The Cheese Grates It: The Effects of Bullying Last a Lifetime

A response to a post on "The Mighty."

I'm now almost 54 years old, but the bullying that I endured all through school still affects me to this day.  I have always felt that I was hideously ugly. If I'm completely analytical about my appearance, I'm actually fairly ordinary-looking, but when one lives in a society which has a very narrow view of beauty and constant bullying is added to that, one learns to loathe one's physical appearance. I honestly don't like it when people compliment me on anything because my initial thought is that they are just trying to get something out of me.

When I was in the third grade, I was sexually assaulted by two of my female classmates. I was too ashamed to say anything.  Later, a boy in that same class pinned me up against the wall and told me that he was going to kill me with his pocket knife. I wet my pants, and when I went to the school nurse, she laughed at me and told me that I was being silly. This boy was very popular, and he was never punished.

Throughout school, the bullying that I endured often had sexual overtones. There were horrible rumors that I would have sex with any boy who wanted it. In fact, I was so naive that I thought a "bl*w j*b" was blowing in someone's ear, and I wondered why anyone found that sexy.  Boys would often grab my breasts or buttocks. The adults never did anything about it. In one math class, the teacher was sitting right there while my classmates said things like "she plays with herself" and "she'd play with her t*ts if she had any." Up until I turned 18 and realized that my breasts tended to get in the way when I was doing things, I hated my "flat chest." I actually have rather average-sized breasts, not that anyone should be bullying someone with smaller than average breasts.

I have never enjoyed sex, but once I got into high school, I allowed my boyfriend to take my virginity. He dumped me after that, and I ended up in the mental hospital over the weekend with a slew of unkind doctors and nurses looking down their noses at me. One nurse even told me that I was a freak and I would never be normal. To this day, I'm proud of my sixteen-year-old self who told her: "better a freak than a b*tch like you." I don't know how I found the strength in me, but I stood up to those jerks, and I tried to be helpful to the other patients who were in there with me. My roommate was a woman in her 50's who was so severely anorexic that all her bones were showing. She had trouble voicing her needs, so I tried to be her voice.

Remembering these things makes tears of anger come to my eyes, but they won't last long because the message that crying is weak was so deeply internalized. I have a lot of trouble crying. I didn't cry after the deaths of some of my close relatives. I didn't cry when I had to have my beloved rescue cat put to sleep on his sixth birthday due to kidney failure. It's not that it didn't matter. I've never recovered from it. There's a gaping wound in my heart that will never be filled. I get accused of being cold and uncaring because I don't cry, but I simply can't. Crying was a weakness that my bullies would exploit, so I never let them see me cry.

I have major mental illnesses (type 2 bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, and obsessive-compulsive disorder which manifests as hoarding objects, not animals.) Any coping skills I have with these diseases have been developed on my own. "Mental health professionals" have only tried to medicate me into normalcy even though I do not respond well to psych meds. They make me manic and psychotic. Family members offer wisdom like "just stop being like that," "just stop thinking like that," "just stop looking for attention," and "just act normal."

I have been completely unsuccessful in life, and, if it weren't for my son, the honest truth is that I would have been long gone. My life has been a series of loss and disappointments. With the psych conditions I have, it would have been an uphill battle anyway, but with the self-loathing I learned from being bullied all through school, the battle became impossible.  

When my diabetes worsened, I became unable to work the difficult jobs and long hours that I had always prided myself on being able to work. I am now living in poverty. If it weren't for my son, I'd be homeless. I do not have hope for things getting better.

Bullying destroys lives, but all I ever heard is that it was my fault that I was bullied, and if I would just "act normal" and "ignore it," I wouldn't "bring it on" myself.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

OctPoWriMo 2018: Day 19: Suicide Ideation

Flowers and a Grave

Copyright Raivn_70

Is it death that you desire

Or do you wish to escape from your troubles

Are you questioning whether to end it 

Or do you wish to escape from your troubles

Do you search for a means of suicide

Or do you wish to escape from your troubles

Do you doubt your will to live

Or do you wish to escape from your troubles

Will you fulfill the threat to end it all

Or do you wish to escape from your troubles

~Cie~

Notes:

The form is a chant poem.

I am aware that the go-to when one believes that someone is suicidal is to tell them to go to the emergency room or tell them to call the suicide line.

Please don't tell me to do either of those things.

I have lived with suicide ideation for as long as I can remember.

If I went to the emergency room every time I felt suicidal, I'd have to live there.

If I may be so bold, fuck that shit.

I'm afraid that in my experience, suicide hotlines are, well, not that helpful, if I'm to be blunt. I had one asshole who laughed at my distress. I had one kind but not at all helpful fellow who wished me luck. So, that has been my experience with suicide hotlines.

Suicide ideation is in a different class than someone threatening suicide, particularly if they have the means and a specific plan to complete the act.

A person may have a high degree of suicide ideation but a low level of planning, which tends to be my case when my suicide ideation flares up.

A person like me is not likely to telegraph it if they are actually going to commit suicide. If I were to commit suicide, no-one would know until after the fact. Thus, telling someone like me to go to the emergency room if I say I wish I was dead isn't going to accomplish anything except for wasting my time. With someone like me, it works much better to ask what's going on to make me feel that way. I might say that I'm on a downswing, or it might be something more concrete. But asking why I'm feeling as I am will make me feel as if you care rather than causing me to make a mental note to myself that here is yet one more person I can't tell anything because they just don't fucking get it.

It is a fact that people who experience suicide ideation are more likely to complete suicide than people who do not experience suicide ideation. It also is a fact that people who experience suicide ideation over the long term tend to have mood disorders such as major depression or bipolar disorder. A lot of us do not respond well (or at all) to the "magic medications." For people living with a chronic mental illness, it tends to be unhelpful and demeaning to suggest that we "try meds" or "seek counseling." Many of us have had bad experiences with "mental health professionals" and will avoid them like a bad case of athlete's foot.

If I could find a therapist who did cognitive behavioral therapy and whose services were covered by Medicaid, I might consider it. Such beasts, however, are rare as the proverbial hen's teeth. I find artistic pursuits to be a far more soothing balm than spilling my guts to someone who a) probably doesn't give a fuck, and b) will frustrate me by just not fucking getting it. I can find someone who fills those criteria by walking out onto any street corner and yelling "hey, come talk to me!"

That is your psychology lecture for the day, class. Thank you for attending the Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Academy!

The Cheese Grates It: The Not So Great Unfriending and Empathy Deficits

PERSONAL:

TRIGGER WARNING FOR MENTION OF WEIGHT LOSS, SUICIDE 

I recently unfriended someone that I had been online friends with for 12 years. I encountered him through blogging and a mutual love of the horror genre. He was the coolest guy until his life became all about weight loss. Then the cracks started to show.

I tried to give him a break, even though I found him becoming more and more confrontational. He wasn't friendly anymore, but I hoped maybe the characteristics that made me like him in the first place would resurface.

 I never could be his weight loss cheerleader, and he seemed to resent that. He was always posting pictures of himself next to a pair of his old trousers, announcing how much weight he'd lost, and want people to stroke his ego. 

The only comment I ever made on one of his weight loss pictures was that I thought he was a cool guy regardless of what size he was. He went off on a tangent about how much better he felt and looked and so on. I tried to be sympathetic because I knew he'd gone this route because he'd been bullied, and I didn't blame him.

The straw that broke the camel's back was actually not about weight loss. I was doing my thing, trying to raise awareness and end stigma where suicide is concerned. He wrote this long comment about how he didn't feel sympathy for people who committed suicide, he felt sympathy for the people they left behind. He felt that people who commit suicide are weak and cowardly, and then he went on a tangent about how he had been bullied and molested but he forgave his abuser and he never committed suicide, so why could these people not do the same and realize that whatever higher power they believe in has put them here for a purpose.

And then he went on about how he has lost 368 pounds and his health is sooo much better (except it really isn't, he still has the same underlying issues, he's just thinner so he doesn't get the same ration of shit from the doctor anymore.) I had to hold back from saying "ah yes, your weight loss. Great. What do you want, a cookie? Oh, I'm sorry, that's probably not on your diet. So, I'll eat it for you."

I said that I was sorry that he had endured such a hard life and it was good that he was able to overcome his adversities, but everyone is not wired the same and I was distressed that he seemed so unable to muster any sort of sympathy for people who were unable to go on. I said that I did not feel that my cousin was a weak person for committing suicide after many years of fighting severe depression with no relief. I said that some people are better able to withstand adversity than others, for a variety of reasons. I then said that maybe he was somehow superior because he had come through adversity without attempting suicide, but that doesn't mean that people who aren't able to do so are lesser.

Initially, I didn't unfriend him, but then I realized that I always dreaded interacting with him since he began his "weight loss journey." After about an hour of deliberating (okay, wrestling with myself) I made the decision to cut ties with him. I told him that I felt no animosity towards him but I couldn't be friends with someone who could not muster the least bit of sympathy for people whose despair led them to a desperate act. 

I opened up about a gruesome suicide scene which was burned in my mind and gave me years of PTSD. I said I never hated the person who caused this memory. He was autistic, had brain damage from an incident where he was so severely beaten by his bullies that he nearly died, and had other serious mental health issues, including severe depression. This guy fought on as long and as hard as he could, but eventually, he couldn't anymore. I was angry at him for a time, yes. But I never for even a minute thought that he was weak or selfish or cowardly.

I've lost several people to suicide. I'm willing to realize that people are ignorant about this issue and to educate them, but when you express that much vehemence towards a person who was obviously in a great deal of psychological pain, there is too much of an empathy deficit, and I can't maintain a friendship with people who hold such beliefs.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Cheese Grates It: Suicide Victims are Not Weak, Selfish, or Cowards

I just made something of a difficult decision to unfriend someone who has been an online friend for about 12 years. I didn't block this person, I don't hate them, but I really can't be friends with someone who expresses harsh opinions of people who commit suicide and is not willing to attempt to have sympathy for those who have made this desperate decision. 

Trigger warning for discussion of suicide and severe trauma

 Not everyone is wired exactly the same way. Some people naturally bear up under adversity better than others. Those who can't manage to get through are not bad people.

One of the experiences which caused me PTSD for years was the sight of a young autistic and severely mentally ill man with brain damage who could no longer continue the struggle and who blew the front of his forehead off with a shotgun.

 For years not a day went by that I didn't see that image in my mind. I never hated him for it. Most people had no idea the struggles this guy went through. The day came that he couldn't do it anymore.

I had to "flatten" the image and desensitize it so I would stop thinking of it all the time. It's the same thing I had to do with the last time I saw my father. He was a shell of his former self, lying in the bed in the hospice, not breathing and not moving. I was very stoic and didn't cry. I knew I would never see him again in this life when I left the room, but I had to leave. I was a zombie. I dreamed of that image of him and I didn't want to remember him that way, so I had to flatten the image in my mind.

When a person commits suicide, it causes trauma to those left behind. It's fair to be mad at the person. It's not fair to say they were weak or selfish or a coward.

Also, not everyone responds to the "magic pills" in the same way. Some people do very well with antidepressants, but not everyone is wired the same. My son had no response to them at all. For me, they made me manic and psychotic. I had a cousin who tried many medications and didn't respond to any of them. She ended up committing suicide. She was not weak, selfish, or a coward. She was at the end of the line and couldn't go on another day. What she did does not make her a bad person.

There is this tendency to believe that people who live with mood disorders aren't "trying hard enough." In fact, few people try harder to overcome their "stinkin' thinkin'" than people with mood disorders. If it was easy to break out of depression, nobody would be depressed. Who the fuck WANTS to be depressed?

Happy people are not "better" than people who are unable to be happy. I can count on one hand the times I've truly felt happy. I've been giddy, which is not the same as being happy. There is a peace that comes with actual happiness. Giddiness is a form of mania.

My baseline is moderately depressed. Over the past few years, I've realized that doesn't make me a lesser person than someone who is always happy. It is highly unlikely that I will ever become a person who isn't always at least a bit sad. This realization has lessened the suicide ideation to a degree, but the suicide ideation will also always be there. I don't need to "heal" and become a "bright light" to be worthy of respect and good treatment. If you believe in a higher power, maybe us "dark" sorts serve a purpose just as much as the social butterflies. Introspective people have a tendency to be both observant and empathic. That's hardly a bad thing.

If I commit suicide, it probably won't be because of my mood disorder. I can't say I'm friends with my mood disorder, but we've reached an understanding. I won't continually try to eradicate it, and it will quit trying to kill me.

No, if I commit suicide it will be because I am either in an intolerable state of physical pain or because I have developed dementia. If that happens, I will not tell anyone before I do it, I will just do it. No-one will know until after the fact. 

I would never say that someone who committed suicide for this (or any other) reason is "weak," "selfish," or a "coward.

If you're a person who can continue on in spite of adversity, great. Maybe that makes you a "better person" in some ways. But it doesn't make people who can't bad people who should be treated with disdain. 

A little empathy is in order. Maybe if you can't muster any, you should be questioning why your beliefs about people who are suffering are so harsh.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Cheese Grates It: Aim For the Right Target

 CONTENT WARNING:

Self harm

Suicide ideation

Recently, Gal Gadot expressed this sentiment regarding the death of physicist Stephen Hawking:

"Rest in peace Dr. Hawking. Now you're free of any physical constraints.. Your brilliance and wisdom will be cherished forever."

Ms. Gadot was then taken to task as if she'd said "fucken cripples shud ride the lightnin lol."

There is some lack of awareness in Ms. Gadot's comment, but she was not implying that having handicaps/disabilities/whatever the fuck you want to call it made a person lesser in any way.

I am a person with disabilities, and I was once taken to task for using the term "handicapped" to describe myself.

Could we all please just stop looking for reasons to be offended? It makes us look like "special snowflakes" and makes people less inclined to listen to the serious concerns we have. 

For an able-bodied person like Gal Gadot, the idea of being severely physically constrained is a frightening one. Although Dr. Hawking expressed acceptance of his condition, it is hard for a person without severe physical limitations to imagine that a person with such limitations might not be wishing that they could be able-bodied, that perhaps they are truly okay just as they are. 

Again, Ms. Gadot was not stating that Dr. Hawking wasn't worthwhile exactly as he was. She was expressing a wish for him to be able to move about freely, an attribute which she sees as precious. There was no malice intended in her words, and people need to back the fuck off. In our current call-out culture where a person can be viciously attacked for not expressing their thoughts in a very exacting way, it's no wonder people are afraid to speak at all.

Every person with disabilities views their particular disability (or disabilities) differently as well, and there are some disabilities that are so truly heinous that I feel it would be cruel not to wish that the person could be free of said disability--not because the person isn't worthwhile as they are, but because the disability is SO FUCKING HEINOUS. I don't believe this is a hard concept to grasp, but I will not be surprised if there are those who tell me I have "internalized ableism."

Other than a bit of a limp and a slow gait, my disabilities are invisible. I am prone to activity intolerance due to my endocrine problems. I used to be able to work strenuous physical jobs. I lost a reasonably well-paying job due to these issues, and I now live in poverty. I also have problems with urinary retention and have to use incontinence pads. I generally don't have fecal incontinence, but sometimes that happens too. It's miserable and embarrassing. I am prone to infections in my "plumbing." Most of the time I only eat one or two meals a day because I can't afford food, thanks to the fact that it's hard for me to work. 

Would I give up my physical disabilities if there were a way to repair them?

Fuck yes I would, in a heartbeat. 

This in no way means that I think people with physical disabilities don't deserve to be treated with the same respect and dignity that able-bodied people receive. Society as a whole has a problem with treating disabled people as lesser, and that needs to stop. 

People with disabilities should not be forced to live in poverty. My situation often makes me extremely depressed and, yes, suicidal. I currently have self-inflicted cuts and bruises because I am so frustrated and disgusted at my situation and at myself. When I express frustration or upset over my situation, I get told that I should "just focus on the positives," "chin up," and "try harder." All of which is bullshit and is not resolving the problem of people with disabilities being treated as if they are a burden.

This is not what Gal Gadot was doing.

I am far more offended by those who act like people with disabilities are lesser and a burden who should just sink into squalor and die than I am by someone like Gal Gadot, whose statement may have been a tad uninformed, but who was, in fact, hoping that a person who lived with physical constraints unimaginable to a young, healthy, able-bodied person would be free of those constraints. Her statement was without malice. She does not deserve to be attacked.

Save your ire for those who really deserve it: the people who make laws to take away what little those of us who can't work "normal" jobs are afforded.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Cheese Grates It: Fat Shaming, Thin Praising, ED and Me

The look when a bunch of fat shaming "jokes" show up in your FB feed from people who should know better

The Cheese Grates It:

Fat Shaming, Thin Praising, ED and me

Trigger Warning:

Eating disorders

Diet Talk

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I'm a proponent of the Underpants Rule created by Ragen Chastain:

You are the boss of your own underpants. You are free to do with your body as you see fit.

You are not free to tell other people what to do with their bodies.

If you belittle other people's bodies, you are not some sort of champion of "health." You're a dick.

Also, while I believe in the Underpants Rule, I am under no obligation to be anyone's dieting cheerleader. I'll support people in other ways, but I'm not going to engage in Thin Praising any more than I will engage in fat shaming. I find both to be toxic.

I don't unfollow people for posting about dieting, but I do hide dieting posts. My eating disorder and I don't need to see that.

If anyone's curious about what exact eating disorder I have, the specific diagnosis is "Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified." It primarily resembles bulimia in the way it manifests.

I tend to binge and then starve myself rather than bingeing and purging.

However, sometimes I binge without starving afterward (not as often since I was diagnosed with diabetes), and sometimes I starve without bingeing first.

Starvation bouts (I'm going through one right now) can also be triggered when I skip meals because I simply don't have enough money to eat. Then when it comes time that I could eat, I don't eat because now I'm in the old Pro-Ana mode, which has mantras like "hunger hurts but starvation works."

Funnily enough, even though I often end up eating 1000 calories a day or less, I'm still fat. This isn't a lament, it's a simple observation of the fact that "calories in calories out" is an oversimplification of what really happens. There are many components to a person's body type. Energy intake and output is only a small part of the equation, or there wouldn't be any fat people. Seriously, would anyone choose to be fat in a society that treats us like shit on a daily basis simply for existing? If "eat less and exercise more" worked, pretty much everyone would already be thin. Also, you think we haven't already tried that MANY times, Asshole? Duh!

Another factor in my size is doubtless due to the fact that from the time I was twelve until I was 45, I went on numerous weight reduction diets. The end result each time was gaining back the weight I'd lost plus about 20 pounds more. I literally had to stop dieting to keep myself from gaining more weight. Once I stopped dieting, my weight stabilized. Once my diabetes was recognized and I started treating it, I lost approximately 50 pounds within two years without trying. Again, this is not an attempt to praise myself for weight loss, it's a simple statement of fact and also proof for the argument that "calories in calories out" is an oversimplification.

By the way, I'm not obsessive about carb counting or avoiding dessert. I don't have the money to be particularly choosy about what I eat these days. I eat what I can afford. When I do have the money to be more selective, I try to choose food items that have a lower glycemic impact (i.e. high fiber foods) as opposed to a low carb count per se, but I'm not obsessed with it. If I want something that has more than the recommended allotment of carbs, I'll eat it with middle finger on high to the Diet Police. Life is too damn long to choose only what makes you miserable.

Right now I'm trying to fight the old "hunger hurts but starvation works" mantra with "hunger hurts and starvation doesn't work. I'm allowed to feed my needs."

Maybe this will help somebody. I don't know.

All I know is that none of us deserve to be hated on or berated for our bodies, people who fat shame are ignorant and/or assholes, and thin praising is insidious. Thin praising is the flip side of the fat shaming coin. Both are telling us that large bodies are bad. Both are wrong.

Also, I'm trying to divorce ED. He's a shitty life partner.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

Not Entirely Wordless Beautiful Wednesday: The Way You Treat Yourself

Click to Enlarge

This image really speaks to me.

Is this image beautiful?

Yes, but also shocking.

It speaks of a need for change in the world, change in the way we treat one another.

For more about the inspiration behind the image and to see more of Zahira Kelly's intense, beautiful, meaningful artwork, follow this link.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/this-afro-latinas-art-is-therapy-for-black-women-suffering-from-america_us_58c8121be4b0598c6699efaa?section=us_black-voices&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=BV%20031617&utm_content=BV%20031617+Version+A+CID_aaac9732ac5d7f292e0ee36a57d9653a&utm_source=Email%20marketing%20software&utm_term=Read%20more&

~Cie~

The Cheese Grates It: The Fasting Blood Sugar Paradox and Societal Hatred of Big Bodies

Trigger warning for eating disorders/diet talk.

With diabetes, you can have the fasting blood sugar paradox. Blood sugar levels after sleeping may be elevated, thanks to the liver kicking out glycogen and (for a type 2 diabetic) the body not being able to utilize its own insulin properly. For instance, my fasting blood sugar was 133 this morning and would have been much higher if I weren't taking Metformin. In someone who isn't diabetic, the sugars would be below 100 prior to eating.

The problem for someone like me is I long ago formed the attitude that not eating was a good thing, so I have a tendency to wait until I'm ravenously hungry before I eat. Thing is, Metformin has a tendency to kill the appetite. So I end up fighting with myself, having to tell myself that it's okay to eat, that I need to eat in order to regulate my blood sugar, and that starving never made me thin anyway, for fuck's sake.

Because in this stupid, fucked up world, we are trained from an early age that fat is the worst thing we can possibly be. We could be molesting children and puppies, raping goats, sacrificing kittens to the ancient demons of the sewers of the underworld, and just being a generally horrible person whose hero is probably Steve Bannon, but none of this is considered as bad as being fat in this society.

That's dumb, it's ridiculous, and I consciously reject it.

My subconscious is a stupid fucker, and I have to beat it into submission before I can eat. I go through this daily, sometimes multiple times.

Don't teach your kids that fat is bad. It will fuck them up for life.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Cheese Grates It: Silly Cheese, Don't You Know Pomegranates are for Weight Loss, Not Eating Pleasure?

Here's a WTF moment in eating. (Trigger warning for discussion of food and body policing.) I get deliveries from Home Chef, and today for my lunch, I decided to make the blood orange and bulgur salad.
It has lots of good ingredients, like arugula, bulgur, almonds, blood orange, sweet potatoes, shallots, and pomegranate seed.
When I went to open the container of pomegranate seed, I noticed the picture of a pomegranate, which at first looked like it had a Saturn ring around it, or perhaps it was wearing a belt for reasons. But nope, it was a picture of a tape measure. Because fucking pomegranates are not something you eat because you like pomegranates or fruit in general, they are something you eat because they may just help you achieve that coveted, Next To Godliness thinness.
 Fuck. That. Shit.
I'm going to enjoy my salad anyway. I'm going to eat it right out of the god damn bowl, because I'm the only one eating it. Anything left over will be put in a container for later. But you know what? I would have enjoyed it all the more if I could have just prepared it without having the ever present reminder that people with bodies like mine should be eradicated shoved in my face.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It With Much Wrath~

Man's Face Is Melting Off Due To Mysterious Flesh Eating Disease

 TRIGGER WARNING FOR DISTURBING SUBJECT MATTER

There are diseases that modern medicine still can't cure. Sometimes it's impossible to find the cause of a problem, such as the cause of the destruction of this man's facial tissue.
I hope help can be found for this poor fellow.

~Misty~

TRIGGER WARNING FOR DISTURBING SUBJECT MATTER

An Epiphoric Garden

Cie's Private Garden of Sorrows

An Epiphoric Garden

by

Cie

Prompt Used:

Velvet Verbosity

TRIGGER WARNING:

EXPLICIT DISCUSSION OF DISTURBING THOUGHTS RELATING TO SEXUAL VICTIMIZATION.

SUCH THOUGHTS DO NOT MAKE THE VICTIM OF SEXUAL ASSAULT A BAD PERSON.

BUT THEY DO CONTINUE TO VICTIMIZE HER/HIM EVEN MANY YEARS AFTER THE EVENT TOOK PLACE

Sometimes I feel so very alone, even when I am surrounded by the people who are supposed to love me. I think of Gem and the difference he has made in my life, but even that can't clean away the filth on my soul. Although Gem knows what it's like to be shy and melancholy, I don't think he has any idea what it's like to feel rotten to the core. 

Although I feel that Gem saved my life and that he wouldn't reject me for being an outcast, sometimes I think that if he could really see me, he would see a horrifying creature that he could never resign himself to being anywhere near. Sometimes I think I really am the worst of things. What if my soul is nothing but a rotting corpse?

If events from my past haven't killed my soul, they have certainly done their best to try. There is no-one that I can explain this to. How can I explain that part of me believes that I deserve to be raped, violated, spit on, urinated on, defecated on, and eventually left weeping in a pool of feces like the worthless piece of shit I am? How can I explain that I get turned on by the thought of being degraded, even though I wouldn't want such a thing in a million years?

Gentle though he is, I feel that Gem couldn't possibly understand this corrosion, this vile putrescence. Although wounded, he will always be young and innocent at heart. I am evil in spite of wanting to love and be loved. He is pure, I am filth.

There are times when I just want to stay in bed, not wanting to be seen by the world. Sometimes I can't bear for others to gaze on something so monstrous as myself.

~Cie~