked if I still liked him, and I told him my honest answer. When I asked when he stopped liking me, he took a long time to give me a straight answer. Eventually he told me that I was basically pretty but not datable, “if that makes sense”. I know it’s because we didn’t work out before, but that doesn’t change how much I wish we could try again. I know it’s not fair to who I’m with now, but I can’t keep denying it. It causes me a lot of pain to keep it hidden, or to try and convince myself that I don’t feel this way anymore.

I know that we’ll never be together, and I’ve come to terms with that as long as I can still have him as my friend. I write letters to him sometimes, but I never send them, nor will he ever see them. It’s for my own benefit, and I don’t think he would take the words written in it that well. I just wish that we could discuss the events that took place this summer, but he doesn’t want to bring it up and reopen the wounds that have slowly been healing for me.  It’s funny because I’ve been waiting for him to tell me he still had feelings for me for the last six months, and when he finally does, I don’t know how to respond. I want to tell him 100% how I feel about him, but I rather not scare him away again.

Which Direction to Take

When I think of my future, I know what I want. I want a family and a career, I want a home not just a house. I want love and respect. I want to help children grow up to become better. I want to create a better tomorrow. 

I have this idea printed firmly in my head, and I can see the pathway so clearly, until I’m ready to start making my way toward those dreams. I keep getting mixed up and lost along the way. My plans seem to be changing day by day, while I stay completely the same. 

I take a step toward a happily ever after, but someone else is always on my mind. I feel as though I’ll never be able to forget him, or love anyone more than him, and it’s not fair to the one I’m with, but I can’t convince my heart otherwise. I want to keep taking steps forward, I really do, but I can’t as long as I’m in love with this man. 

I know he doesn’t return the feelings, not in the slightest, and I can’t tell him about them or I’ll never hear from him again. It would probably benefit me if we never spoke again, but he’s one of my best friends and I miss him. I could tell him anything that was on my mind. Somethings I can’t even tell my significant other. 

I feel as though I am hiding from him, and that I am doing something wrong, but the only thing I am keeping from him is the pain and agony within my heart. It seems my world is getting darker and darker, and I feel as though I am beginning to suffocate underneath the weight of everything I deal with. I’m starting to lose motivation and trust in myself. I’m starting to forget why I stopped doing certain things, and I’m starting to remember why I did others in the first place. 

Seeing You Again

This past weekend has been hell on my heart. I had almost convinced myself that I didn’t miss you, that I didn’t like you anymore, that maybe I wasn’t actually falling in love with you, but then I had to see you again. 

Just heading your name made the familiar ping of sadness return. Then I had to deal with you not looking at me. Why wouldn’t you look at me? 

My friend said it was because it would bring back the memories, all the moments we shared together, but I think she was just trying to make me feel better about the fact that I miss you so terribly. I don’t think I’ve ever missed a guy this much. 

I can feel the sharp pain in my heart just thinking about you. I really wish you would have looked at me, said hello to me, or just wasn’t a complete jerk to me when I tried to apologize to you for everything that happened. I just want to be your friend again. 

Memories within a Thunderstorm

The last thunderstorm I can remember happened before I ever knew how you felt about me. It happened while I was still trying to convince myself that I didn’t like you, that my heart was confused. But it was only me who was confused. 

I wish I could say that I don’t feel that way anymore, hell I’d believe it until I saw you again. The thought of seeing you sends the butterflies soaring. I doubt you feel that way. 

I dread the thought of seeing you because I know that I never truly mattered to you. I really wish I knew you’d be here before I decided to come. 

Driving through a thunderstorm reminds me of all the flirting, all the laughter, and when I still thought you’d keep your promises and always be there for me. So much has happened since that day, and I can’t decide if I wish I could erase it or relive it. 

I think that was the day that I let myself accept that I liked you because it was so difficult pretending that I didn’t. It was also the day that I started to wonder if you liked me too. Foolish me, getting my hopes up to only have them crushed. 

Valentine’s Day blues

Isn’t it funny, how on Valentine’s Day I could dream about you? The only day that I haven’t been able to deny the fact that I was falling so hard for you. I can’t believe that it’s been so many month since we last spoke. Almost six to be exact. I can still remember the way you made me feel alive, and how I truly thought you’d stick around. How foolish of me right? 

You thought that I’d be over you in no time, that I would move on and forget. I tried. Believe me I truly did try. But you made me feel more alive than I had for a while, and I don’t think my soul will ever be able to forget that. 

I’ve never been one for Valentine’s Day, and I hate it more so this year than ever before. I don’t care if we’ll never have a relationship, I just want you to be my friend again. I want you back in my life. I miss you. 

Driving Down Memory Lane. 

I’m surprised that I’ve made it this long since thinking about you, but here I am, remembering everything I ever liked about you. The sky is dark, starless and moonless, something that rarely happened when we were together. Street lights pass, as well as the bright headlights of oncoming traffic, and it just reminds me how much I miss you. 

I miss you in a way I’ve been denying. I don’t want to miss the romance, I miss the smiles we shared night after night, the laughs day after day. I miss the gentle touch of your hand as we crossed paths. I just miss YOU. 

It feels like forever since I looked into those burning brown eyes that you thought were average. Average wouldn’t haunt my dreams like your eyes do. 

You always had such a grumpy look on your face, but when it was graced with a smile, it lit up the entire room. Your laughter filled my heart with so much happiness that it feels cracked without it. I really miss the small moments. All the times you claimed to be anything but romantic, and then you’d say something sappy to try and raise my spirits. I feel like I’ll never be able to drive past this place, let alone go visit without feeling this ache in my heart. I really wish you’d come back telling me that you feel the same way, but I know deep in my soul that you won’t. That you don’t. And that’s okay because at least I know what I actually meant to you. 


My Dearest R

It’s been nearly six months since I last spoke to you, and I still miss you terribly. I’ve realized that you unfriended me and have likely blocked all contact with me because of everything that happened between us, but that doesn’t change the fact that those things still happened. While cleaning my room, I found the book I used to write things in over the summer, and within the many pages I found things that I wrote about you. Many of the things came after we had our fight but the feelings still remain the same. I miss you and the friendship we had before “us” happened.

But was there ever really an “us”? I mean, you held my hand like there was, you’d kiss me in the moonlight and tell me how I was yours and that no one else could have me.You got jealous over any males who spoke to me or showed the slightest interest in me. Sounds a lot like you wanted “us” to be a reality, maybe as much as I did.

Yet now it’s been months upon months that I’ve tried to reach out to you, with nothing in return. Please explain to me what happened to all the promises you made me about how no matter what you were going to stay there for me? I’ve needed you over the last few months, things have fallen apart and I needed more people to talk too, but you weren’t there for me.

I want to blame you for everything that happened, I want to say that it was your fault for telling me that you liked me too, for leading me on and saying all these things about how much you wanted me, but it’s not your fault. It’s mine and mine alone. I allowed myself to listen to everything you said to me. I ignored the feeling in my gut telling me that it wasn’t going anywhere, because I was to focused on wanting it to be real because i had liked you so long. I was foolish for ever thinking that it could be more than a summer fling. I know that you’ll never read this, but I still want to say that I miss the person you let me believe you were. I miss all the late night conversations we would have, talking for what felt like hours underneath the moonlight. I hope that one day we can reconnect and be friends again. I truly miss you and your burning brown eyes.


The girl with many emotions.

Sleepless slumber

It’s 1:37 AM and yet sleep avoids me like the plague. Far too many thoughts swarm around inside my head. Things that I haven’t thought about for a while. I wish some memories would stay in the past. 

A song came on that reminds me of a different time, a different me. Every person has many masks, one for different situations and events. I’m a completely different person with my friends than I am when I work around children. I love summer camp, but if any of my friends from outside of camp saw me in that environment, I am sure they wouldn’t know me. 

Memories from the summer are bombarding me at the moment, and I truly wish they would stop. They make me miss things that I feel are wrong to miss, people who don’t miss me. There was a person at this camp whom I have grown close too over the last few years, and now we don’t talk. We both made mistakes, and our friendship suffered for it. 

At first I was too heartbroken to really know what to do with myself. I was lost and wandering to see if there was a possibility that I had dreamt the whole thing, but when I pinched myself and didn’t wake up, I took to my greatest outlet. I began writing letters. 

I’ve written many letters to him, describing my feelings and just random things that have occurred. I’ve never sent them, nor will he ever read them. I just needed to get feelings of my chest, needed to lift a large weight from my shoulders. I’ve become stronger because of all of this, but still, he haunts me. 

And now, as it’s 1:50 in the morning, his golden brown eyes haunt me, eyes he used to call normal, but they held magic in them. He was able to fix so many broken pieces of me. I only wish I could speak to him once again, tell him how much I miss him, remind him of all the good memories, and take back the mistakes I made. 

My heart is heavy, my eyes are starting to fall. And I shall fall asleep to the sound of my favourite music playing, and the thought of possibilities past.