The Girl in Black

Se necesita una poca de gracia.

Friday, May 26, 2006

Well, maybe it's time to give up the ghost

I haven't been posting all that much, as I'm finding less and less that I want to blog about with the rest of the known world. I have my LJ account, and that is enough. If you are a friend of mine that has my email address, you are invited to hop over to LJ and read all about my daily adventures. Just email me and I'll give you the name.

I don't think I'll be deleting anything just yet, there's a significant chunk of my life in here, but I'll be redirecting to something else. Archives, if you care, are still at

Happy thoughts: People whom I don't know have actually read and commented on my posts! The nice ones are awesome, and the fact that someone took the time out of their busy life to post a negative comment is kinda cool too.

PS - I quit my job and moved all the way from Orlando, Florida to Colorado. I've been here about a month, and it's quite awesome. I am happy. :-) I hope you're happy wherever you are too.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Thank you, Sarah

Sarah commented on my last post, and I found her charity called LifeSIGNS, a UK based awareness group that gives information about what I have always called Self Mutilation, but is also called Self Harm. I've added LifeSIGNS to my blogroll, and I will be looking for other online resources to add (hopefully on this side of the Atlantic).

Also, there's a LifeSIGNS blog that you can read for information and updates.

If you want to understand why anyone does it, here's a good answer:

Thanks to anyone who has read my previous post and given it honest thought.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

What the hell kind of idiotic survey question is this!?

So I'm looking at a friend's MySpace profile, and she put up one of those convenient surveys to tell everyone a bit about herself. Everything's pretty silly and benign, except the last question. The last question, casual as "Have you ever kissed someone?" is "Do you cut yourself?"

Pardon my French, but WHAT THE MOTHERFUCKING FUCK!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

This is a subject that has become more and more irritable to me, and today it is the last straw.


Why is this pissing me off so much? Because I've done it. I still think of doing it sometimes. At twenty-six. I didn't grow out of it. It's still a gut reaction to many forms of stress, and I'm having to retrain my thinking.

I don't know what's worse, the fact that now that it's being talked about by adults it's considered so disturbing that any coverage about it in the media barely scrapes the surface of the subject, or that apparently it's now considered some sort of teenage fad.

Shall we add other questions to these surveys now? "Are you an alcoholic?" "Do you have an eating disorder?" "Have you attempted suicide?" "Do you shoot up smack?"

It makes me laugh, this public wringing of the hands. "Oh, what's to be done?" The fact that our children are doing this is disturbing enough, eh? Do you know what it's like? Do you want to know?

The disturbing thing isn't that it's done. The disturbing thing is how it feels when you're doing it. It's not the physical act. The pain, the blood, all of it is part of the fact that when you're doing it, it feels good. Good in a way I can hardly describe. It's not a high. It's not a positive, happy feeling. It comes from a dark place that only those who have been there really understand.

It's about wanting control over something when you think that you can't have control over anything else in your life. It's about expressing emotions that you don't feel you can express any other way. It's a want for attention. It's a want for self destruction. It's something you do when you don't know what else to do. And instead of acting out on others (like a school shooting) it's acting out on yourself.

And hey, maybe I should be glad that people are finally talking about it, huh? Maybe I'm upset because no one was concerned about it when I needed people to be concerned. Not that my mother wasn't. It sickens me how she won't say that I was cutting myself. She would always say I was "cutting on myself." She couldn't ever bring herself to say exactly what it was.

Heh, it's even got a new term now. It's not "self mutilation." You're a "cutter." How fucking quaint.

This isn't a tattoo, or a piercing, or even something connected to the spiritual. This comes from a bad place, and while it needs to be seriously talked about, it should be seen for what it is. Not some "inhuman act." Not something all the other kids are doing. It's a silent pleading for the bad things to go away.

You're concerned? Get over your fear. Get over your "that's so cool" mentality. This is not a rebellious act to be proud of, and this is not something unspeakable to gloss over in hopes that it'll stop.

You don't know the disgusting shame that you're left with after the fact either. For me it wasn't just the sense of having to hide it rather than explain myself and fear becoming a pariah. The worry of having to explain it to boyfriends and lovers and be forever shunned. It was the self-criticism that it was all an immature cry for attention. Attention I didn't deserve. I knew it while I was doing it. The good feeling never lasted.

The deepest and most permanent of my scars I have are on my left arm in full view. Scars that I've had since I was nineteen, when I woke up the next day and realized that I couldn't hide them under long sleeves forever. I think about how proud I was of my perfect, pale skin, and how it'll never be so perfect again. I'll have these scars my whole life, no matter how much better I get. They're always there. A constant reminder of darker days. A slight panic of having to explain it to people who notice. The concern with noticing the signs of others doing it, and knowing that they don't feel safe talking to me about it. How do you bring that up in conversation? "By the by, I used to cut myself. Is that what you did/have been doing too?"

Few people ever seem to notice, though. It's easier to look the other way when you don't understand something. People often see what they want to see. And somedays even I forget that they're there.

But they are. I'll show them to you. Just ask me. How cool is that?

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Oh. My. God.

I. Am so. Embarassed.

But first, backstory: I have left my job and am moving to Colorado Springs. In the interum between job disruption and vacating Orlando, I am sorting through all of the stuff I've carried around with me for aeons. This is the third night of my work.

And yes, now I'm embarassed.

I finally sorted through a box innocently labeled "papers" so as to hopefully throw off anyone who might want to go through its contents. Obviously, this box contained "art" and writing (a.k.a. teenage poetry) that dated all the way back to middle school.

Oh, there is no way in hell anyone is going to look at this stuff. I'm the only person in my apartment and I'm blushing! Gods.

I actually threw some of the poetry most offensive to me away, as well as a few drawings that were remnants of my habit of copying other people's art. (I kept some of it. Fond memories and all.)

I could've thrown everything away I suppose, except for the little voice telling me to hang onto it all "for posterity."

Okay. Stop.

How could anyone look at this stuff and think me a credible person ever afterwards? I was no "budding genius." Just another misunderstood and angsty kid who tried to vent through sappy poetry and bad drawings (and I knew it at the time too). Although, I suppose it could possibly be of interest to the psychological community as examples of ways that angst-ridden teens act out?

*laughs* Okay, so yeah, I'm embarassed. But I'm keeping all the important and special stuff. And only I will know exactly what is actually important and special.

And no, you can't see.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

A Brief History Of All Things Miss Rose - Chapter One

Well, not so brief. A conversation with a friend of mine has caused me to actually break down and analyze the path that has led me to my current way of processing reality, and my choice in spiritual thinking. What follows is the first installment, which outlines some of my background. There will be more to follow...

I'd like to make mention of my earliest days, because it is a part of my background after all. It's so far removed from me now, but I suppose at one point you could have called me a Christian. I don't consider myself "raised Christian" so much as immersed in an environment where it was constantly around me. I don't remember where I first heard of God and Jesus, it was always something I knew of. I wasn't exposed to anything else for a long time. My parents never took me to church unless I wanted to go. I had no denomination, and didn't even understand the differences between churches until I was a teenager. The only "evil" I learned from Christianity was a sense of being self-effacingly humble. How could I know better than God? How could I do better than him? How could I be so audacious to tout myself as a good person when I should be asking God constantly how I can be better? These thoughts fit in well with my personality, and exacerbated an already flailing sense of self-esteem and self-confidence.

Ironically, it was this same lack of self-esteem that caused me to stop attending the church that I had been. Due to a bad experience with some of the kids my own age at the church's summer camp (who actually weren't a part of the regular youth group), I became paranoid and thought that everyone in the youth group hated me. So why bother going? Since sin wasn't so much a part of my world, there was little sin in not attending church. But I still considered myself "Christian." There was still God and Jesus. What else could there be? I didn't ever really think anyone was wrong for having different beliefs, and I didn't think much on it at all. It's entirely illogical to think that someone born into a different culture who would have no possible way of knowing what the "right" religion is should be punished.

Another amusing aside is that the idea of reincarnation made sense to me ever since I heard of it in childhood. Eternity just didn't make sense. There's no balance to living a mortal life for eighty-odd years and then living in heaven or hell forever after.

So for the record I suppose I can state that I have always been open to some sort of spiritual thinking, and have always had an open mind to different concepts. I just didn't know the history or culture of anything but the small swatch that I had been exposed to until high school. Education opened my world even further. And beacuse of this, I know well the tragedy of people trapped in a narrow-minded culture. When you aren't exposed to anything but what those around you "know," it can be difficult to break out of the frame of reference you have developed.

This is why I believe in good education for all, and am absolutely horrified by fundamentalists who insist that their way of thinking be taught in schools. Schools should teach us how to think, not necessarily what to think. The exposure to as many different ideas as possible is paramount. In all facets of life, not just religion. Science, math, history, english, music, art, etc. When we are taught how to form our own opinions, rather than rely on dogmatic thought, we have so much more of an ability to get along in the world. And I suspect there would be a significant decrease in the amount of fundamentalist thought running rampant these days.
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