14
January

It Goes All Around My Throat

Even though people on “the interwebz” know some of the most personal things about me, most folks don’t know very much else about me. In fact, there are a lot of things that I do NOT talk about on here that people might like to know. So, I’m going to try to post more often and post about the different things that people probably don’t know about me.

Let’s see…where to begin?

I don’t know that my family remembers my first words. I know I don’t remember ever liking to talk. Talking for me was always something that was extremely difficult. I’m extremely quiet. If you don’t believe me, I recommend checking my youtube videos. That voice you can barely hear is the voice that people in life have gotten extremely frustrated over. People have accused me, at times, of trying to be inaudible, but it generally isn’t something that I am trying to do. With the exception of whispering, I don’t generally try to go unheard–it just happens. Speaking is something that I don’t ever remember being good at. Singing, on the other hand, was always something that I felt more secure in.

My mom taught me the first song that I ever sang, “Tomorrow” from Annie. I would eventually learn every song from the musical, which I obsessively watched a video of as a child because of my love for the music and my fascination with one of the few redheads I ever really saw on television or in movies. (When you grow up in a group that only makes up 1-2% of the entire global population, you search for someone who looks like you that you can truly respect or admire.) I would move on from just singing along to Annie to learning all of the songs of Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, Tracy Chapman, Janet Jackson, and Paula Abdul. I accidentally stumbled upon the “Like a Prayer” video on MTV, a channel which I wasn’t allowed to watch by myself until I was a teenager, and became fascinated by the song and the video. I remember watching that video before quickly flipping my television onto BET, which I was allowed to watch anytime and go to sleep to when I was small.

I absorbed music like sponges absorb water. It was something I needed to survive. It was something that was necessary for me to understand humanity. It was never a thing where I just randomly listened to music that was popular or had a good beat or anything. It was something where I needed to find music that was interesting or inspiring or just left me feeling like I needed more of it. I listened to lyrics and tried to understand them, even if I didn’t completely understand some of the lyrics until I was much older. Music was communication for me.

Even though it was communication, it wasn’t a very open form of communication for me. There were the occasional times when I would perform “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” for one of my preschool teachers, but usually the only people who heard me sing were my parents. I didn’t sing around most of my relatives. I didn’t usually sing at school in elementary school. Part of it was that I was extremely shy. The other part was my ever-present self-esteem issues crap. It didn’t help that when I sang for one of my friends in third grade that she told me that I had a “weak voice” and that I shouldn’t sing. It also didn’t help when I would volunteer to sing for assemblies and would get skipped in favor of some of my other friends. The answer was generally, “That’s okay, we already have [insert the name of one or two of my friends during that time] so you don’t have to.” It felt like a confirmation of that inner voice that said I was awful at everything. It made me feel like I was somehow “less than” other folks. Actually, it just reinforced that already-present feeling.

When I was in middle school and high school, I was in choir. It surprised everyone but me. My parents figured I would pick band, since I’d done well on the band’s music aptitude test. I wasn’t interested in band as much I was interested in singing. I needed to sing. I needed to learn to feel good about singing.

In sixth grade, the middle school choir had about 79 people total. Our director was on her first year at the school, and she just wasn’t going to have a choir that was so itty bitty. After the ensemble I was in got a Superior (a “1″) at State Competition and earned a medal, she used us a lot to recruit new members for the choir. We performed at the orientation for incoming sixth graders. We were also the group she used at a concert at a local health food store. When the 30 or so eighth graders moved on to high school, the choir didn’t lose any memebers. It didn’t stay at around the same number. It more than doubled. By eighth grade, around half of the school’s 650 students were in choir. (The other half were in band, with a few seventh and eighth graders participating in both.) Partly because of our excellence in recruiting, our teacher decided we needed to have special choir trip for the eighth grade (plus a few select seventh graders), so we ended up going to Chicago, instead of the normal trip to Atlanta. Actually, I ended up going on both trips that year. (My mom was the treasurer during the last 2 years, and had to do the trip planning, checking in of the choirs, and prep work, so I got to do all the activities.) So, choir in middle school was, for the most part, something I enjoyed.

If I hadn’t been so competitive and wanted to earn every single medal possible, it would have probably been a lot more fun. I always wanted a medal. I think earning medals was a way for me to prove to myself (and other people) that I was more than just the girl who you could depend on for the answers in class. I felt validated when I would get medals. I felt validated when I got into choirs like All-City choir. It felt like all those bad things that I had always heard from people or that I had thought about myself weren’t true. The only time that I ever really craved attention and real approval was when I was performing. I wanted to have something that people respected me for, because I always believed (and still do) that there was something fundamentally wrong or broken about me.

The competitiveness continued into high school, but it wasn’t as easy to get medals or go on trips or do the stuff that was so überfun because the directors in high school weren’t apt to take hundreds of kids to competitions or trips. The only trip I remember was a trip to Decatur, where we (oddly) stayed the night between Alabama Honor Choir rehearsals. (It was odd because Decatur is literally 40-50 minutes from my house. It was also odd because the trip was one I’d done in middle school and not had to stay the night.) The only competition I remember participating in during high school was District/State Solo/Ensemble Festival in tenth grade. It was memorable because I broke down after receiving news that I had gotten a 3 on my solo, while every other soloist from my school had gotten a 1. Even people (from other schools) who were utterly tone deaf were given at least a 2. I was given a 3 and one of the reasons listed was that I mispronounced 1 word (virgine) in the song “Ave Verum Corpus” and that mispronunciation was so horrible (a jih [like jib] instead of gee) that it knocked me down quite a bit. The two other people in the room with me, my voice teacher and my choir director, were floored by the other flaw he found in my performance: he said I was repeatedly off-key. According to them, I missed 1 note in the two songs I did. (The other song was “Art is Calling for Me” and he’d heard it the week before by a college student, who’d apparently done a magnificent job.) I was crying when I got the results, and was comforted by many of the choir students from my school, including one who I didn’t even think liked me. She said that she had been standing outside (they all had) and had heard me sing and that the judge was an idiot. This was something that people told me repeatedly that day, which (if I remember correctly) was the same day as my 16th birthday party. The next week other people, including ones who had never heard me sing, told me that the judge was an idiot. So, though I was utterly devastated by the result of that one competition, I did receive a little bit of a confidence boost from my friends. That made it easier on me when my tape failed to play Mariah Carey’s “Can’t Take That Away” in my eleventh grade English class and I ended up having to sing it a capella with no rehearsal. It is one of the only times I ever remember performing for an audience with my glasses on (I would always taken them off so that I didn’t get nervous) and being able to see the entire room. It was also one of the only times I ever felt completely safe performing.

When I quit high school and started going into my deeply depressive spells on a more frequent basis, I pretty much quit singing. I didn’t have the spark that singing needed in me anymore. So, I quit. And when I tried to sing along to a song on the radio a few years later, it felt like my voice had shrivled up on me. It felt like a voice that I had been using for years decided to quit working after I quit using it. I started giving myself voice lessons again and trying to strengthen my voice. It isn’t as strong as it once was, but it is a lot stronger than it was between 2004 and 2007. I now know that I don’t ever want to lose it, so I always try to remember to sing when I can. Just a little singing seems to keep it strong enough to stick around.

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7
November

A Face That Laughs Every Time I Fall

I had therapy this afternoon. As usual, I forgot that I had therapy today until I saw the appointment on the family appointment schedule/calendar. The appointment was going to be one where I discussed something that has been pestering me since I was a little kid. It was going to be one where I discussed something I’ve only mentioned to two or three people total in my life. Of course, therapy never seems to work out the way I plan on it working.

One main reason that I didn’t discuss that pestering issue is that Nana had called at about noon today. She’d told me that a certain relative had been talking to her about Thanksgiving. The relative asked if my parents and I were going to be at Thanksgiving dinner (lunch) on Thanksgiving Day. Nana said that of course we were going to be there. The relative then said that that meant she (and her family) would not be at that dinner and that they would have Thanksgiving some other time. I wasn’t too surprised by this, given the amount of drama that has been brewing related to it. I was okay with it, or so I thought.

Having them there in a “normal” year is a rather stressful thing for me anyway. I have internal fights and arguments in preparation for the day. I have panic attacks about what might happen if I mention certain things during dinner and cause an actual brawl. I stress out over how I might end up being belittled for my education (or “lack” thereof) or how I might see or hear them give someone (Nana, mom, or me) a difficult time about their use of pain medicine or some other relatively minor thing that ends up causing major family drama. So not having them there means that I won’t be feeling quite the same level of pre-Thanksgiving anxiety and stress. That should be a good thing.

It isn’t, though. I feel guilty. I feel like this drama is my fault, even though it wouldn’t have started if there weren’t issues with how the family functions to begin with. The drama has been there for a long time, even if it hadn’t been exposed. So I shouldn’t feel so horribly guilty about it, but I do. And I think that was the purpose of the boycott. Maybe that’s just my inherent paranoia, but it seems like this is a way to make me feel bad about the whole situation and to feel even less comfortable about my blog and my way of handling stress related to this kind of stuff.

It doesn’t really impact my decision about what I’ll talk about online, though. I will continue to talk about how I feel openly. I’ll do it even though it might be part of what drives a wedge between the two sides of my family. I’ll even do it knowing that there are still regular visitors from Oneonta and Guntersville/Arab/Boaz/Albertville, which I know must be them coming to check on me to see what I might be saying about them. (Yes, Analytics is still catching them checking out fuzzypinkslippers.com, my personal tumblr, my LJ, Hyperaware, and Blah Blah Biddy Blah. They may be visiting other sites of mine, which amps up my paranoia.)

Instead, it just makes me feel like it doesn’t matter that the problems with the family wouldn’t be discussed if I didn’t blog about it.  It makes me feel like my feelings about everything are insignificant.  And that is what I mainly talked about with my therapist.  Anytime I’m told not to talk about something or told, in general, to shut up or that someone doesn’t care, it triggers the internal belief that I am insignificant, which triggers the brutal depression and the worsening of social isolation.

It also makes me feel like I’m supposed to feel guilty about how I am tearing apart the family, even though I am not the one making the decision not to show up for Thanksgiving (for the third time in a decade) and I am not the one who is trying to make this about one part of the family being more important than another part. Knowing that family is extremely important to me and then trying to use it against me to make me feel guilty is about like handing a razor blade to a suicidal individual and challenging them to end their life.  It is using a known weapon and a known psychological stressor to manipulate one person into doing what you want, and that isn’t fair.

Between this ongoing drama with those family members and the repeating pattern of destructive interpersonal relationships, I broke down about how “people suck” and how I felt like I keep entering and perpetrating dysfunctional relationships because I get something out of being in those relationships.  (Almost twenty years of therapy and I just figured this out.)  She told me to look up the Karpman drama triangle, which I’ve added to examples of below:

Karpman drama triangle - ex 1
Karpman drama triangle - ex 2

So, I guess that internet theory about online drama perpetrators/victims being equally responsible for online drama also applies to real life.  I think, in many of the relationships, I am definitely continuing patterns of victim-like behavior and perpetrator-like behavior.  (Sometimes I trigger/accuse someone of doing something, which starts the whole cycle over again.)  My therapist compared the drama issue with something that foster kids do.  (She was a social worker with the agency we did foster care out of, and handled Stephanie’s case during part of Stephanie’s stay with us.)  Apparently, what I do is like what those kids do when they are so used to placements failing that they become convinced that a placement will fail and decide that they will make it fail so that they have some level of control over their lives.  I guess that makes sense.  I’ve always felt out of control when it comes to a lot of my life, so it would make sense that I would do something that causes me to not only be miserable, but also allows me to control when I am getting miserable.

I need to get out of that cycle.  I also need to form healthier attachments.  And more than all of that, I need to figure out a way to be happy.  I’m not talking about the little bursts of joy that any person might have during their life.  I need to find a way to have some kind of sustainable joy in life. I didn’t want to work on my mental health for years and I actually enjoyed periods of crippling depression because it was more predictable than happiness. I really need to change that mindset.  I need to learn how to deal with life and how to be happier.

So, I didn’t get to talk about one thing that may have been to blame for some (or many of my emotional issues), but I did get to talk about another.  It actually makes me feel grateful to the family member for reacting in a way that some close to me have referred to as being “immature” or “bitchy” because without that reaction, I might not have started working on one of my major psychological issues.  So, yay for that.  Maybe I should have more thoroughly pissed that person off much sooner.  I might have graduated from college.  I might have gotten married by now.  I might have felt happy.  Okay, maybe none of that would have happened, but it does make me wonder.

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6
November

It’s a Blacked Out Blur, But I’m Pretty Sure…

I hurt. This is not news. I hurt in my head, back, and neck. Again, this is not news. I tend to have weird tastes in my mouth, have trouble being around any light, and need to be laying as far back as humanly possible in order to feel anywhere near normal. This isn’t news to me. This probably isn’t news to anyone who may have listened to me complain every day for the last, oh, year and a half. My mom finally started putting together my complaints the other day. (She’s been remarkably more coherent in the last few days and couple of weeks.)

My mom wants me to go see my neurologist because she thinks that it sounds like a CSF leak. I have been thinking this was a potential issue for about a year now, especially since I started getting some yellow fluid in my ears regularly after my sinus surgery. I don’t bring it up at the doctor because I honestly feel like when I ask about serious issues that doctors might think that I’m being a malingerer or something. I know that I might miss out on getting things fixed by not discussing them with doctors, but I don’t want to come off as a hypochondriac or an attention-seeking whiner. (I don’t like asking for help ever.) Besides, the issue with the headaches/neck and back pains being horribly bad and the fluid being in my ears isn’t necessarily a regular issue. It seems to come and go, so it could be nothing. It could just be random bouts of health crap. My mom thinks it is super-serious, though.

So, I guess that I shall call my neuro doc this week. I am also supposed to call my GI doc about my regular heartburn and my family doctor about my ongoing sinus crap. The more aware my mother seems to be about my health issues, the more doctors she seems to want me to contact. It’s nice that she cares, but I don’t know what good it will do for me to see the doctors. They probably won’t do anything and anything that do try will probably end up causing some other crap. I think I’ve truly given up on doctors at this point.

In other pointless news, Alabama played LSU last night and lost. Somehow, local news had a hard time showing any highlights of LSU from the game, but got in all of the Alabama highlights. Maybe it was a coincidence. Alabama fans are being excessively annoying on Facebook. Apparently, the same people who regularly like to give Auburn fans a hard time when Auburn loses or doesn’t win by a high enough score or when Auburn has a stellar player that Alabama fans don’t like (i.e. Cam Newton) do not want to hear that their team lost, didn’t manage to score a touchdown (Auburn did vs. LSU), and that the referees were actually being kinder to Alabama than they were to LSU. (It was in Tuscaloosa, so having Alabama-loving refs is not unheard of there.) Instead, they’re saying how the referees were being mean to them or that LSU was cheating or other stuff that they normally say when they’re feeling butthurt. I’m glad I’m no longer “friends” with certain people on Facebook (i.e. some family members and Alan) because the Alabama loss would have resulted in a lot of whining from them and even more unusual conspiracy theories.

Oh, I accidentally described (outloud) the attitudes of ‘Bama fans last night as being butthurt to my parents. I then had to try to, nicely, explain what butthurt meant. Ah, sometimes I need to remember that slang does not translate for members of some (older) age groups.

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19
October

I am not your [insert something or someone here]

I don’t usually cuss (on Facebook and in real life) and I don’t usually cuss at friends or family, unless I am either really pissed off or am in other heightened state. I try to be nice. I try to keep my temper in check, but I am so sick of some people.

Every time that I complain or say anything that doesn’t support their ideals, I get the same two or three people coming and telling me that I am undeserving of, well, anything. Usually, they are trying to tell me how they know exactly what I can physically and mentally do, and then they use some kind of guilt trip (a comparison to someone is the typical form of guilt that they use) to make me feel bad about things I do. And I understand that they typically think that this is a wake-up call and that they are helping to show me the error of my ways, but usually it just leads to me crying and then writing some long, hateful/bitchy/whiny response to their statement. I end up feeling horrible for being alive and they end up thinking even less of me because I don’t agree with them. Then things go back to normal until I say something else.

It almost feels like some of these friendships or family relationships are based on this abusive pattern. I state my opinion, usually with attitude for emphasis. They tell me how I am ignorant/uninformed/lazy I am. I feel like shit and lash back. I then realize that they only get mad at me because I opened my mouth/mind up to them in the first place, and I start thinking that the whole reason that it starts is that I am some horrible person that should keep her mouth shut so that this kind of thing won’t happen. Basically, I justify what they do by taking the blame on myself completely. That isn’t healthy, and I know that that isn’t healthy. I mean, I’ve been in therapy for 20 years and there is one thing that I have learned: I am only responsible for my own actions and not someone else’s. I have over 900 friends on Facebook, and a majority of them are conservative, church-going people who grew up in middle-class and upper-class families. If every person who disagreed with me was going to do so to this extent (thus making it seem more justified), then I would have hundreds of people telling me off every single time I say anything, but it doesn’t happen that way. It’s generally two or three people. So, that means that the relationships there are unhealthy.

So, I unfriended someone that I’ve known since middle school, but who only brings the drama. I also unfriended someone who is the daughter of Dadada’s least favorite sibling and the mother of one of the cousins who decided to be trolls and post the video of me singing on Tosh.O’s website. I needed to unfriend Alan, the friend, because he won’t let go of the privileged South Huntsville mentality, even though he isn’t privileged anymore. I needed to unfriend Leigh Ann because I am sick of her using her being shot by her ex-husband and coming from an abusive relationship to justify why she’s able to work and how that makes me lazy. As I told her:

You got shot and you still work? Pin a rose on your freaking nose. You aren’t me. I am so sick of having to hear about you getting shot. You were in an abusive relationship. Who in the Morris family hasn’t been in one? Why do you think you were attracted to an abusive personality? Growing up with severely dysfunctional families does that to a person. I got all kinds of abuse from my grandfather (your uncle), but I don’t go around talking about what happened with him on here constantly because I know that there are some things that I don’t want to say with his siblings and his daughter and my cousins and his nieces and nephews. If I went over the abuse every single time I was trying to prove a point, then it would just make me seem even more whiny than I already am.

I need to figure out who I need in my life. I need to let go of those who I don’t. And the one thing that keeps me from doing that is that I’m just afraid that I’m going to end up letting go of people who I do need and keeping the ones that I don’t because I’ll have some sick need to be reminded just how much I (and they) think I suck.

I need to remember what Heather said, in response to their comments:

The fact is no able bodied person, and not every disabled person, can accurately tell a disabled person how to run their life. Each disability is different even if it concerns the exact same health condition or disability, and quite frankly no one who has not got a chronic health condition has any comprehension of just how difficult life is for someone who has – no matter how sympathetic they try to be.

I think that is one of the wisest things that I’ve seen in a long time, especially when it comes to chronic illness.

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21
September

You Don’t Know a Thing About Me

In a little over a week, I will be back in court. Even though I know that the city was lying in court back in July about the grass, I am still very, very nervous. Since, according to one of my cousins, Municipal Courts are basically set up to be revenue sources for the city, it is unlikely that I will be found not guilty. So, I will be told that I have to pay between $200 and $500, plus court costs, and I could go to jail for “not more than 30 days” for the violations.

I don’t have that money. I will not have that money anytime in the near future, but it will still be expected of me. And when I tell the judge that I’m on a fixed income, he’ll suggest two months. If I tell him that two months won’t do a damn bit of good (in a nicer tone, of course), he will say that that doesn’t really matter. I guess once you’ve been a lawyer long enough to be a judge that you don’t really understand the idea of having less than $500 a month in income coming in.

And while I’m dealing with all of this court crap, I’m also dealing with all the stupid family drama. My mom and I got into a really big argument the other night. She threatened to call DHR on me, which I told her that she could go ahead and do. She started saying how they would move her out and suggesting I would go to jail.

I love how my mom’s memory is so great that she remembers that DHR said that she could be moved out of the house if conditions weren’t good enough for her care, but she didn’t remember that the social worker told her in the same breath that I could also be removed from this house if conditions were not good enough for my care. Of course, my mom’s always been good with the revisionist memory when it could suit her.

My mom and I got into the massive argument, which had basically been brewing for weeks now, because she wanted me to take garbage out. She was demanding that it out right that moment. It was about one o’clock in the morning. I don’t live in a really bad part of town, but I didn’t want to go outside by myself in the middle of the night. I told her that I would do it later, which wasn’t good enough for her. So, I took it out. She and started bitching back and forth at one another, which led to me telling her that I some point she needs to learn to get up off her couch and start getting her water and her food for herself from time to time. This fight occurred after two straight nights of being awakened twice to bring her water and food and being ordered to get my father up because she couldn’t walk five more feet from the bathroom to the door to the bedroom. (She can walk to the bathroom most of the time, and that day was no exception to that ability.)

During the fight, she went from claiming that she had fallen the night before to basically admitting that she’d just stumbled. (Bouts of stumbling are regularly classified as falls from her.) I tried to get her to understand that she isn’t the only person prone to falling, and that when I fall, I generally hit the ground. She was then trying to explain how she just can’t walk and she just can’t go back to physical therapy and she just can’t get the doctors to understand that she has problems with things like her memory or her ability to get around. I have a feeling that if they aren’t understanding that she “can’t” do these things or that she’s having trouble with things that it is probably because she is not telling them things properly. She is probably telling them something that she thinks that they expect her to say. She does this on the phone with people and I’ve seen her sit back and let doctors think that nothing is wrong with her. Regardless of what she says, I think she does enjoy having things done for her. And I don’t mind doing things for her if she absolutely cannot do them, but I have a feeling that she can do more than she lets on. I also have a feeling that she doesn’t completely grasp just how difficult she has been, as of late.

I know that she thinks that I whine too much or that I’m lazy. I know that both of my parents think that. I know that friends that I know both online and offline think that, too. And I guess that maybe I am lazy. Maybe two years of being on what seems like an endless shift of care-taking (i.e. fetching things for my mom, sleeping in the living room so that if she needs me I will hear her, sacrificing sleep so that I can make sure that I do actually hear her if she needs me, standing around fixing food and water in the way that she likes, hearing how I’m doing something wrong, hearing how I don’t get things to her quickly enough, and taking care of almost anything she asks me to do, and some things that she doesn’t) has worn me out. Half the time, I feel so damn exhausted that I think that if I died it might actually be a good thing. I have given up on ever having a life. I have done a lot of that for my mom. I could still be hanging out with my church “friends” and doing things that they liked doing (not that I really enjoyed them that much) but every time I try to get away, it seems like I get to go through a guilt trip. Hell, I get guilt trips even when I’m here all the time. I am tired. I am really tired. And I was so tired the other night that I told my mother, among other things, that maybe she should move in with my aunt–her sister, aka the one who won’t talk to me. (This is also the aunt that my mother has recently begun waxing poetically about how perfect she is and how wonderful she is, even though the total contact that her sister has truly initiated in the last 2 years was a Get Well Soon card.)

I guess I have to accept that this is my life. Misery is apparently my destiny, so I guess I should just get accustomed to it. And in case you’re wondering what the fight with mom and the court stuff have to do with one another: I am often reminded that this house, though it is in my name legally and though I can be fined and imprisoned for things related to it, doesn’t belong to me. I am a guest here. And sometimes I really feel like I am definitely unwanted.

I could probably bring it up in therapy, and the therapist would probably suggest I move into low-income housing. This would lead to another fight, my self-esteem tumbling even more, and absolutely no good coming out of it. I can’t go back to school. Even if I could focus, there is no way that I could ever pay for it. So, I’ve got to figure out how to get out of this damn house and out of all of this unhealthy shit before I go off the deep end.

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20
July

Heal This Hurt

At about this time last night, my dad told me that I needed to look on the Facebook profile of one of my childhood friends.  I did and saw that she had just experienced the loss of her father.  I wasn’t quite sure what to say.

Condolences are difficult no matter who has died, but when it is something that you’ve yet to go through it seems especially hard.  I don’t know exactly what is okay to say.  I don’t know if I’m supposed to offer some words that express sadness and grief over her loss, or if I’m supposed to try to offer some kind of joke or happy memory to lighten her sorrow.  I know that no matter what I say, it won’t bring back her father.  I know it won’t make her happy.  I know these things, yet I want to say something to make it better.

Do I remind her of 8th grade after the “Winter Holiday” dance when she had a sleepover for her birthday?  That was one of the last times that I remember seeing her dad.  I remember him laughing a bit about us (Josie and her party guests) messing up the pancakes that we had decided to cook for breakfast.  We put chocolate syrup in the batter, which was also composed of Bisquick and either baking soda or baking powder.  This led to the most bitter pancakes a person might ever taste.  It was one of those really embarrassing childhood moments that you wouldn’t want to remember except that you know it is also one of the greatest/funniest moments of your life.   I remember him seeming so young and so nice.  It’s difficult to think of him not being alive anymore.

His daughter is one of the nicest people you could ever meet.  She is sweet and funny and an incredible person.  So knowing that this wonderful and sweet person is in such pain is hard.  And knowing that I can’t figure out what to do to ease that pain makes me feel like I’m failing her as her friend.  Aren’t friends supposed to be able to help you through the most difficult times in your life?  I would guess that this is one of those, but I don’t know what I could possibly say or do to help her.

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7
July

Oh. My. God.

I’m pissed off.  I can’t voice my opinion to someone I respect because somehow having a differing opinion means that I’m telling her that she can’t have an opinion.  Um, how does that make any sense at all?

I never told her that she couldn’t have an opinion.  I didn’t tell her that she was not entitled to have one.  I actually made a post that said that she was definitely allowed to have one.  I shouldn’t have to apologize because she can’t handle people not agreeing with her.  Honestly, her going on and on about it on her Facebook page and basically asking for people to feel sorry for her and to hate the horrible person who was mean to her is ridiculous.  I’ve seen internet drama queens who didn’t act half this bad.

I also don’t see how 1 or 2 people having a different opinion, when there are about 10 people who had the same opinion as her, is somehow telling her that she can’t have an opinion.  I also don’t see how by disagreeing with her I should have to beg for her forgiveness.  Honestly, if anyone has a toxic friendship that needs to be dropped in this situation, I would think it would be me.  I shouldn’t have to look at 16 people trashing me because she can’t handle what I said.  It’s absolutely insane.

I should let it go, I know.  I know that my frustration over this is about the same as her trying to get everyone to kiss her ass over it, but I need to rant and obviously I can’t do it on Facebook because that would just be further proof that I’m a toxic human being.  I just want to tell her to grow a pair or get off the internet.  Honestly, it’s the kind of “don’t share what you think because we don’t want to hear it” and “people with differing opinions are gangrene on the church and need to go away” opinions that helped me decide not to go back to church.  I got sick of this crap happening in person and now it is on the internet.

I should have never joined that stupid church.  I don’t think any good has come from it.

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