I'm starting to wonder if I should start a journal for this of some sort. I'm going through a rough time right now (and it's not even me who's directly affected), and I'm thinking maybe trying to focus on all the little good things that happen even in the shittiest of times will cheer me up.
Besides that, I feel it might be wise to develop some... positive thinking habits, or something. The future might be even darker than this (and yes, it is true, it may well not be). From here on out things are going to be tricky and different and scary, at least for a little while, and I have to find some way to get through it.
Thankfully not on my own, since many of my close friends and my family know what's going on. I think I figured out that "a worry shared is a worry halved" thing- when you share a worry with someone, you don't have to pretend you're not stressed around them. Hiding stress from people is really tough. When you tell someone and they offer support, that is one less person around whom you have to pretend.
I'm also trying to take advantage of campus resources. And encouraging others to do the same. I don't know how helpful it will be but maybe just talking about it more will do some good.
Either way, I'm coming out of this. And I'm coming out of it better equipped to handle shit. This certainly won't be the last time I'll face trials and tribulations as a result of loving people. Eventually it will come to some kind of end, whether that be temporary or permanent. I know this hell can't last forever.
Sorry for the dramatics and being vague, but this isn't really my problem to talk about in public. To be clear: someone really close to me is going through a lot of shit, and I'm worried about them. A lot. But it'll be ok. Even when it feels like it won't.
yer pal,
swegan
Monday, January 4, 2016
Saturday, January 2, 2016
Top of the list
I was considering all the things that happened to me in 2015, and thinking of the most significant ones. If I had to narrow it down to the top 3 most significant ones...
3. Co-authorship
This was something that happened working under a different supervisor in the same lab over the summer. My confidence in the lab also improved and I was awarded a stipend to work in that lab. It was a good summer professionally, I guess? Which sounds like a very adult thing to say.
2. Genetics Degree
There was a moment when I was making my course selection. It was physics, some WGS courses, some biology, and other random things. I remember crying because it looked awful to me, and I had no desire to complete whatever degree this was turning out to be. I'd taken an intro-to-genetics course in the biology department, which had led me to take an intro-to-genetics course in the genetics department (if these are things? I just know the first course was BIOL and the second was GENET), and I realized that despite my previous proclamation of hatred, I really like genetics. Having completed one semester, I have to say it's a hell of a lot easier to put in effort even in the hardest classes when I actually really like the subject material and want to be learning about it.
1. Falling in love
Putting this up here was contentious, but if my ex really wants as little to do with me as he claimed, I'm going to assume he's not reading this. But this is what really happened. I do think I'd loved people before, certainly cared for them a great deal, but I'd never really been in love. It's probably one of the scariest things I've ever done in my life, and the threat of loss is much closer than I'd like it to be. But I don't regret anything. Falling in love was like having a lot of pieces fall into place, and suddenly something I'd thought I'd understood for so long actually made sense, and I was sure. All those stupid songs, and especially all those stupid sayings- if you're in love, you'll know and if you're not sure, it's not really love especially- make a lot more sense now. I've found them to be extremely true. Provided things beyond my control fall in my favour, I have an incredibly good feeling about this. I know it won't be easy, and I don't expect it to be, but nothing has ever made me feel so... secure? Not safe, I've never been more terrified. Just like a puzzle piece of my life fits now. Something like that. It's a good thing, though, despite the underlying, ever-present fear (which in my case is exacerbated for other reasons beyond my control).
Overall, though, 2015 was very good to me. I'm hoping 2016 will be too, but I'm not holding out a lot of hope at the moment. This next semester is going to kick the shit out of me academically, not to mention ... to put it in nonspecific terms, the suddenly not-so-great health of someone very close to me. I'll pull through somehow, but it's not going to be a walk in the park.
Then again... How many times have I thought that before? Didn't I look at my winter semester last year and groan about biochemistry and ochem II and genetics 270? They were hard courses. And I did just fine. I have no reason to expect I can't handle the challenges this time around.
Here's to a good 2016. I wish you all the best, and hope your 2015s are now fond and happy memories (at least some parts of them, if not all)
yer pal,
swegan
3. Co-authorship
This was something that happened working under a different supervisor in the same lab over the summer. My confidence in the lab also improved and I was awarded a stipend to work in that lab. It was a good summer professionally, I guess? Which sounds like a very adult thing to say.
2. Genetics Degree
There was a moment when I was making my course selection. It was physics, some WGS courses, some biology, and other random things. I remember crying because it looked awful to me, and I had no desire to complete whatever degree this was turning out to be. I'd taken an intro-to-genetics course in the biology department, which had led me to take an intro-to-genetics course in the genetics department (if these are things? I just know the first course was BIOL and the second was GENET), and I realized that despite my previous proclamation of hatred, I really like genetics. Having completed one semester, I have to say it's a hell of a lot easier to put in effort even in the hardest classes when I actually really like the subject material and want to be learning about it.
1. Falling in love
Putting this up here was contentious, but if my ex really wants as little to do with me as he claimed, I'm going to assume he's not reading this. But this is what really happened. I do think I'd loved people before, certainly cared for them a great deal, but I'd never really been in love. It's probably one of the scariest things I've ever done in my life, and the threat of loss is much closer than I'd like it to be. But I don't regret anything. Falling in love was like having a lot of pieces fall into place, and suddenly something I'd thought I'd understood for so long actually made sense, and I was sure. All those stupid songs, and especially all those stupid sayings- if you're in love, you'll know and if you're not sure, it's not really love especially- make a lot more sense now. I've found them to be extremely true. Provided things beyond my control fall in my favour, I have an incredibly good feeling about this. I know it won't be easy, and I don't expect it to be, but nothing has ever made me feel so... secure? Not safe, I've never been more terrified. Just like a puzzle piece of my life fits now. Something like that. It's a good thing, though, despite the underlying, ever-present fear (which in my case is exacerbated for other reasons beyond my control).
Overall, though, 2015 was very good to me. I'm hoping 2016 will be too, but I'm not holding out a lot of hope at the moment. This next semester is going to kick the shit out of me academically, not to mention ... to put it in nonspecific terms, the suddenly not-so-great health of someone very close to me. I'll pull through somehow, but it's not going to be a walk in the park.
Then again... How many times have I thought that before? Didn't I look at my winter semester last year and groan about biochemistry and ochem II and genetics 270? They were hard courses. And I did just fine. I have no reason to expect I can't handle the challenges this time around.
Here's to a good 2016. I wish you all the best, and hope your 2015s are now fond and happy memories (at least some parts of them, if not all)
yer pal,
swegan
Thursday, December 17, 2015
"It costs nothing to encourage an artist."
"Oh sure, you can be an artist, if you want to starve," my parents told me. As I remember it, I was 6 years old, sitting in the back of the car. We were in Calgary, driving around, and I mentioned again that I wanted to be an artist. At 6, I thought painting was the most fun thing in the world. It was all I ever wanted to do. I wasn't particularly good at it, it was just fun. I'm sure my mom hated it because painting with a 6 year old and her 4 year old sister couldn't have been anything but messy, but at 6, it was all I wanted.
Of course, at 6, I also did not like the idea of starving. My parents went on to inform me that it was very hard to be an artist, that they didn't make a lot of money, so they never had enough money for food. I sighed and it was in that moment that I gave up. After all, I wanted to eat, and I wasn't good at painting to begin with.
After that, I took up writing. My parents seemed to be more okay with this. I wrote endless, endless stories, about everything. Some of them were a little off kilter, and those I kept hidden or destroyed when I found them years later. My love of writing was encouraged, and I became mildly famous for it at school. I wrote every chance I got. Once I got a computer of my own, I wrote even more. My mom told me about NaNoWriMo, and I participated with glee. I finished my very novel, at 150 pages and 180,000 words. To this day, I have never edited it. I wrote two more novels as sequels to that one. I made cover art. I daydreamed about what it might be like to have my novel become a hollywood movie, who I might cast as the actors, how it might inspire people quietly everywhere as many other books have done, how nice it might look in print, a real book with my name on the cover.
This was after my parents had also informed me that being a writer was very hard. It was no better than being an artist. "Hey, [swegan], I heard a joke today. 'What's the difference between a writer and a park bench? A park bench can support a family!'" and I laughed along because at that point, I had accepted it was true. Writing was just something people did as a hobby. Sometimes they got good enough at it that they made money on books, but writing was just a hobby. I should get a good job so that I could have time to write, they said to me.
In 12th grade, in the midst of taking piano lessons, volunteering, 5 diploma-level courses, 2 history research papers, and applying for schools, November came again. I went into it as I always did, with the ideal that I could do it if I just tried hard enough. After all, it had been just a year prior I had gotten in trouble for staying up too late writing on my computer and told to go to bed.... and I had simply waited for the light to go off in the hallway before pulling my computer back out and writing an hour more. If I had that kind of pluck, that kind of spirit, why couldn't I do it this time around?
Most of what I remember from that month is crying. I was so stressed. At 17, I had 5 things going on at all times, constantly, and I felt I had to perform well at all of them. Volunteering was important to me, and I needed it to graduate with my IB diploma. My courses were important, because I wanted to get into school. Piano was important because my parents were paying for lessons, so I shouldn't be slacking off. My research papers were important, and I couldn't leave them all to the last minute. And my writing was important. I wanted to get to 50,000 words. I wanted to win.
It was sometime in this month that my parents sat me down and explained that I could write at any time! It didn't have to be now. Right now I should just focus on the important things, like school and piano. I could write over christmas break! (I spent it doing a lab report we had been assigned to do specifically over the break). I could write in May, once I'd finished my world exams! But what happened was that I quit, and it was like shutting a book on the way I'd been before.
Grade 12 was hard. I don't really recognize the girl who completed it, that empty shell of a person who existed only to perform, at everything she did. I had friends with me, and they helped me along more than they'll ever know, but once all of it was done, I realized I had nothing else. May 17, 2013, was the day of my last IB exam. I had only one class after that, and getting an excellent grade in it wasn't important (not that that stopped me). I went home, I stayed home, and I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself. I began spending more and more time on the internet, on my computer, alone in my room, because I had been alone in my room on my computer before for the entire two years prior, and I didn't know what else to do.
Maybe I quit too easily. I know that the fault of this can't lie with my parents, but it can't be entirely in me, either. I feel like before that year, I was a different girl... I would stay up late at night when it was summer, often until 4 AM, writing. I would write in class when I had spare time. I would write at lunch. On graph paper, on the backs of old tests, in notebooks. I wrote endless stories. I carried notebooks with me everywhere. I kept journals. I doodled bad poetry in the margins of my history and math notes. Writing was the one thing I could not stop doing. Now it is the one thing I cannot start.
I trace that back to November 2012. I tried NaNoWriMo the next year, in my first year at university, away from home, and got tantalizingly close, around 40K. I don't remember if I even tried last year. This year, I spent one day putting in 2000 words, and then quit. I had too much other stuff going on.
I carry this with me everywhere. It feels like a piece of my soul is still dead, but hanging around, refusing to leave. I haven't lost the will to live, just the will to write, but it feels the same way. People around me have stopped mentioning writing things, finally. I like it better this way. Being reminded of something that once brought you so much joy so easily, so naturally, all the time, is very painful. Trust me when I say that nothing hurts more than being reminded of an old identity that no longer describes you or brings you joy.
If there is one regret I have in my life, it is quitting. If I'd just kept going, if I'd just said "I can't win, but I can still write," maybe I wouldn't have stopped. Starting writing when I was 8 and everything was wonderful was easy. Starting writing when I'm 20 and scared about grad school every waking moment is a lot harder.
I don't really know why I'm writing this. I've written this a thousand times before. But if you have something that brings you joy, no matter how impractical it is, no matter how foolish or frivolous, please do not stop. I'm not saying it has to be your job. I'm not saying it has to trump other things. Maybe now and then you have to pass up an opportunity to do this thing, maybe you must do less of it when other things are present. But please, please, do not quit. Quitting seems easier, but the cost I have paid in the long run has never once been worth it.
I am still happy. I have many things going for me. I started dancing again. I volunteered to give science demos to kids in elementary schools. I pursued a degree I wanted above classes that would have kept me on a med-school track. There is so much light in my life, please don't get me wrong. But this thing, this one thing, haunts me to this day. It is never overpowering, but that almost makes it worse. Maybe if it was, I'd get it back.
yer pal,
swegan
P.S. I also don't mean to villainize my parents in this. I may not agree with everything they do or did when raising me, but their love and support means the world to me to this day. And look how much writing I did when they encouraged that.
Of course, at 6, I also did not like the idea of starving. My parents went on to inform me that it was very hard to be an artist, that they didn't make a lot of money, so they never had enough money for food. I sighed and it was in that moment that I gave up. After all, I wanted to eat, and I wasn't good at painting to begin with.
After that, I took up writing. My parents seemed to be more okay with this. I wrote endless, endless stories, about everything. Some of them were a little off kilter, and those I kept hidden or destroyed when I found them years later. My love of writing was encouraged, and I became mildly famous for it at school. I wrote every chance I got. Once I got a computer of my own, I wrote even more. My mom told me about NaNoWriMo, and I participated with glee. I finished my very novel, at 150 pages and 180,000 words. To this day, I have never edited it. I wrote two more novels as sequels to that one. I made cover art. I daydreamed about what it might be like to have my novel become a hollywood movie, who I might cast as the actors, how it might inspire people quietly everywhere as many other books have done, how nice it might look in print, a real book with my name on the cover.
This was after my parents had also informed me that being a writer was very hard. It was no better than being an artist. "Hey, [swegan], I heard a joke today. 'What's the difference between a writer and a park bench? A park bench can support a family!'" and I laughed along because at that point, I had accepted it was true. Writing was just something people did as a hobby. Sometimes they got good enough at it that they made money on books, but writing was just a hobby. I should get a good job so that I could have time to write, they said to me.
In 12th grade, in the midst of taking piano lessons, volunteering, 5 diploma-level courses, 2 history research papers, and applying for schools, November came again. I went into it as I always did, with the ideal that I could do it if I just tried hard enough. After all, it had been just a year prior I had gotten in trouble for staying up too late writing on my computer and told to go to bed.... and I had simply waited for the light to go off in the hallway before pulling my computer back out and writing an hour more. If I had that kind of pluck, that kind of spirit, why couldn't I do it this time around?
Most of what I remember from that month is crying. I was so stressed. At 17, I had 5 things going on at all times, constantly, and I felt I had to perform well at all of them. Volunteering was important to me, and I needed it to graduate with my IB diploma. My courses were important, because I wanted to get into school. Piano was important because my parents were paying for lessons, so I shouldn't be slacking off. My research papers were important, and I couldn't leave them all to the last minute. And my writing was important. I wanted to get to 50,000 words. I wanted to win.
It was sometime in this month that my parents sat me down and explained that I could write at any time! It didn't have to be now. Right now I should just focus on the important things, like school and piano. I could write over christmas break! (I spent it doing a lab report we had been assigned to do specifically over the break). I could write in May, once I'd finished my world exams! But what happened was that I quit, and it was like shutting a book on the way I'd been before.
Grade 12 was hard. I don't really recognize the girl who completed it, that empty shell of a person who existed only to perform, at everything she did. I had friends with me, and they helped me along more than they'll ever know, but once all of it was done, I realized I had nothing else. May 17, 2013, was the day of my last IB exam. I had only one class after that, and getting an excellent grade in it wasn't important (not that that stopped me). I went home, I stayed home, and I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself. I began spending more and more time on the internet, on my computer, alone in my room, because I had been alone in my room on my computer before for the entire two years prior, and I didn't know what else to do.
Maybe I quit too easily. I know that the fault of this can't lie with my parents, but it can't be entirely in me, either. I feel like before that year, I was a different girl... I would stay up late at night when it was summer, often until 4 AM, writing. I would write in class when I had spare time. I would write at lunch. On graph paper, on the backs of old tests, in notebooks. I wrote endless stories. I carried notebooks with me everywhere. I kept journals. I doodled bad poetry in the margins of my history and math notes. Writing was the one thing I could not stop doing. Now it is the one thing I cannot start.
I trace that back to November 2012. I tried NaNoWriMo the next year, in my first year at university, away from home, and got tantalizingly close, around 40K. I don't remember if I even tried last year. This year, I spent one day putting in 2000 words, and then quit. I had too much other stuff going on.
I carry this with me everywhere. It feels like a piece of my soul is still dead, but hanging around, refusing to leave. I haven't lost the will to live, just the will to write, but it feels the same way. People around me have stopped mentioning writing things, finally. I like it better this way. Being reminded of something that once brought you so much joy so easily, so naturally, all the time, is very painful. Trust me when I say that nothing hurts more than being reminded of an old identity that no longer describes you or brings you joy.
If there is one regret I have in my life, it is quitting. If I'd just kept going, if I'd just said "I can't win, but I can still write," maybe I wouldn't have stopped. Starting writing when I was 8 and everything was wonderful was easy. Starting writing when I'm 20 and scared about grad school every waking moment is a lot harder.
I don't really know why I'm writing this. I've written this a thousand times before. But if you have something that brings you joy, no matter how impractical it is, no matter how foolish or frivolous, please do not stop. I'm not saying it has to be your job. I'm not saying it has to trump other things. Maybe now and then you have to pass up an opportunity to do this thing, maybe you must do less of it when other things are present. But please, please, do not quit. Quitting seems easier, but the cost I have paid in the long run has never once been worth it.
I am still happy. I have many things going for me. I started dancing again. I volunteered to give science demos to kids in elementary schools. I pursued a degree I wanted above classes that would have kept me on a med-school track. There is so much light in my life, please don't get me wrong. But this thing, this one thing, haunts me to this day. It is never overpowering, but that almost makes it worse. Maybe if it was, I'd get it back.
yer pal,
swegan
P.S. I also don't mean to villainize my parents in this. I may not agree with everything they do or did when raising me, but their love and support means the world to me to this day. And look how much writing I did when they encouraged that.
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Disappear
So, on the weekends I get really lazy about eating. Also about leaving my room, showering, and putting clothes on. Unless I'm expecting to see people, it doesn't really matter, and I mean, I guess most of that is fine, except for the eating thing.
And it's not even that I'm intentionally not eating, I just get distracted by other things and then think "shit I should do homework" and only when my stomach is like "swegan, food" am I like "oh shit right" and head into the kitchen to make a bowl of oatmeal and today that is what happened but then I went down for dinner. I ate a good amount, wanted to eat more, and suddenly I just felt ill. Like, if I took another bite, I was going to gag. Which usually happens when the texture of food is off, but this was beef stew, and it was really fucking good, and I wanted to eat more but at the same time my brain was just not having any of it. So I ate what was left of my rice, debated dessert before hearing my parents' voices in my head saying "If you're hungry enough for dessert, you're hungry enough to keep eating" and realized I didn't want dessert either because the thought of eating any food at all just made me feel nauseous. So I quit and came back upstairs.
But like,the sick thing is, I know I don't eat a lot, but there's still some fucked up logic in my brain of "this keeps you skinny." Like, whenever I see a body positivity thing, I'm like hell yeah good for you and see all these women loving their bodies, whether they are fat or chubby or whatever, and I am proud of them and happy for them but still on some level, glad I am not them, and afraid of becoming them. Which is really, really unfair to everybody, those women and myself.
It's almost like... I'm happy about body positivity, but glad it doesn't have to apply to me? Like oh thank god I don't have to struggle. But then there's a little voice in the back of my head saying yeah, but if you eat a certain way, you might. People might make mean comments about you in public or look at you in a judgy way if you dare to do something as shocking as eat in public. And don't forget the criticism about how you let yourself go. You were so skinny once. What happened?
It's this paranoia, this fear, that's always at the back of my mind. I worry sometimes it drives more of my decisions than it should. And I buy candy a lot (not recently since I've been so busy), but whenever I do I have to tell myself so much that it's ok, and I still feel guilty about it. Like, first of all, this isn't healthy for you, second of all, it's going to lead to this condition you are afraid of. For no good reason. It's not like if I wasn't this skinny I'd be any less smart or kind or loved or capable, but I'm still afraid of it.
And it makes me so jealous of boys. Do they even get this shit? Maybe now they do, I don't know, but when I'm around boys and men they just seem to... eat. And like, not make comments about what they're eating. I watch the girls in my building and notice how they often comment on their food, or their general eating habits, even when they generally like to eat a bunch of food. The girls are all aware of how they interact with food: how much they eat, when they tend to want to eat, whether they're always hungry or always full. Boys don't comment on that nearly as much as the girls do. And I feel like some part of that is just because they're not really aware, they don't really think about it too much.
And then even with my boyfriend, we have a class together around lunch three times a week, and his lunches look good but I know there's no nutritional value in a lot of them and so even though I want to make myself lunches like that, I can't let myself. And he always just says "food is important" and eats and I'm left there trying to make myself feel not-guilty because hey, there's vegetables in my soup, and those are good for you.
I know some of this must be from getting raised by a mother who was once a dietitian, but it's hard to draw the line between where I'm concerned about the nutritional requirements of my diet and where I'm just concerned about how much food there is at all. Like there shouldn't be guilt associated with eating, should there? I've never wanted to be one of those women who says "oh, I'm so naughty, I had a whole piece of cake at lunch!" or who just orders a salad with dressing on the side or who won't order dessert unless someone splits it with her or who will refuse cake at a party or who says things like "I've been so good today that I deserve to eat this cookie/bag of chips/piece of cake/other kind of junk food" but like that attitude is so tempting when it is surrounded in the language of "oh, but it's about health- I still eat, I just eat healthy" except now the guilt is about making unhealthy choices rather than just making choices. Which I guess is better because it means people are eating, but... it still sounds so fucked up that people should feel guilty for eating something. And then that last comment gets into vegetarianism/veganism which is not the issue here.
All I know is that I wish I could just exist without devoting so much brainpower to worrying about what goes in my body. I mean, maybe there is an advantage to that- I will feel better if I try to eat better- but I wish you could have that mindset without the guilt. And I wish I wasn't so afraid of becoming fat, even a little bit.
Which is the most fucked up thing of all, because on these weekends when I don't eat, some part of me says that's better, because it's better for me to lose weight than to gain it. Like that me losing any weight at all is a good thing because it's always better to be smaller, if possible. Like how little I eat is something I get to brag about, how small I am is something that is just how life works for me, aren't I so lucky. It's better for me to be tiny, tinier than I am now, than it is for me to dare get any bigger. And that is the part that worries me. I don't even really know what a healthy weight is anymore. Does my BMI even matter? How is it that at the size I'm at, my BMI is closer to overweight than it is to underweight? Why am I so hyperaware of this? Why do I care?
I don't really have any answers. I just know that I have to keep eating to live and function properly. So I will, and I'll try not to beat myself up about it. And try to work through all my fears that are so unfair, but that I don't really think are my fault.
yer pal,
swegan
And it's not even that I'm intentionally not eating, I just get distracted by other things and then think "shit I should do homework" and only when my stomach is like "swegan, food" am I like "oh shit right" and head into the kitchen to make a bowl of oatmeal and today that is what happened but then I went down for dinner. I ate a good amount, wanted to eat more, and suddenly I just felt ill. Like, if I took another bite, I was going to gag. Which usually happens when the texture of food is off, but this was beef stew, and it was really fucking good, and I wanted to eat more but at the same time my brain was just not having any of it. So I ate what was left of my rice, debated dessert before hearing my parents' voices in my head saying "If you're hungry enough for dessert, you're hungry enough to keep eating" and realized I didn't want dessert either because the thought of eating any food at all just made me feel nauseous. So I quit and came back upstairs.
But like,the sick thing is, I know I don't eat a lot, but there's still some fucked up logic in my brain of "this keeps you skinny." Like, whenever I see a body positivity thing, I'm like hell yeah good for you and see all these women loving their bodies, whether they are fat or chubby or whatever, and I am proud of them and happy for them but still on some level, glad I am not them, and afraid of becoming them. Which is really, really unfair to everybody, those women and myself.
It's almost like... I'm happy about body positivity, but glad it doesn't have to apply to me? Like oh thank god I don't have to struggle. But then there's a little voice in the back of my head saying yeah, but if you eat a certain way, you might. People might make mean comments about you in public or look at you in a judgy way if you dare to do something as shocking as eat in public. And don't forget the criticism about how you let yourself go. You were so skinny once. What happened?
It's this paranoia, this fear, that's always at the back of my mind. I worry sometimes it drives more of my decisions than it should. And I buy candy a lot (not recently since I've been so busy), but whenever I do I have to tell myself so much that it's ok, and I still feel guilty about it. Like, first of all, this isn't healthy for you, second of all, it's going to lead to this condition you are afraid of. For no good reason. It's not like if I wasn't this skinny I'd be any less smart or kind or loved or capable, but I'm still afraid of it.
And it makes me so jealous of boys. Do they even get this shit? Maybe now they do, I don't know, but when I'm around boys and men they just seem to... eat. And like, not make comments about what they're eating. I watch the girls in my building and notice how they often comment on their food, or their general eating habits, even when they generally like to eat a bunch of food. The girls are all aware of how they interact with food: how much they eat, when they tend to want to eat, whether they're always hungry or always full. Boys don't comment on that nearly as much as the girls do. And I feel like some part of that is just because they're not really aware, they don't really think about it too much.
And then even with my boyfriend, we have a class together around lunch three times a week, and his lunches look good but I know there's no nutritional value in a lot of them and so even though I want to make myself lunches like that, I can't let myself. And he always just says "food is important" and eats and I'm left there trying to make myself feel not-guilty because hey, there's vegetables in my soup, and those are good for you.
I know some of this must be from getting raised by a mother who was once a dietitian, but it's hard to draw the line between where I'm concerned about the nutritional requirements of my diet and where I'm just concerned about how much food there is at all. Like there shouldn't be guilt associated with eating, should there? I've never wanted to be one of those women who says "oh, I'm so naughty, I had a whole piece of cake at lunch!" or who just orders a salad with dressing on the side or who won't order dessert unless someone splits it with her or who will refuse cake at a party or who says things like "I've been so good today that I deserve to eat this cookie/bag of chips/piece of cake/other kind of junk food" but like that attitude is so tempting when it is surrounded in the language of "oh, but it's about health- I still eat, I just eat healthy" except now the guilt is about making unhealthy choices rather than just making choices. Which I guess is better because it means people are eating, but... it still sounds so fucked up that people should feel guilty for eating something. And then that last comment gets into vegetarianism/veganism which is not the issue here.
All I know is that I wish I could just exist without devoting so much brainpower to worrying about what goes in my body. I mean, maybe there is an advantage to that- I will feel better if I try to eat better- but I wish you could have that mindset without the guilt. And I wish I wasn't so afraid of becoming fat, even a little bit.
Which is the most fucked up thing of all, because on these weekends when I don't eat, some part of me says that's better, because it's better for me to lose weight than to gain it. Like that me losing any weight at all is a good thing because it's always better to be smaller, if possible. Like how little I eat is something I get to brag about, how small I am is something that is just how life works for me, aren't I so lucky. It's better for me to be tiny, tinier than I am now, than it is for me to dare get any bigger. And that is the part that worries me. I don't even really know what a healthy weight is anymore. Does my BMI even matter? How is it that at the size I'm at, my BMI is closer to overweight than it is to underweight? Why am I so hyperaware of this? Why do I care?
I don't really have any answers. I just know that I have to keep eating to live and function properly. So I will, and I'll try not to beat myself up about it. And try to work through all my fears that are so unfair, but that I don't really think are my fault.
yer pal,
swegan
Monday, October 26, 2015
you stupid, stupid girl
It is exhausting to not get things. Trust me, i am the world's leading expert.
I don't get when people are joking. Like not when they're like "okay, I'm gonna tell a joke" kind of joking, but when they tease me. I mean, I guess maybe I am, but it happens a lot. I don't know, maybe it happens a lot to everybody, maybe I'm just a big sensitive baby who's making up all her being upset with this. All I know is that I figured out one day long ago that the boys who were mean to me did so because I reacted. I still react. And it just bugs me when one of my family members says something annoying and I don't catch on that they're kidding and my first instinct is to defend myself and nothing is worse than looking up and seeing that they're smiling and everyone else at the dinner table is smiling and I've become the butt of the joke because ha ha swegan takes everything seriously.
I don't know, maybe I am too sensitive. I like that my dad does this thing now, where he'll put on this dramatic voice when he says something blatantly wrong, and he'll make sure to make it really, really wrong, and then I look over at him and he's grinning at me like "eh? eh?" and I get it, and that makes it easier. But what really bums me out is that one thing earlier this year when I was at my grandparents' arguing back about something and someone was like "it's just so fun to bug you because you react" and i'm like great, how does that make this any different from when I was 12?
But then if I start reacting too much then I'm being the big fat too-sensitive crybaby who took it to far and it's like what, do I just take nothing personally? ever? ha ha everything is a joke ha ha swegan is short and opinionated and thinks she knows everything about the world and in reality she is just a little baby lamb who knows nothing about anything ha ha guys we can't talk about this around swegan, she is too innocent/she'll get offended by it because she's politically correct and it's like can you stop being an asshole OH WAIT BUT YOU WEREN'T BEING AN ASSHOLE AND I'M TOO STUPID TO TELL.
I know people love me, but I know I'm a pain in the ass to put up with. I really hate that I get teased all the time but I hate that I can't handle it, everyone else on the planet can handle it swegan, why can't you? You're just being too sensitive. And it's like yeah, you know what, I probably am. And I can't tease anyone else because I am too worried about hurting them and maybe that's because I know how much teasing bugs me and I only know what it's like to be me and not to be someone else.
You worry too much, you worry too much. Yes, yes, yes I do but are you really surprised given that my mother came up here to deal with what happened on tuesday by forcing me to go to the police who can't do anything because no crime was committed? I regret that. I wish I had never gone to the police because it turns out the whole deal was a big fat fucking nothing that, again, they couldn't do anything about in the first place. My parents worry. My parents worry so much, they always have, my mom still does, she'll make these little comments that sound like she's considering a reasonable bad alternative to a situation when in reality she is just worrying and it's like yeah, ok, my parents are overprotective, are you really surprised that I worry about everything? that i'm scared of life? like, literally everything about it? are you really surprised?
I get that I am a naive idealistic baby sheep, okay, I got it. I get it. It sucks because it means constantly going through life being treated like a child who doesn't know what she's talking about, even when she's writing something like this, because I know I'm making a big deal out of nothing and god forbid any member of my family sees this because they will talk to me like "swegan you know we are just teasing right" YES YES I KNOW THAT OKAY I AM NOT THAT FUCKING STUPID i am just upset just let me be upset. why is it that i am always overreacting when i am upset. why.
I know it is hard to deal with me because I am so sensitive you can't treat me like a normal person. I know real life is going to slap me in the face, it already did when some guy asked me for $80 at 7:30 AM and I gave it to him without once considering he might not be a good person. I still think he is because his story lines up, but I'm still out $80 and having to tell that story to the police 500000 times did not help because they always ask why. Why? he didn't seem threatening. I just wanted him to go away so I just went along with him. You are a big scary police man you don't understand what it's like to be this short and young and female. which implies that i felt threatened but i didn't, just wary, just not sure what to do but continue on like nothing was wrong and at least it was only $80 that got taken from me. I don't care that he promised to repay me, I just want everything to go away, I just wish I could wipe this whole mess away with a big whiteboard marker.
I'm just upset and procrastinating. I'll be fine. I'm always fine. I'll go home for christmas and get teased some more. Which makes me sound like a victim and I'm not. everything is fine. everything is fine. I am just upset right now everything is fine, i will be fine, I always am, I always am. This is hardly the first time I have written a crazy post on here that concerned people but trust me when I say that this too will pass, it is just me being sad and being sad is ok, everyone is sad and I will be ok.
yer pal,
swegan
I don't get when people are joking. Like not when they're like "okay, I'm gonna tell a joke" kind of joking, but when they tease me. I mean, I guess maybe I am, but it happens a lot. I don't know, maybe it happens a lot to everybody, maybe I'm just a big sensitive baby who's making up all her being upset with this. All I know is that I figured out one day long ago that the boys who were mean to me did so because I reacted. I still react. And it just bugs me when one of my family members says something annoying and I don't catch on that they're kidding and my first instinct is to defend myself and nothing is worse than looking up and seeing that they're smiling and everyone else at the dinner table is smiling and I've become the butt of the joke because ha ha swegan takes everything seriously.
I don't know, maybe I am too sensitive. I like that my dad does this thing now, where he'll put on this dramatic voice when he says something blatantly wrong, and he'll make sure to make it really, really wrong, and then I look over at him and he's grinning at me like "eh? eh?" and I get it, and that makes it easier. But what really bums me out is that one thing earlier this year when I was at my grandparents' arguing back about something and someone was like "it's just so fun to bug you because you react" and i'm like great, how does that make this any different from when I was 12?
But then if I start reacting too much then I'm being the big fat too-sensitive crybaby who took it to far and it's like what, do I just take nothing personally? ever? ha ha everything is a joke ha ha swegan is short and opinionated and thinks she knows everything about the world and in reality she is just a little baby lamb who knows nothing about anything ha ha guys we can't talk about this around swegan, she is too innocent/she'll get offended by it because she's politically correct and it's like can you stop being an asshole OH WAIT BUT YOU WEREN'T BEING AN ASSHOLE AND I'M TOO STUPID TO TELL.
I know people love me, but I know I'm a pain in the ass to put up with. I really hate that I get teased all the time but I hate that I can't handle it, everyone else on the planet can handle it swegan, why can't you? You're just being too sensitive. And it's like yeah, you know what, I probably am. And I can't tease anyone else because I am too worried about hurting them and maybe that's because I know how much teasing bugs me and I only know what it's like to be me and not to be someone else.
You worry too much, you worry too much. Yes, yes, yes I do but are you really surprised given that my mother came up here to deal with what happened on tuesday by forcing me to go to the police who can't do anything because no crime was committed? I regret that. I wish I had never gone to the police because it turns out the whole deal was a big fat fucking nothing that, again, they couldn't do anything about in the first place. My parents worry. My parents worry so much, they always have, my mom still does, she'll make these little comments that sound like she's considering a reasonable bad alternative to a situation when in reality she is just worrying and it's like yeah, ok, my parents are overprotective, are you really surprised that I worry about everything? that i'm scared of life? like, literally everything about it? are you really surprised?
I get that I am a naive idealistic baby sheep, okay, I got it. I get it. It sucks because it means constantly going through life being treated like a child who doesn't know what she's talking about, even when she's writing something like this, because I know I'm making a big deal out of nothing and god forbid any member of my family sees this because they will talk to me like "swegan you know we are just teasing right" YES YES I KNOW THAT OKAY I AM NOT THAT FUCKING STUPID i am just upset just let me be upset. why is it that i am always overreacting when i am upset. why.
I know it is hard to deal with me because I am so sensitive you can't treat me like a normal person. I know real life is going to slap me in the face, it already did when some guy asked me for $80 at 7:30 AM and I gave it to him without once considering he might not be a good person. I still think he is because his story lines up, but I'm still out $80 and having to tell that story to the police 500000 times did not help because they always ask why. Why? he didn't seem threatening. I just wanted him to go away so I just went along with him. You are a big scary police man you don't understand what it's like to be this short and young and female. which implies that i felt threatened but i didn't, just wary, just not sure what to do but continue on like nothing was wrong and at least it was only $80 that got taken from me. I don't care that he promised to repay me, I just want everything to go away, I just wish I could wipe this whole mess away with a big whiteboard marker.
I'm just upset and procrastinating. I'll be fine. I'm always fine. I'll go home for christmas and get teased some more. Which makes me sound like a victim and I'm not. everything is fine. everything is fine. I am just upset right now everything is fine, i will be fine, I always am, I always am. This is hardly the first time I have written a crazy post on here that concerned people but trust me when I say that this too will pass, it is just me being sad and being sad is ok, everyone is sad and I will be ok.
yer pal,
swegan
Monday, October 5, 2015
Names
When I was about 7 or 8 (as far as I can remember), I wondered why, just because I was a girl, I would have to change my name if I got married someday. I wasn't really set up to critique yet that maybe I wouldn't get married, maybe I'd like girls, etc, but I did latch onto that one point. Why did I have to change my name? It seemed so arbitrary. And yet it was all around me, within my own family, within the families of everyone I knew. And I decided, probably when I was about 9, that I would keep my name forever. I didn't bother thinking about the logistics, I just vowed to do it.
To this day, I'm still pretty dead set on that promise.
I mean, we all know where this came from, right? When women were property, they'd change their name once they changed families and the "ownership" changed. Having the father's name was a way to prove that those children were his and not another man's. And this is still around because...? I'd like to think people don't care about that as much now, and furthermore, women haven't been property for a long-ass time now. So why does this continue? Just because? It seems harmless enough, I guess, but it pisses me off.
Furthermore, why is it so revolutionary that someone should take my name? Just because I have a vagina? It's ridiculous. And, this is the one that really gets me- if women do all (yes, all, if you disagree with me here you can literally go to hell) the hard work of childbearing and giving birth, why the everliving FUCK don't their children at least get the chance to have their mother's name? If I'm gonna go through hell, possibly risk my own life, to bring these children into the world, you bet your ass they're going to have my last name. If you disagree? I'm not having children with you. The end.
But. But. I know that hoping for someone to take my last name and agree that our children should have my name is never going to happen, and it pisses me off so much. It's like being tied to a chair. I can't do anything about it. Any of the boys I come into contact with will have been raised with the expectation that they'll never have to give up their identity, and they won't part lightly with that (and I can't blame them, given how little I want to part with mine). They grow up with the knowledge, somewhere in the back of their mind, that someday, should they marry and have kids, those kids and their wife will have their name. And it's such bullshit. Even the nicest boys I meet have never even stopped to second guess this, to think "you know, maybe that's unfair." Which is how privilege works, I guess: when you have it good, you don't want to question it.
There are many, many reasons I dislike being female. The blame for all of them lies in other people (with the exception of periods, which are just unfortunate). This is near the top of the list (along with the idea that I'm more likely to be sexually assaulted, that some people view me as an incubator, and that I'm less likely to be taken seriously, especially when emotional, etc). And that bothers me, because I shouldn't live in a society where I dislike how I was born. And then that gets into a lot of issues with disability that I am definitely not informed enough to talk about, so I'll leave that there.
It just... ugh. I'm not totally naive, I know that I'm never going to get what I want by virtue of living where and when I do. But I still hold out a lot of hope for some kind of compromise, like whomever I marry keeping their name and me keeping mine, or both of us changing to some agreed upon different surname, and then finding some way to compromise in terms of kids. Honestly, I'd still be pretty happy with that- it's still nontraditional and is very balanced. And I'm not willing to be with someone if they aren't willing to compromise with me on that- either I don't change my last name, or we both do. That's it. That's the line. I will not cross it.
As for now, I just got riled up about this for reasons I can't remember, but it's late and I have a midterm in the morning.
yer pal,
swegan.
To this day, I'm still pretty dead set on that promise.
I mean, we all know where this came from, right? When women were property, they'd change their name once they changed families and the "ownership" changed. Having the father's name was a way to prove that those children were his and not another man's. And this is still around because...? I'd like to think people don't care about that as much now, and furthermore, women haven't been property for a long-ass time now. So why does this continue? Just because? It seems harmless enough, I guess, but it pisses me off.
Furthermore, why is it so revolutionary that someone should take my name? Just because I have a vagina? It's ridiculous. And, this is the one that really gets me- if women do all (yes, all, if you disagree with me here you can literally go to hell) the hard work of childbearing and giving birth, why the everliving FUCK don't their children at least get the chance to have their mother's name? If I'm gonna go through hell, possibly risk my own life, to bring these children into the world, you bet your ass they're going to have my last name. If you disagree? I'm not having children with you. The end.
But. But. I know that hoping for someone to take my last name and agree that our children should have my name is never going to happen, and it pisses me off so much. It's like being tied to a chair. I can't do anything about it. Any of the boys I come into contact with will have been raised with the expectation that they'll never have to give up their identity, and they won't part lightly with that (and I can't blame them, given how little I want to part with mine). They grow up with the knowledge, somewhere in the back of their mind, that someday, should they marry and have kids, those kids and their wife will have their name. And it's such bullshit. Even the nicest boys I meet have never even stopped to second guess this, to think "you know, maybe that's unfair." Which is how privilege works, I guess: when you have it good, you don't want to question it.
There are many, many reasons I dislike being female. The blame for all of them lies in other people (with the exception of periods, which are just unfortunate). This is near the top of the list (along with the idea that I'm more likely to be sexually assaulted, that some people view me as an incubator, and that I'm less likely to be taken seriously, especially when emotional, etc). And that bothers me, because I shouldn't live in a society where I dislike how I was born. And then that gets into a lot of issues with disability that I am definitely not informed enough to talk about, so I'll leave that there.
It just... ugh. I'm not totally naive, I know that I'm never going to get what I want by virtue of living where and when I do. But I still hold out a lot of hope for some kind of compromise, like whomever I marry keeping their name and me keeping mine, or both of us changing to some agreed upon different surname, and then finding some way to compromise in terms of kids. Honestly, I'd still be pretty happy with that- it's still nontraditional and is very balanced. And I'm not willing to be with someone if they aren't willing to compromise with me on that- either I don't change my last name, or we both do. That's it. That's the line. I will not cross it.
As for now, I just got riled up about this for reasons I can't remember, but it's late and I have a midterm in the morning.
yer pal,
swegan.
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Strict
I'm pretty sure that when it comes to the ideal child, I hit it pretty close.
I know how vain that sounds, I get it. But I'm starting to think there's a great deal of evidence for it. When my parents made rules, I obeyed them, no matter how much my friends insisted it was unfair or wrong. There may have been times when I was tempted to rebel, in simple, tiny ways, but I never did. I was always too afraid.
Hearing the stories of other kids who grew up with strict parents is always interesting. Most of them are online, a few are real life, and all of them make me think that my parents weren't nearly that bad. I was allowed to have friends over if I wanted. When I got a car (and hey, I got a car), I was allowed to go places as long as I told my parents where I'd be going, who would be there, and when I'd be back, and gave them the address of where it was. Which I guess seems reasonable. I know they were just worried. It wasn't like they never allowed me to go out. Freckles and I got bothered about practicing piano a bunch, but we were never forced to practice, though my mom tried several reward techniques. After a certain age, we were allowed to monitor our own junk food intake- not that there was much in the house to begin with. We were allowed to have friends over and sleepovers and eventually, to walk to the corner store alone. When I became a teenager, my mom finally let me ride my bike further than just up and down the street in front of the house. When I graduated, my mom let me go to a grad party at the last minute, despite the fact that a month earlier she and my dad had barely let me out for a different one. I got a cell phone in high school. I had a very decent allowance. We were allowed to hang out at the mall unsupervised with friends. As I got older, they got much more lenient.
But then I think about how I'm so scared of life now. Being here, being away from home, has helped so much; I'm not afraid to get on the bus for an hour to go get my skates sharpened (that was a bad choice of location on my part). I'm not afraid to just walk down my own street and window shop. I'm not afraid to be out when I please. But I'm still afraid. More so of big adult things, like getting a credit card on my own, or spending large amounts of money, or making my own travel plans, but still.
I'm not really sure if that comes from me or my parents. On the one hand, big adult things are scary for a lot of people, even those who had really lenient parents. Some people just don't like to go out and explore much, that's just how they are. On the other hand, I do know people who just... for them, trying new things or giving themselves permission to do something they love or even just find something they love- it's easier for them. I can tell.
I just wonder- because there were so many things I wasn't allowed to do because my parents were concerned, am I forever destined to be the annoying person who worries about everything? "Let's go out drinking! Swegan, do you want to come?" Sure, but I don't want to drink, and how are you guys getting home? Does anyone need a ride? Okay, but no puking in my car. Where is this place? Are you sure that part of town is safe? "Just order something new, like I'm ordering this drink and I've never had it before." Yeah, but what if I hate it? Then I've spent money on something I don't even like. And it's wasted on me. It just goes down the drain, or in the trash. "In order to participate in this, you're gonna need to have [things I do not currently own]." Okay, but I don't really know if I like this yet. Am I sure I want to buy all this stuff? What if I hate it? Then I've wasted a bunch of money and now I have crap I don't need and will never use taking up space. "So just sell it online." How? Don't you have to make an account somewhere? How do I meet up with people? How do I decide on a price? What if they're creepy? It's better just to not bother, then I don't have to worry at all. "Just get a credit card." Okay, but I look really young and naive. How am I supposed to know if the bank is pulling a fast one over me? How do I know if I'm getting a shitty deal that will end up costing me money? And how do I pay that off? Isn't it time consuming? I'd have to go to the bank... I'll just do it later. "Skating hours are Sunday from 3-4:45." Okay, but those hours are prime homework time for me. I really want to skate, but... school's gotta come first. I'll see how it looks next Sunday... ooh, but wait, I won't be here. Well, maybe the Sunday after? (Then I consequently forget). "Come hang out." But I have all this stuff I want to get done so I'm not up working until 11. I need to get enough sleep. If I don't, I get dizzy and grumpy and it's no fun at all. Plus I want to make sure I study adequately for this exam. I have to get these things done. I have to get SOMETHING done, I haven't done anything all day.
Do you see what I mean? I never let myself do anything. And it sounds a bit like my worries are overwhelming the way I've phrased it, but they're really not. This is just how I think. This is how I operate. Unless I can completely justify doing something 100%, unless I'm completely (or reasonably) sure it's a good idea, unless I'm totally convinced there's really no chance of it messing my life up or ME messing my life up, I just won't do it. And sometimes it doesn't really matter, like when I order my favourite thing at a restaurant all the time, but other times it does, like when I can't get a credit card and thus still haven't built up any credit at all.
Sometimes I think it helps to think of all the things I just do now that my parents are none the wiser about. They don't know my study habits, or my eating habits. They don't know that sometimes I leave my building at 10:30 and walk down the dark alley to Safeway. They don't know that sometimes I go for walks in the river valley and get lost. They don't know that I rode the bus into the north end of town for an hour, maybe into a questionable area, just to get my skates sharpened. They... well, okay, they know I took the bus home from the airport instead of just calling a cab. I just... I know these are stupid, tiny little things. I do. But to be able to live my life, at least in part, like it's really mine, like I get to decide how I spend my time, is incredibly freeing. Which is what makes me think my upbringing was "strict" in any way at all.
I know I'm still a stick in the mud, despite the fact that I know people don't hate me. People like me, but they also find me amusing. I worry about everything. Constantly. I can't stop it. I don't really want to. I didn't spend my teenage years running about, doing what I wanted to. I spent a lot of them at home, in my room, doing homework (there's the other thing- I was and remain a very boringly good student. In science, no less).
This may explain why I found it so wonderful when I was finally allowed to drive myself to school, even though I was still late. For some reason, being late when it was my fault didn't give me nearly as much anxiety as when I was late and exactly who was at fault was less clear. Because driving myself to school allowed me, in some small way, to control my own life. Not to mention I got home a hell of a lot earlier, and my parents didn't have to deal with having to come pick me up.
I'm still not good at this. I think maybe it's just that a lot of other people I know had to grow up much sooner than I did. I was given the luxury of remaining a child when I was still a child. Now I have to grow up, and when it seems like everyone around me is just unafraid to do simple things because they want to do them, I feel very, very lame. Sometimes it feels like I'll never catch up, like I'll forever be a step behind my friends as we progress into our adult lives. Sometimes I wonder if I'm only so intensely self-aware of this because I'm growing up now, rather than at 11 or 13 or 16.
The other thing that I know to be true is that one day I won't have my parents to lean upon. I won't have them around to tell me what to do, even when I want them to tell me. I've gotta have my shit figured out by then if I have any hope of coping.
As for my parents being strict... the issue is best summarized by explaining the facebook rule: I wasn't allowed to make an account until they said so. This is a weird rule; it's pretty hard to enforce (and was considering neither of my parents were on facebook at the time) or police, and yet I never even thought about going against it. And I didn't. Perhaps this says something about my parents' ability to trust me (and I am glad now that I wasn't permitted access to something that permanent when I was 13, oh my god), but I also think it says a lot about me. Or the time my parents forced me to write all my grade 10 exams, even though I was exempt due to my grades (they argued that there weren't going to be exemptions later and I should learn how to study now). Everyone (including my teachers) thought that was insanely unfair, and asked why I didn't just... not do it. And I could have, too; my mom never followed me into the school when she dropped me off. I could have just sat in the hallways or a bathroom for a long enough time that it would make it seem like I had finished the test, and called them to pick me up, and lied through my teeth. "How was the exam?" "Fine." But no, I went and wrote them all anyway.
Long story short: I don't have an ounce of rebellion in me, at least not when it comes to my parents, and I still don't know if that's because of me or them.
yer pal,
swegan
I know how vain that sounds, I get it. But I'm starting to think there's a great deal of evidence for it. When my parents made rules, I obeyed them, no matter how much my friends insisted it was unfair or wrong. There may have been times when I was tempted to rebel, in simple, tiny ways, but I never did. I was always too afraid.
Hearing the stories of other kids who grew up with strict parents is always interesting. Most of them are online, a few are real life, and all of them make me think that my parents weren't nearly that bad. I was allowed to have friends over if I wanted. When I got a car (and hey, I got a car), I was allowed to go places as long as I told my parents where I'd be going, who would be there, and when I'd be back, and gave them the address of where it was. Which I guess seems reasonable. I know they were just worried. It wasn't like they never allowed me to go out. Freckles and I got bothered about practicing piano a bunch, but we were never forced to practice, though my mom tried several reward techniques. After a certain age, we were allowed to monitor our own junk food intake- not that there was much in the house to begin with. We were allowed to have friends over and sleepovers and eventually, to walk to the corner store alone. When I became a teenager, my mom finally let me ride my bike further than just up and down the street in front of the house. When I graduated, my mom let me go to a grad party at the last minute, despite the fact that a month earlier she and my dad had barely let me out for a different one. I got a cell phone in high school. I had a very decent allowance. We were allowed to hang out at the mall unsupervised with friends. As I got older, they got much more lenient.
But then I think about how I'm so scared of life now. Being here, being away from home, has helped so much; I'm not afraid to get on the bus for an hour to go get my skates sharpened (that was a bad choice of location on my part). I'm not afraid to just walk down my own street and window shop. I'm not afraid to be out when I please. But I'm still afraid. More so of big adult things, like getting a credit card on my own, or spending large amounts of money, or making my own travel plans, but still.
I'm not really sure if that comes from me or my parents. On the one hand, big adult things are scary for a lot of people, even those who had really lenient parents. Some people just don't like to go out and explore much, that's just how they are. On the other hand, I do know people who just... for them, trying new things or giving themselves permission to do something they love or even just find something they love- it's easier for them. I can tell.
I just wonder- because there were so many things I wasn't allowed to do because my parents were concerned, am I forever destined to be the annoying person who worries about everything? "Let's go out drinking! Swegan, do you want to come?" Sure, but I don't want to drink, and how are you guys getting home? Does anyone need a ride? Okay, but no puking in my car. Where is this place? Are you sure that part of town is safe? "Just order something new, like I'm ordering this drink and I've never had it before." Yeah, but what if I hate it? Then I've spent money on something I don't even like. And it's wasted on me. It just goes down the drain, or in the trash. "In order to participate in this, you're gonna need to have [things I do not currently own]." Okay, but I don't really know if I like this yet. Am I sure I want to buy all this stuff? What if I hate it? Then I've wasted a bunch of money and now I have crap I don't need and will never use taking up space. "So just sell it online." How? Don't you have to make an account somewhere? How do I meet up with people? How do I decide on a price? What if they're creepy? It's better just to not bother, then I don't have to worry at all. "Just get a credit card." Okay, but I look really young and naive. How am I supposed to know if the bank is pulling a fast one over me? How do I know if I'm getting a shitty deal that will end up costing me money? And how do I pay that off? Isn't it time consuming? I'd have to go to the bank... I'll just do it later. "Skating hours are Sunday from 3-4:45." Okay, but those hours are prime homework time for me. I really want to skate, but... school's gotta come first. I'll see how it looks next Sunday... ooh, but wait, I won't be here. Well, maybe the Sunday after? (Then I consequently forget). "Come hang out." But I have all this stuff I want to get done so I'm not up working until 11. I need to get enough sleep. If I don't, I get dizzy and grumpy and it's no fun at all. Plus I want to make sure I study adequately for this exam. I have to get these things done. I have to get SOMETHING done, I haven't done anything all day.
Do you see what I mean? I never let myself do anything. And it sounds a bit like my worries are overwhelming the way I've phrased it, but they're really not. This is just how I think. This is how I operate. Unless I can completely justify doing something 100%, unless I'm completely (or reasonably) sure it's a good idea, unless I'm totally convinced there's really no chance of it messing my life up or ME messing my life up, I just won't do it. And sometimes it doesn't really matter, like when I order my favourite thing at a restaurant all the time, but other times it does, like when I can't get a credit card and thus still haven't built up any credit at all.
Sometimes I think it helps to think of all the things I just do now that my parents are none the wiser about. They don't know my study habits, or my eating habits. They don't know that sometimes I leave my building at 10:30 and walk down the dark alley to Safeway. They don't know that sometimes I go for walks in the river valley and get lost. They don't know that I rode the bus into the north end of town for an hour, maybe into a questionable area, just to get my skates sharpened. They... well, okay, they know I took the bus home from the airport instead of just calling a cab. I just... I know these are stupid, tiny little things. I do. But to be able to live my life, at least in part, like it's really mine, like I get to decide how I spend my time, is incredibly freeing. Which is what makes me think my upbringing was "strict" in any way at all.
I know I'm still a stick in the mud, despite the fact that I know people don't hate me. People like me, but they also find me amusing. I worry about everything. Constantly. I can't stop it. I don't really want to. I didn't spend my teenage years running about, doing what I wanted to. I spent a lot of them at home, in my room, doing homework (there's the other thing- I was and remain a very boringly good student. In science, no less).
This may explain why I found it so wonderful when I was finally allowed to drive myself to school, even though I was still late. For some reason, being late when it was my fault didn't give me nearly as much anxiety as when I was late and exactly who was at fault was less clear. Because driving myself to school allowed me, in some small way, to control my own life. Not to mention I got home a hell of a lot earlier, and my parents didn't have to deal with having to come pick me up.
I'm still not good at this. I think maybe it's just that a lot of other people I know had to grow up much sooner than I did. I was given the luxury of remaining a child when I was still a child. Now I have to grow up, and when it seems like everyone around me is just unafraid to do simple things because they want to do them, I feel very, very lame. Sometimes it feels like I'll never catch up, like I'll forever be a step behind my friends as we progress into our adult lives. Sometimes I wonder if I'm only so intensely self-aware of this because I'm growing up now, rather than at 11 or 13 or 16.
The other thing that I know to be true is that one day I won't have my parents to lean upon. I won't have them around to tell me what to do, even when I want them to tell me. I've gotta have my shit figured out by then if I have any hope of coping.
As for my parents being strict... the issue is best summarized by explaining the facebook rule: I wasn't allowed to make an account until they said so. This is a weird rule; it's pretty hard to enforce (and was considering neither of my parents were on facebook at the time) or police, and yet I never even thought about going against it. And I didn't. Perhaps this says something about my parents' ability to trust me (and I am glad now that I wasn't permitted access to something that permanent when I was 13, oh my god), but I also think it says a lot about me. Or the time my parents forced me to write all my grade 10 exams, even though I was exempt due to my grades (they argued that there weren't going to be exemptions later and I should learn how to study now). Everyone (including my teachers) thought that was insanely unfair, and asked why I didn't just... not do it. And I could have, too; my mom never followed me into the school when she dropped me off. I could have just sat in the hallways or a bathroom for a long enough time that it would make it seem like I had finished the test, and called them to pick me up, and lied through my teeth. "How was the exam?" "Fine." But no, I went and wrote them all anyway.
Long story short: I don't have an ounce of rebellion in me, at least not when it comes to my parents, and I still don't know if that's because of me or them.
yer pal,
swegan
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