The VSF is in right in front of me, sitting on the ground, pondering how to construct this. What this means is that this blog post might seem strangely disjointed because it seems that he is going to want me to get up every few seconds to help him measure things on my body. This is love.
Anyway, I've been meaning to write this entry for a while because it is a bunch of meanderings that have been playing around in my mind, but I haven't really been sure how to structure it. So I'm just going to go for it and see what happens. Abuse. It's not happy. In fact, it may very well be the exact opposite of happy. Recently, though, I've come into some very coincidental encounters with it. One of my best friends is still reeling from a horribly abusive relationship/friendship, my officemate encountered a man showing all the warning signs for an abusive personality, and the VSF has been communicating with a penpal who is dealing with the consequences of recently getting out of an abusive situation.
I think the hardest thing for me is to wrap my head around what constitutes abuse. All explanations have really left me thinking that it is far too nebulous a thing to really describe. I think, however, that that is the truth and that the truth of that is what makes abuse so pernicious. It is hard to point at some relationship and say assuredly "That is abuse. You should leave." Certainly we can when the victim comes away from fights with a bloody lip or a black eye. But can we when she is simply becoming more and more withdrawn, quieter and quieter. Is the girlfriend simply being possessive or is she being manipulative? Is the boyfriend just tired, or does he yell at his boyfriend like this every time he gets frustrated? Is that girl critical or is she demeaning? If it is so easy for those of us outside of abusive relationships to be confused about abuse, then how can we expect victims to know definitively that their situation is untenable and to leave?
Also there's the issue of inconsistency. No abuser is an abuser 24/7. Sometimes he'll be the most wonderful and supportive person the world has ever seen. So what proportion constitutes abuse? 60/40? 70/30? How much can we write off as simply a bad day?
I don't know what got me on such a down click that I felt the need to write this, but the thoughts have been playing around in my head, and I just don't know the answers. I've read a lot, and there are some great resources out there. I've worked with the YWCA (primarily rape crisis, but there is some focus on relationship abuse.) I've been exposed to this stuff. I've lived some of this, but I still don't know how to explain it to people. That troubles me immensely. Look, people, if any of you think you might be in an abusive relationship, if any of you KNOW that you ARE in an abusive relationship, I only want you to do one thing (and I promise it's not "just leave"). I want you to know that it is not your fault that you are being abused, it's not your fault that you "fell for it," and that there are people out there who realize that it is much harder than even we know to recognize signs of abuse and avoid it.
Okay, I promise next time I'll write about something sexy. Like what we're gonna do with that rope sling the VSF is tying together. Or maybe about boobs. Everyone likes boobs right?
1.31.2011
1.26.2011
Never again but always
I will (hopefully) never again be fat. I will, however, always be a chubby girl no matter how not-chubby I get. I know that the internets are filled with story after story of fat people losing weight, but I think mine is unique (don't we all.) I guess its primary difference is that I wasn't always fat. I gained a lot of weight and then I lost it. So the real trauma was the weight gain rather than the weight loss or process therein.
So, I have never been a skinny girl. I tried to be a ballerina, but that doesn't work so well for girls with boobs and hips. The whole tall thing wasn't working for me so well either. Anyway, I always felt that I was big when in reality I was pretty average sized. The fact that my mom weighs 100 pounds on a heavy day doesn't help with the whole comparison thing.
Anyway, at some point, I became really okay with my body. This had to do with a number of circumstances: I quit ballet, left home, was getting laid with quite a bit of regularity, and was living a much more active lifestyle. Again, I wasn't skinny, but I was slender, and I was fit. Then depression happened.
It happened normally enough -- a bad breakup that I never really got over. First I lost about five pounds. Then my parents insisted that I go see a psychiatrist who put me on this medication that in addition to turning me into a zombie and giving me suicidal compulsions, also caused me to gain about 20 pounds over the course of 3 months. By the end of it, I looked like this:
Now, it's not horrible, but I did not feel good. I did not like myself. I was so angry at my lack of self control and my inability to motivate myself to get active and just get rid of those pounds. Never mind that I was depressed enough that I couldn't motivate myself to get to class much less exercise. Of course, at this point I was also in an inherently sex negative relationship with a Christian virgin so I wasn't even burning the calories I would typically burn with rampant fucking. Life, in short was hard.
Then I dumped the Christian, started dating someone who would actually fuck me, stopped being depressed, got on some good medications (with a different psychiatrist), and went to Italy where I was walking to and from school every day. I then came back to the states, got depressed again, got dumped by the new boyfriend, and lost more weight through the not-so-healthy technique that I refer to as stress not-eating. All-in-all I lost about 30 pounds and ended up looking more like this:
The thing is, I don't feel thin. I still often feel fat and undesirable. In comparison, when I actually was fat, I often felt incredibly sexy and lovely. I guess the moral is...your weight does not define you or your sexiness. At the same time, your health does. I feel gross when I am unhealthy, when I eat a bunch of junk food, which my uterus is trying to forcibly expel itself from my body. When I feel sexy, I'm usually being healthy, eating well, working out. So be healthy people. Which is my way of saying...BE SEXY.
So, I have never been a skinny girl. I tried to be a ballerina, but that doesn't work so well for girls with boobs and hips. The whole tall thing wasn't working for me so well either. Anyway, I always felt that I was big when in reality I was pretty average sized. The fact that my mom weighs 100 pounds on a heavy day doesn't help with the whole comparison thing.
Anyway, at some point, I became really okay with my body. This had to do with a number of circumstances: I quit ballet, left home, was getting laid with quite a bit of regularity, and was living a much more active lifestyle. Again, I wasn't skinny, but I was slender, and I was fit. Then depression happened.
It happened normally enough -- a bad breakup that I never really got over. First I lost about five pounds. Then my parents insisted that I go see a psychiatrist who put me on this medication that in addition to turning me into a zombie and giving me suicidal compulsions, also caused me to gain about 20 pounds over the course of 3 months. By the end of it, I looked like this:
Now, it's not horrible, but I did not feel good. I did not like myself. I was so angry at my lack of self control and my inability to motivate myself to get active and just get rid of those pounds. Never mind that I was depressed enough that I couldn't motivate myself to get to class much less exercise. Of course, at this point I was also in an inherently sex negative relationship with a Christian virgin so I wasn't even burning the calories I would typically burn with rampant fucking. Life, in short was hard.
Then I dumped the Christian, started dating someone who would actually fuck me, stopped being depressed, got on some good medications (with a different psychiatrist), and went to Italy where I was walking to and from school every day. I then came back to the states, got depressed again, got dumped by the new boyfriend, and lost more weight through the not-so-healthy technique that I refer to as stress not-eating. All-in-all I lost about 30 pounds and ended up looking more like this:
The thing is, I don't feel thin. I still often feel fat and undesirable. In comparison, when I actually was fat, I often felt incredibly sexy and lovely. I guess the moral is...your weight does not define you or your sexiness. At the same time, your health does. I feel gross when I am unhealthy, when I eat a bunch of junk food, which my uterus is trying to forcibly expel itself from my body. When I feel sexy, I'm usually being healthy, eating well, working out. So be healthy people. Which is my way of saying...BE SEXY.
1.25.2011
Probably why I don't update my blog
Okay, okay, okay. I know it's been way too long. I'm a horrible blog-mistress. The punishment is one hundred floggings. No. Really. Please. Bring it on. But seriously, guys, I'm sorry that I've been so remiss. I want to provide you with sexy stories, thoughtful insights, and general musings on life, but sometimes life gets in the way, and sometimes I'm really lazy. Actually, it's mostly that second point...
You see, in case you haven't realized it yet, I'm rather immature. I mean, I have my mature moments. I'm responsible, but maturity has never been my strong point. I still talk in baby voices, I hate cleaning, and sometimes when I get angry I cry and I scream. It's a wonder that I ever get laid. Anyway, it has taken the VSF nagging, pleading, and now threatening me to get me to write this. Those of you that know him, get him something nice. Like chocolate. Or a copious amount of Tenga products.
In realizing what a large part the VSF plays in my productivity and usefulness as a Real Live Adult©, I also realized that I haven't spoken much about our relationship. Now, I don't want this to turn into a 15 year old's "OH MY GOD MY BOYFRIEND IS SOOOO HOTTTT" blog. So I think I've restrained myself, but I think we have our moments. Well, I have my moments and he thoughtfully puts up with them.
For example, this afternoon the VSF decided to clean house a bit. You see, he doesn't work for pay, so he does wonderful things like clean our house. So he tidied up the room and just threw all of my clothes that were littering the floor onto the bed. I got into the bedroom, saw this, turned to him and said, "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Put it away," he said. "What else would you do with it?"
"I dunno...put it on the floor."
He started reaching for my nipples (he's a twister) so I set about doing the adult thing, and began putting clothes into drawers. When I made it to the extra sheets that he had also put on the bed, I held them up and said, "Where should I put these? We put the other sheets on the bed."
"Well, dear, where did the other sheets come from?"
"The closet." So I walked over to the closet and put the extra sheets into his Box o' Stuff and walked away.
"Did you just put the sheets in my box?"
"No."
"You DID."
I ran over to the closet blocking him from observing the evidence, "No, just let me do, um, stuff in here for a second. Don't look."
"You are a child! I am going to have to start withholding sex from you until you do your chores."
"But I don't LIKE chores."
"Case in point."
Now, obviously he could never actually withhold sex from me because, well, who are we kidding? But he does do a good job at getting me to do my shit. So thank the VSF for this blog post.
You see, in case you haven't realized it yet, I'm rather immature. I mean, I have my mature moments. I'm responsible, but maturity has never been my strong point. I still talk in baby voices, I hate cleaning, and sometimes when I get angry I cry and I scream. It's a wonder that I ever get laid. Anyway, it has taken the VSF nagging, pleading, and now threatening me to get me to write this. Those of you that know him, get him something nice. Like chocolate. Or a copious amount of Tenga products.
In realizing what a large part the VSF plays in my productivity and usefulness as a Real Live Adult©, I also realized that I haven't spoken much about our relationship. Now, I don't want this to turn into a 15 year old's "OH MY GOD MY BOYFRIEND IS SOOOO HOTTTT" blog. So I think I've restrained myself, but I think we have our moments. Well, I have my moments and he thoughtfully puts up with them.
For example, this afternoon the VSF decided to clean house a bit. You see, he doesn't work for pay, so he does wonderful things like clean our house. So he tidied up the room and just threw all of my clothes that were littering the floor onto the bed. I got into the bedroom, saw this, turned to him and said, "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Put it away," he said. "What else would you do with it?"
"I dunno...put it on the floor."
He started reaching for my nipples (he's a twister) so I set about doing the adult thing, and began putting clothes into drawers. When I made it to the extra sheets that he had also put on the bed, I held them up and said, "Where should I put these? We put the other sheets on the bed."
"Well, dear, where did the other sheets come from?"
"The closet." So I walked over to the closet and put the extra sheets into his Box o' Stuff and walked away.
"Did you just put the sheets in my box?"
"No."
"You DID."
I ran over to the closet blocking him from observing the evidence, "No, just let me do, um, stuff in here for a second. Don't look."
"You are a child! I am going to have to start withholding sex from you until you do your chores."
"But I don't LIKE chores."
"Case in point."
Now, obviously he could never actually withhold sex from me because, well, who are we kidding? But he does do a good job at getting me to do my shit. So thank the VSF for this blog post.
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