Did you ever have this feeling that there was a voice in your head? Telling you, urging, pleading, pushing, badgering, teasing, and instigating you, to do something. Constantly and mercilessly yakking its way through everything you do, or even try to do.
Something that is not stupid, but super stupid. The kind of thing that people first laugh at, ridicule and then put down as absolute insanity. Even suicide.
But that voice presses on. Constantly and mercilessly. Because deep down, somewhere in one tiny crevice of your brain, you know it might just fly. Because deep down, you don’t want that voice to stop. Because deep down, you believe. Grudgingly, but surely.
It’s the kind of voice that will tear your world apart and paste it in a completely different configuration. The kind of a voice that has absolutely no comfort about it. The kind of voice that you’ve been waiting for all your life.
What do you do with this monkey?
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Who are you? Really.
I think this is a beautiful story. A human story. Could be anybody's . Mine. Yours. Anybody's. That it is about a girl sexual orientation is just incidental I think. It's about every thing, in a way. About how we repress ourselves. And about how knowingly, unknowingly, we live for someone else's approval.
I found this here.
You know, I think way too deeply about alot of things. I over anylize, and I look over at it, think about it, dream about thinking about it, and when it all just comes to this, and mainly ACCEPTING this:
I am a lesbian.
Ever since I was 8 years old, I have loved women. However, I’ve had my share of boyfriends, and *little* experiences with them. I’ve had my heart broken twice–but, I have realized, I was not IN LOVE with that boy, I was in love with my addiction…(*sexual hormones raging!* Which I’m FINALLY coming to equilibrium with my body…I can look at someone and not feel aroused, haha. Anyways! Moving on.) When I was eight, there was a girl that lived just a few houses down the road. Her name was Stephanie; she was older than me, had mid-length brown hair, and (blue? green?) eyes. I looked up to her, and adored her.
One night…well, we “played” a bit. I don’t know how, but the next morning, her mom and my mom found out. I remember standing at the corner, watching Stephanie cry in front of her mother. Her mom looked angry as she recalled the events.
I was ashamed. As much as I had wanted to do it again–despite my initial fear–I was ASHAMED of wanting her. At eight years old! I knew that boys and girls are “supposed” to like each other. And I knew where babies came from. So was I some kind of freak, I remembered thinking, was there something wrong with me?
So, life went on…
I’d had friends, mostly girls. I got boyfriends that I never really liked–all were mean and unintelligent–and my best friends…were so much more to me. But I never acknowledged my feelings. I think this is the first time I’ve ever really acknowledged my feelings at all.
I remember when I was 12, my friend–my best friend–had said out of the blue, “Wanna have sex with me?” As if we were talking about the weather. I had thought a minute, and after deciding that I wasn’t ready, and mybe she was lying and would laugh at me if I said yes, said “No.” She laughed and said, “Oh I was only joking. Haha, I’m a good actor aren’t I?” Ha. Sure.
I moved all over the place–Navy brat–and just…lived, I guess. I wasn’t exactly “aware” of many things.
It wasn’t until my Nana died in the car accident that I began to appreciate things for what they were; I had realized that I might be a lesbian. (six months or so after her death, and I was online ALOT of the time, lol.) I didn’t tell anyone, my brother being the religious nut at the time–WAY too obsessed with the Bible–and I tried to follow him. (Funny how a few years later he came out. Few years after that, he took his own life…*sighs* but that’s another story.)
I just wanted to be normal! I wanted to just grow up, go to college, get married and have babies with him like everyone else. And maybe act, to compensate for my “normalcy”.
It went on like this for a long, long time.
It wasn’t until quite recently that I have finally accepted myself for who I am, and stop deliberating, and understand that “normal” does not exist. I even came out *a little* to my dad. (I told him it might be possible, haha.) He said, “Tabby, I don’t care what you do–just as long as you’re happy. I love you for who you are.” (*^.^* Yay!) That moment, I was so happy. I’d been longing for a relationship with my dad, and it’s been awesome. My mother’s and I’s relationship has even improved a bunch, too.
Just by accepting myself, and going through all this over the past five, almost six years, has finally let some light into my life.
I’m happy~
I found this here.
You know, I think way too deeply about alot of things. I over anylize, and I look over at it, think about it, dream about thinking about it, and when it all just comes to this, and mainly ACCEPTING this:
I am a lesbian.
Ever since I was 8 years old, I have loved women. However, I’ve had my share of boyfriends, and *little* experiences with them. I’ve had my heart broken twice–but, I have realized, I was not IN LOVE with that boy, I was in love with my addiction…(*sexual hormones raging!* Which I’m FINALLY coming to equilibrium with my body…I can look at someone and not feel aroused, haha. Anyways! Moving on.) When I was eight, there was a girl that lived just a few houses down the road. Her name was Stephanie; she was older than me, had mid-length brown hair, and (blue? green?) eyes. I looked up to her, and adored her.
One night…well, we “played” a bit. I don’t know how, but the next morning, her mom and my mom found out. I remember standing at the corner, watching Stephanie cry in front of her mother. Her mom looked angry as she recalled the events.
I was ashamed. As much as I had wanted to do it again–despite my initial fear–I was ASHAMED of wanting her. At eight years old! I knew that boys and girls are “supposed” to like each other. And I knew where babies came from. So was I some kind of freak, I remembered thinking, was there something wrong with me?
So, life went on…
I’d had friends, mostly girls. I got boyfriends that I never really liked–all were mean and unintelligent–and my best friends…were so much more to me. But I never acknowledged my feelings. I think this is the first time I’ve ever really acknowledged my feelings at all.
I remember when I was 12, my friend–my best friend–had said out of the blue, “Wanna have sex with me?” As if we were talking about the weather. I had thought a minute, and after deciding that I wasn’t ready, and mybe she was lying and would laugh at me if I said yes, said “No.” She laughed and said, “Oh I was only joking. Haha, I’m a good actor aren’t I?” Ha. Sure.
I moved all over the place–Navy brat–and just…lived, I guess. I wasn’t exactly “aware” of many things.
It wasn’t until my Nana died in the car accident that I began to appreciate things for what they were; I had realized that I might be a lesbian. (six months or so after her death, and I was online ALOT of the time, lol.) I didn’t tell anyone, my brother being the religious nut at the time–WAY too obsessed with the Bible–and I tried to follow him. (Funny how a few years later he came out. Few years after that, he took his own life…*sighs* but that’s another story.)
I just wanted to be normal! I wanted to just grow up, go to college, get married and have babies with him like everyone else. And maybe act, to compensate for my “normalcy”.
It went on like this for a long, long time.
It wasn’t until quite recently that I have finally accepted myself for who I am, and stop deliberating, and understand that “normal” does not exist. I even came out *a little* to my dad. (I told him it might be possible, haha.) He said, “Tabby, I don’t care what you do–just as long as you’re happy. I love you for who you are.” (*^.^* Yay!) That moment, I was so happy. I’d been longing for a relationship with my dad, and it’s been awesome. My mother’s and I’s relationship has even improved a bunch, too.
Just by accepting myself, and going through all this over the past five, almost six years, has finally let some light into my life.
I’m happy~
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Testimonial
It was the custom in Ancient Rome for the men to place their right hand on their testicles when taking an oath. The modern term 'testimony' is derived from this tradition
Monday, September 1, 2008
Married Chips
This was an email forward.
After nearly 50 years of marriage, a couple was lying in bed one
evening, when the wife felt her husband, begin to massage her in ways he hadn't in quite some time.
It almost tickled as his fingers started at her neck, and then began
moving down past the small of her back. He then caressed her
shoulders and neck, slowly worked his hand down, stopping just over
her stomach.
He then proceeded to place his hand on her left inner arm, working
down her side, passing gently over her buttock and down her leg to her calf.
Then, he proceeded up her thigh, stopping just at the uppermost
portion of her leg. He continued in the same manner on her right
side, then suddenly stopped, rolled over and became silent.
As she had become quite aroused by this caressing, she asked in a
loving voice, 'Honey, that was wonderful. Why did you stop?'
To which he responded: 'I found the remote.'
After nearly 50 years of marriage, a couple was lying in bed one
evening, when the wife felt her husband, begin to massage her in ways he hadn't in quite some time.
It almost tickled as his fingers started at her neck, and then began
moving down past the small of her back. He then caressed her
shoulders and neck, slowly worked his hand down, stopping just over
her stomach.
He then proceeded to place his hand on her left inner arm, working
down her side, passing gently over her buttock and down her leg to her calf.
Then, he proceeded up her thigh, stopping just at the uppermost
portion of her leg. He continued in the same manner on her right
side, then suddenly stopped, rolled over and became silent.
As she had become quite aroused by this caressing, she asked in a
loving voice, 'Honey, that was wonderful. Why did you stop?'
To which he responded: 'I found the remote.'
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Why do I want to go?
To Mongolia?
Coz I know so little about it.
To work?
I have to pay for Mongolia, right!
Away from her?
Coz she’s left me nowhere else to go.
To Hitch?
He rhymes with me.
To the next channel?
Hopefully the next one still has ads.
Home?
I run out of reasons to stay out.
To my barber?
For no reason now, actually.
To the North East?
I really liked dog the first time I tried.
To the loo?
Hell coz I need to go!
But, why do you want to go?
Coz I know so little about it.
To work?
I have to pay for Mongolia, right!
Away from her?
Coz she’s left me nowhere else to go.
To Hitch?
He rhymes with me.
To the next channel?
Hopefully the next one still has ads.
Home?
I run out of reasons to stay out.
To my barber?
For no reason now, actually.
To the North East?
I really liked dog the first time I tried.
To the loo?
Hell coz I need to go!
But, why do you want to go?
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Not a mistake
Like in any story worth telling, there was this girl. She had a huge load on her heart, weighing her down, killing her one day at a time. But she could not rid herself of it no matter how hard and no matter which way she tried. Till she met this guy.
He lent her his ear, his patience, his words and a little bit of his courage. Phone bills soared on either end. Nights seemed to have no end. Chat windows ran to 300 plus lines. Slowly, leg after arm, she pulled herself out of her ditch.
Her respect for him had no bounds. And his love for her just kept growing. They grew stronger together with each passing day.
Till one particular day. A day that meant a lot to her. A day that he knew meant a lot to her. A day that she spent waiting for him to come. All day, all night by the phone, and by the window.
He never came.
Her heart broke. And after all those months, so did the tears.
He knew he screwed up. And that he screwed up bad. He called, apologised, explained and tried every thing that he could think of. But what he did that day broke something he never expected to end up breaking. Their bond.
Phone calls went unanswered. The chat windows dried up to monosyllables. And the nights got longer. But he had no reprieve.
Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. He begged and he grovelled. He did to no avail. He tried to make things happen. Nothing happened. He spent every night praying for one opportunity to go back to that day and undo the one wrong that he’d done to her. Neither God, nor she was willing to grant him that.
There was realisation, remorse and there was regret. But there was no forgiveness.
As the months passed, a few phone calls resumed. She called when she needed help. He leaped forward to help, hungry for every brownie point he could bag. And he called her when he was troubled beyond his means. She listened.
He conspired and created situations to be with her. She obliged. She came. She had her assortment of men for the moments. And he waited on the sidelines for a crumb to fall his way. Too bad, she was too clean.
Everything that he had given turned to dust because of one wrong. And he could never stop trying to right that wrong. But water under a bridge, is water under a bridge.
So one night, feeling lost, feeling alone and like a loser, he sat and he thought.
“Where was I wrong? Making the mistake? Trying to unmake the mistake? Or falling in love with the wrong person?”
{perspectives, opinions, criticism and cuss words solicited}
He lent her his ear, his patience, his words and a little bit of his courage. Phone bills soared on either end. Nights seemed to have no end. Chat windows ran to 300 plus lines. Slowly, leg after arm, she pulled herself out of her ditch.
Her respect for him had no bounds. And his love for her just kept growing. They grew stronger together with each passing day.
Till one particular day. A day that meant a lot to her. A day that he knew meant a lot to her. A day that she spent waiting for him to come. All day, all night by the phone, and by the window.
He never came.
Her heart broke. And after all those months, so did the tears.
He knew he screwed up. And that he screwed up bad. He called, apologised, explained and tried every thing that he could think of. But what he did that day broke something he never expected to end up breaking. Their bond.
Phone calls went unanswered. The chat windows dried up to monosyllables. And the nights got longer. But he had no reprieve.
Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. He begged and he grovelled. He did to no avail. He tried to make things happen. Nothing happened. He spent every night praying for one opportunity to go back to that day and undo the one wrong that he’d done to her. Neither God, nor she was willing to grant him that.
There was realisation, remorse and there was regret. But there was no forgiveness.
As the months passed, a few phone calls resumed. She called when she needed help. He leaped forward to help, hungry for every brownie point he could bag. And he called her when he was troubled beyond his means. She listened.
He conspired and created situations to be with her. She obliged. She came. She had her assortment of men for the moments. And he waited on the sidelines for a crumb to fall his way. Too bad, she was too clean.
Everything that he had given turned to dust because of one wrong. And he could never stop trying to right that wrong. But water under a bridge, is water under a bridge.
So one night, feeling lost, feeling alone and like a loser, he sat and he thought.
“Where was I wrong? Making the mistake? Trying to unmake the mistake? Or falling in love with the wrong person?”
{perspectives, opinions, criticism and cuss words solicited}
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