After free writing about this topic, dandelions, a willow tree, and the life forms/park at the end of my street, I chose this topic. It's not yet developed, but I'm going to go to in the next few days to experience this again; running through the woods, the activity that makes me feel most alive. :)
Forest
Run through the forest
Feel like an animal
Sagittarius traits (centaur)
Mediation (due to movement and sights, mind is clear, unable to think)
Difference b/t humans and wild animals
Run to ocean, sit and contemplate all of the above
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Edited 'Frey'
Frey definitely went too far with the fictional aspect of his novel. He didn't just make up a few details and change names...he made up many false scenarios and he lied about it, claiming that they actually happened when they didn't. If he wanted to publish a nonfiction book he should have stuck to the facts. If he wanted to publish the book as is, he should have made it fiction, and perhaps put a label on the cover such as, "Inspired by a True Story". I wouldn't have such ill feelings towards him if he didn't actually lie in the first place and say that these events he made up were actually true.
After reading his book, fans were in love with this guy. They were under the impression that his story was true and fell in love with the straightforward details, however gruesome they were. They were extremely disappointed after realizing that most of the events in his book were falsified. He made it as though he was the victim; even though he was committing crimes and other such revolting behavior, his readers sympathized with him and admired him for his hardships. After realizing that someone you were sympathizing with really did not deserve that sympathy must have been very hard for his fans. I have not read the book so I can not comment directly on my feelings, but I can only imagine.
After reading his book, fans were in love with this guy. They were under the impression that his story was true and fell in love with the straightforward details, however gruesome they were. They were extremely disappointed after realizing that most of the events in his book were falsified. He made it as though he was the victim; even though he was committing crimes and other such revolting behavior, his readers sympathized with him and admired him for his hardships. After realizing that someone you were sympathizing with really did not deserve that sympathy must have been very hard for his fans. I have not read the book so I can not comment directly on my feelings, but I can only imagine.
“It Was Like a Solar Eclipse…”
“Best Friend Forever!”
We all were lying on my bedroom floor in a circle, our heads all touching, taking a picture that captured the innocent girlishness I was soon to grow out of. It was my birthday, December 12, on a Saturday night in 1997. I was turning 13 years old and was so disappointed, that my favorite age, 12, (being my favorite number), was now over, but ecstatic that I was now a teenager.
I had my six best friends over for the first time, and I remember being sort of embarrassed of my house. My friends all had nicer houses, but mine was older, smellier, and just plain old shameful. We had moved from a nicer apartment to this house right across the street with plans of renovating it, but at the time it was nothing to be proud of. We had ugly flower wall paper that must have been there since the house was built; ugly green, worn carpet; a tarnished bathtub that supposedly the former owner had died in; the stove and sink were so old fashioned; and the cabinets so poorly placed.
I was the oldest of my friends at that time, and I definitely felt older.
We played games that night, or should I say I forced them to play games that night. I remember becoming frustrated; they just wanted to do their hair and makeup, a birthday party I thought was meant for a six year old. I wanted to stay up and tell stories about personal issues, and play intelligent games, or get out my quiji board. I remember always feeling older than my friends; I remember being curious about boys, but also curious about girls, a feeling that made me feel so awkward and so unable to relate to them; I remember being more fascinated with my homework and sports rather than pointless and/or girly matters as they were.
I could feel something in me changing, and could sense change all around me as that year ended. I’ve always been extremely intuitive and I knew I was meant to mature way ahead of my time. I was right…
Sometime around Christmas of that year my mother offered to take in my cousin; she was too much for my uncle to handle, and her mother was an alcoholic and abandoned her when she was born. My mother, being a nurturer at heart and a parole officer, thought she could be the one to set my cousin straight and give her a better chance at a better life. My cousin was one of those wild teenagers you saw getting arrested outside of the mall for stealing; or smoking in the girls’ bathroom; or punching someone in the face in the cafeteria. I was definitely afraid of her; every kid in town was! She was reckless, bitchy, ignorant, and downright intimidating. She was not even a year older than me and already had sex, smoked cigarettes, did drugs, drank alcohol, went to a juvenile detention center, got expelled from school. I remember there being talk about how her moving in with us would affect me and my siblings. The situation really didn’t affect my brothers or my younger sister, but it sure did affect me. Before I was like the sun, so bright for my age; in honors classes; one of the best players on my softball team; wrote and read for fun; was honest, optimistic, responsible, healthy…but she was like the moon, so dark and daunting. She was moving in on me and soon she would cover me up, with only a *** left of me to be seen.
"Popo...let's get the fuck outta here!"
“Fuck!”
“God damn, it, I told you we should’ve went to the fort!”
I threw my forty of Old English as far back into the woods as I could and followed everyone else. We ran through the opening in the fence and darted through the woods on the trail we always took to get there. It was so dark and my drunkenness wasn’t helping me at all; all I could see was my cousin's white sweater ahead of me. I just followed that, my heart pounding, just listening to the tumult of all that was ahead of me. The five of us darted through the woods as fast as we could, I, being the last. We jumped over mud puddles, over rocks, ducked under trees, ran up and down hills, until finally we were up by the other ball fields closer to my house. We got behind the school building that was at the exit of the woods and ran the back streets home. As we got to the corner two blocks from my house, we took a break and sat on the curb. We didn’t see any cops, and were finally able to relax and breathe…or at least they could relax. I looked down and saw my brand new white shoes, now covered in mud and grass. In my drunkenness I only half cared, but beneath that drunkenness and newfound ignorance, the innocent girl inside of me dreaded going home to my father, to try to hide the new shoes he’d gotten me; to make up an excuse why we were out until 1 AM before the first day of high school; to have to dart my mother threatening us with her piss tests. I dreaded all of it, and it all became more real as we rounded the block and inched further and further to my house, smoking my cigarette so hard and nervously I must have looked like a crack feign. My cousin didn’t seem to mind though. She was used to drama like this; she anticipated drama like this; she relished in drama like this. She was already enrolled in a school for kids with behavioral problems, so for her, this was all expected, but for me…I was just the innocent one, getting dragged into it all…and giving my parents aneurisms.
How exactly I let my cousin influence me, I’ll never remember. When exactly the change in me occurred, I’ll never remember. But the overall gist of those days I will never forget. I started smoking, drinking, stealing, and having sex at age 13, during the spring of 1998. We were both cheerleaders then. I grew more feminine in those years, and started to become more attracted to males. I remember though, that it wasn’t the male himself I was really into; it was the want to be wanted, the pleasure that came with pleasing. I let them all take advantage of me, and at the same time I was taking advantage of them. In those 3 to 4 years, I don’t even remember exactly how many of them there were. I lost all of my friends. I gained such a bad reputation that they were too embarrassed to be my friend anymore, or their mothers forbid them to hang out with me. In my ignorance and new found maturity, I thought I was too good for them though. I always felt ahead of them, but at that time I became so arrogant about it, so foolish, so uncouth. I just did what my cousin did…she was the negative influence in my life. How I could be so weak; how I could let that mature, responsible soul inside of me surrender to the darkness of her ways, I can not remember, but as I said, it was like a solar eclipse, and after every solar eclipse, the sun shines again…
To be continued…
(Please leave feedback...I will polish this piece soon.)
Monday, October 15, 2007
Truth of My Memoir
1) What is your story about? Are the details you selected true to that focus?
a. My story focuses on my past, maturing faster than my friends due to bad influences and the consequences of those actions, good and bad. I have to revise my memoir a bit to better display my focus, but the details I have so far are true to that focus, nothing is made up, except for some minor details that my horrible memory has lost.
2) Are there any "facts" which you are uncertain of which you have set forward as true?
a. I am uncertain of exactly what color certain things were, or the times; smaller things like that, but nothing major.
3) Have you made changes in setting, time, or sequence which are unacknowledged?
a. I acknowledged all that I do not remember by adding phrases such as “I believe it was…” or “I think it was…”
4) Have you fabricated dialog which you cannot remember (without acknowledging that you do not remember exact words)?
a. I do not have much dialogue in my memoir, but the dialogue that I put in is not very fabricated at all.
5) Have you written your experience - or does your story cast you in terms of a "type" (like Frey)?
a. I have written my experience, which may cast me as a type, but it is all true.
6) Are there relevant details which you deliberately left out? Why did you leave them out? Anything you are trying to avoid?
a. N/A
7) Do you suspect any resort to psychological defense - representations which may help you to deny or evade feelings/beliefs/ representations/ actions you may not be proud of?
a. N/A
8) Can you detect any hedges, evasions, revisions which represent the self as more sophisticated, experienced, thoughtful, etc than the self at the time of the writing?
a. N/A
9) What is suggested by what you selected to represent, and what you chose to leave out? Have you selected details to make your story more dramatic, more persuasive, or more "profound" than it merits? Does it need to be balanced by the addition of other selections in order to make it "true"?
a. N/A
10) Does the tone of your essay reveal anything about your relationship to your material? Why do you think you chose the tone you take in your essay (humorous, ironic, serious, self-righteous, respectful, lyrical . . . .)
a. I still need to work on the tone a bit, since I changed my focus
11) Have you demonized or idealized any of the people in your story? If so, what was your motive? Why do you think you wrote to that particular need?
a. The only person who seems to be demonized in my memoir is my cousin, but no, I represented her quite accurately.
12) If there are some pieces of the truth that you intend to hold back, can you tell this story "truthfully" despite those missing pieces? What might you need to add to make sure you do not misrepresent what your story is about?
a. N/A
a. My story focuses on my past, maturing faster than my friends due to bad influences and the consequences of those actions, good and bad. I have to revise my memoir a bit to better display my focus, but the details I have so far are true to that focus, nothing is made up, except for some minor details that my horrible memory has lost.
2) Are there any "facts" which you are uncertain of which you have set forward as true?
a. I am uncertain of exactly what color certain things were, or the times; smaller things like that, but nothing major.
3) Have you made changes in setting, time, or sequence which are unacknowledged?
a. I acknowledged all that I do not remember by adding phrases such as “I believe it was…” or “I think it was…”
4) Have you fabricated dialog which you cannot remember (without acknowledging that you do not remember exact words)?
a. I do not have much dialogue in my memoir, but the dialogue that I put in is not very fabricated at all.
5) Have you written your experience - or does your story cast you in terms of a "type" (like Frey)?
a. I have written my experience, which may cast me as a type, but it is all true.
6) Are there relevant details which you deliberately left out? Why did you leave them out? Anything you are trying to avoid?
a. N/A
7) Do you suspect any resort to psychological defense - representations which may help you to deny or evade feelings/beliefs/ representations/ actions you may not be proud of?
a. N/A
8) Can you detect any hedges, evasions, revisions which represent the self as more sophisticated, experienced, thoughtful, etc than the self at the time of the writing?
a. N/A
9) What is suggested by what you selected to represent, and what you chose to leave out? Have you selected details to make your story more dramatic, more persuasive, or more "profound" than it merits? Does it need to be balanced by the addition of other selections in order to make it "true"?
a. N/A
10) Does the tone of your essay reveal anything about your relationship to your material? Why do you think you chose the tone you take in your essay (humorous, ironic, serious, self-righteous, respectful, lyrical . . . .)
a. I still need to work on the tone a bit, since I changed my focus
11) Have you demonized or idealized any of the people in your story? If so, what was your motive? Why do you think you wrote to that particular need?
a. The only person who seems to be demonized in my memoir is my cousin, but no, I represented her quite accurately.
12) If there are some pieces of the truth that you intend to hold back, can you tell this story "truthfully" despite those missing pieces? What might you need to add to make sure you do not misrepresent what your story is about?
a. N/A
Sunday, October 14, 2007
"Million Little Pieces"/ Author's Responsibility
Frey definitely went too far with the fictional aspect of his novel. He didn't just make up a few details and change names...he made up many false scenarios and he lied about it, claiming that they actually happened when they didn't. If he wanted to publish a nonfiction book he should have stuck to the facts. If he wanted to publish the book as is, he should have made it fiction, and perhaps put a label on the cover such as, "Inspired by a True Story". I wouldn't have such ill feelings towards him if he didn't actually lie in the first place and say that these events he made up were actually true.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Blog #3- "My Father Always Said"
6 segments
Each segment- different parts of trip in Rindheim with her father and flashes 40 years later when she went back to Rindheim.
Segment 1: Schwartz begins by describing her teenage life in
Segment 2: They stopped at father house, but father did not want to go in. She speaks of how 40 years later she did go into the house. They go downtown and father comments how it’s not like queens, but Schwartz is able to compare it to Queeens. They go to the Synagogue. She starts to gain a new respect for her father here and she realizes how is life growing up was and compares it to her own. Then Schwartz flashes forward and recalls her trip when she speaks to a woman about the synagogue.
Segment 3: She explains how the Synagogue was burnt down and how her father escaped. Her father explains that it was the Germans who burnt down the synagogues and she comes to a realization as to why her father was so over protective of her and so choosy about who she hung around with.
Segment 4: They go to her father’s old school. We learn that they separated the kids at that school, Jewish and non-Jewish, but they still played together. She gains even more respect for her father as she gains even more insight into what his life was like growing up and how hard and unjust circumstances were at the time.
Segment 5: They go to the cemetery where her family members were buried. They talk about her Tante Rose who stayed behind and eventually got sent to a concentration camp. They visit the graves of her grandparents as well. She is able to conclude that her father coming to
Segment 6: She returns home and thinks more about what her family went through, gaining a whole new appreciation for her father and all that he says.
In the beginning of the story, Schwartz and her father think they are totally different characters, but through their experiences they are able to realize that they are quite similar and some of what they have been through and what they’ve seen is relatable. Everywhere they go together she gains more of an appreciation and understanding of her father. She understands better why he is the way he is by gaining insights on how he grew up. At the end she gains respect for her father and Rindheim. This is the main point of the story- her new found appreciation.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Free Writing for Memoir
Year: 1998 (Summer before freshman year in H.S.)
"Popo...let's get the fuck outta here!"
“Fuck!”
“God damn, it, I told you we should’ve went to the fort!”
I threw my forty of Old English as far back into the woods as I could and followed everyone else. We ran through the opening in the fence and darted through the woods on the trail we always took to get there. It was so dark and my drunkenness wasn’t helping me at all; all I could see was my cousin's white sweater ahead of me. I just followed that, my heart pounding, just listening to the tumult of all that was ahead of me. The five of us darted through the woods as fast as we could, I, being the last. We jumped over mud puddles, over rocks, ducked under trees, ran up and down hills, until finally we were up by the other ball fields closer to my house. We got behind the school building that was at the exit of the woods and ran the back streets home. As we got to the corner two blocks from my house, we took a break and sat on the curb. We didn’t see any cops, and were finally able to relax and breathe…or at least they could relax. I looked down and saw my brand new white shoes, now covered in mud and grass. In my drunkenness I only half cared, but beneath that drunkenness and newfound ignorance, the innocent girl inside of me dreaded going home to my father, to try to hide the new shoes he’d gotten me; to make up an excuse why we were out until 1 AM before the first day of high school; to have to dart my mother threatening us with her piss tests. I dreaded all of it, and it all became more real as we rounded the block and inched further and further to my house, smoking my cigarette so hard and nervously I must have looked like a crack feign. My cousin didn’t seem to mind though. She was used to drama like this; she anticipated drama like this; she relished in drama like this. She was already enrolled in a school for kids with behavioral problems, so for her, this was all expected, but for me…I was just the innocent one, getting dragged into it all…and giving my parents aneurisms.
Analysis of Personal Essay
Well...I guess I'm content with my essay so far...but it's kind of hard. There's so many things I could incorporate, because there's so many more details of my 'sexual life'...but it would be too long and too difficult to 'cluster'...so I just chose to talk more about what has happened recently. I can't wait to get Prof. Chandler's comments; they would really help. I would like to know what you all think...it's hard for me to be the judge...because I know the details, I don't know how well I'm getting them across to people who don't. I definitely like this draft better than the first one, what do you all think? I'm really confused on what to write about for the memoir...any ideas? (Sadly I wasn't able to attend the last class, so I'm a little behind.)
New Personal Essay
Is this any better? I'm starting to think this would be better for the memoir...oh, I'm so confused :o(
“Outside”
By: Jamie Jenkins
“How am I supposed to take you seriously Jam? I mean you’ve been with guys ever since I can remember. You’ve talked about girls in high school and here and there, but you’ve never had anything serious, and after freshman year at William Paterson you were with Joe and then Roe. I hate to say this, but I think it’s just a phase. A lot of girls do this, either because they want to stand out and be different, or they’ve just met the wrong guys and assume all guys are bad...”
“Oh my god…” I cut in, mentally exasperated. “Just let it go, I don’t want to talk about it.” I really wanted to scream ‘It’s not a fucking phase! Almost all lesbians are confused as they’re growing up. Society says girls are supposed to like boys and that’s what they start out believing. I love to love and be loved; when there’s no females around, well, the males are the only ones there, so even though I don’t want them, I go for them. I’m too shy with the other lesbians I actually find…I don’t know what to say or do. I’ve made mistakes, but I know who I am, what I feel, and what I want! It’s not a god damn phase!’ It made no sense to others, but to me, it was as simple as that, which is actually something not simple at all, especially when someone else’s heart is involved.
We were driving back form the mall, getting Christmas presents for whoever popped in her head. She was so bad at planning and it never crossed her mind to write lists. I brought up to her how I made a profile on Yahoo Personals and how happy I was about it, hopeful that I’d find some females because I couldn’t seem to find any at school or in town, one of the main reasons I stayed with Roe for as long as I did. She thought it was a joke, bringing on that mini lecture, or what I always saw as a lecture, not a conversation.
We had just left he mall when the other 20 things popped in her mind that she had to do—the drugstore, picking my brother up from CCD, stopping at ShopRite. I just sat there, quiet, letting her mind roam like it always did, and then letting my mind roam as it always did, the main reason why we barely ever communicated.
I’ve learned to give up on this argument. There was no being right with my family, about anything. Even though I knew I was right half the time, and with this situation, I knew how I felt. There was no getting through to them or anyone else for that matter that thought my ever-changing sexuality was a joke. I hated trying to prove myself to other people. In the past, yes, I was with guys. During that winter, yes, I was with Roe. And who would believe me when I said I was a lesbian, having a boyfriend by my side? Everyone else thought that confusion was a ‘phase,’ but no; I knew it wasn’t a phase.
I knew ever since I was younger that I had a strange (or it was strange then) attraction for certain females. They were always the sporty ones, and I knew instinctively that some of them were like me. I had relationships with guys, but never have I ever enjoyed being with a guy, but I was always too shy to be with a girl and at such a young age, other girls didn’t understand themselves yet, so I was stuck. I was the first one to come out in high school. I got picked on so bad I had to leave, but when I came back senior year, there were so many lesbians; my old friends who I knew were gay were finally out of the closet. I had three girlfriends that year, but the relationships were nothing too spectacular, I don’t even think I kissed any of them.
I remember every time I saw a lesbian, for years; it gave me this intense longing inside that is still almost indescribable. I don’t know…it felt as though my ribs were being ripped open and my heart was falling on the floor, begging for them to pick it up and give me the strength to follow them into their fold of society, putting all anxiety behind. I had this feeling the most when I was with Roe, and I knew I had to straighten things out soon…there was this burning inside me, this yearning. I couldn’t turn it off. It kept me up all night and kept me drifting further and further from Roe.
Two weeks from Christmas I finally spotted a girl on Yahoo who lived only five minutes down the highway, unlike all my other “matches” who lived over an hour away. She was my age; I wasn’t too fond of her appearance, but I figured why not contact her? Maybe she looks better in person. I got a hold of her through email and she invited me to this lesbian club called L-Bar. Little did I know it was right around the corner from my house. How I never knew it existed is still beyond me.
I was with Roe that winter, almost two years into our relationship. Before he met me I was an all out lesbian, about the fifth time I’ve come out of the closet. He knew I was gay when he met me, but after the first night of us hanging out (staying up all night long, talking up a storm in my bedroom), well I kind of fell for him, and he already had a crush on me. At first things were decent in our relationship, and I was even trying to get myself to believe my desire for women was just a phase, but then the feelings and dreams I had in past relationships with guys crept op on me again. I dreamt about women every night. Whenever we made love I envisioned a woman and I hated sex with him, not him in particular, but I dreaded that scary thing that hung between his thighs. I would even cry sometimes during sex, knowing I didn’t want it, I didn’t like it. I wanted a woman. I craved what was between their thighs, what existed in their minds, so feverishly it seemed like a dream that would never turn into a reality.
Roe knew about my sexuality and even game me ‘permission’ to be with females. That’s why I didn’t feel so bad about setting up a profile on Yahoo or meeting Michelle at L-Bar that Saturday night…
I remember being so nervous that night. I didn’t know what to expect and because we met on a dating site, I didn’t know if she was considering it a date or was interested in me at all like that. It wasn’t so bad though. She wasn’t flirtatious with me and she had some other friends there that lightened the tension. There were girls that definitely caught my eye. It wasn’t that busy that night, but Michelle said there was usually more people, but because of the holidays people were probably busy or on vacation. I didn’t dance at all; I’m always too shy when in a new environment or around new people. This one chick Jen tried getting me to dance. Jen, someone I never thought (that night) would turn out to be one of my good friends today.
Shortly after that night I made a MySpace account and made so many friends (mostly lesbians) in the next few months. I started going to L-Bar every weekend and the Colosseum which is down the highway form my house and Circuit in
Sometime in early March I broke it off with Roe. I just couldn’t do it any longer, pretend that I was into him, romantically and sexually knowing deep down inside, so deeply and strongly, that I was meant to spend my life with a woman, not a man. The break up killed him, which killed me, but I had to do it, otherwise it would only hurt him even more if I dragged it out any longer. He envisioned a life for us, and it shattered his dreams. I had to give him time after the relationship to adjust before being able to maintain a friendship. He was so awkward when we were together. His awkwardness made me feel awkward, and his sadness made me feel guilty about being so elated and just…free. He’s gotten better these days though, and I consider him my best friend.
Between then and now, I’ve had two girlfriends. I totally though I was in love with those two girls, but I think I was more in love with the idea that I had a girlfriend, not a boyfriend; that I was doing what felt right, and followed my heart. But they weren’t the ones for me. Now I’m just trying to be patient, waiting for that right one. I can picture her so clearly, and when I see her I’ll know who she is.
These days I constantly remind myself of the past as to not take my current life for granted. I remember the days when my closet door was closed and I was inside; I remember the days when my closet door was open; I remember the days when my closet door swung back and forth; and now I can’t thank god enough for giving me the courage to shut that closet door forever, and stand outside of it, proud, anticipating that woman I’ve always known I was meant to spend the rest of my life with.
Monday, October 1, 2007
ROUGH Draft
3/16/00
I leaned against the bar watching him prepare the martinis for the three women gossiping away in their elevated chairs. I slowly undressed him with my eyes, adoring his muscular structure; off came his shirt, and I drooled at his cut, tan arms and chest. I undid his pants, and oh shit!!!! Ugh, that dreadful disgust was still with me. Just envisioning his penis, I couldn’t go through with it. I quickly threw on his shirt and turned my gaze. I wandered off in thought… Just the thought of seeing a penis grossed me out horribly, and touching one, ugh, never again could I go through with it. I’ve had plenty of men in the past and I never enjoyed any of them, sexually or otherwise. I didn’t understand. Did all women feel this way? Did they hide their disgust just to please their men? I had no idea.
6/21/07
I sat back in my foldout chair in the corner of the crowded field remembering the days when I was confused, or should I say afraid to make a change in the right direction. I looked out amongst the diverse crowd, the vendors, the crowd, the dark clouds rolling in slowly over the ocean from the east. My friends were out amongst the crowd somewhere, but I was in a contemplative mood for some reason, so I just sat alone for awhile, thinking about the past as to cherish this present; for some reason I just couldn’t take any single moment of my current life for granted.
1/19/02-2/19/07
Oh, how I dreaded all of those nights, for approximately 5 years, two relationships altogether. I used to make up excuses left and right, to postpone that dreadful act. My main excuse was not wanting to go on birth control, not wanting to gain weight, so we could only hop in the sack around the time I was expecting my period, or sometimes I would fake that I had my period, other times I would just fake that I was sleeping. And when I could excuse myself no longer I would envision someone else in the bed with me, or turn my head and cry when they weren’t looking. I didn’t want to experiment with positions other than missionary, and oral sex, ugh, no! Sometimes when I couldn’t avoid either I would just pretend as though I enjoyed it or actually cared. I felt like an actress or a robot, or even a blow up doll sometimes. I remember not minding holding them, kissing them, caressing those perfect muscles, but once their clothes came off I felt like running for the door.
6/21/07
I watched all of the types of people there that day and they kept reminding me of the past…the women, all the sporty ones…
6/02/06
I knew I had to make a change sooner or later, I was just so afraid of breaking his heart and perhaps making a decision that wasn’t meant to be made, but this feeling, there had to be some truth behind it, some reason for it, some way to ease it. I couldn’t go on feeling as though I was lying to myself. Feeling as though my life was not fulfilled in the way I knew it was meant to be. I knew I just had to make a change, and so I did. I finally broke up with him. I told him it had nothing to do with him, it was me. He knew before we got together the kind of person I was. I couldn’t drag it on any longer; the longer we were together the harder it would be in the end. I thank god that we’re still able to be friends to this day, best friends at that.
6/21/07
I watched all of the types of people there that day and they kept reminding me of the past…the women, all the sporty ones…Whenever I saw these women when I was younger, (starting at age 10 most likely), the ones that you just knew were gay…oh god, how my chest ached; it felt as though my ribs were being ripped open and my heart was falling on the floor. I longed and longed, wanting them so bad, and knowing I, myself was one of them. But I was so fucking shy to even talk to them, and to do anything else down the road, I just never had enough confidence, especially regarding my body. I had various girlfriends in high school, when I was strong enough to come out of the closet, but they just weren’t the ones for me. The ones that I truly desired, well, they were the ones I just never thought I could have; it just seemed too good to be true, like I wasn’t lucky enough to live that life I wanted so bad to live. My freshman year in college I tried to search in the right places for those girls that were right up my alley. I knew the kind of girl I wanted- sporty being the most important factor. So where did I go that semester? To the basketball games on campus. A lot of straight chicks played soccer, but I knew that most of the basketball and softball teams were gay, and since it was the Fall, I headed to the gym every night there was a home game. I would just sit at the top of the stands with a book on me, or homework. I barely watched the game, I just watched the girls. I believe there were only two white girls on the team, everyone else was black, but black girls didn’t turn me on, and the two white ones were just not my style, a little too butch or something. I kept going back game after game though, hoping there’d be someone there who wasn’t there last time. And after I gave up hope I still went just to scope the crowd hoping I’d find Miss Right. Too bad I never found her.
6/21/07
We were at Asbury Pride that day, me, my girlfriend, and my huge new group of friends I made that year. I loved it. I felt so at home, so at peace with myself, like I could finally breathe, knowing that after feeling like a god damn cuckoo bird all my life, that the closet door was shut and locked forever, and I was standing outside…so proud and comfortable to be what I always knew I was- a lesbian, loud and clear.
I leaned against the bar watching him prepare the martinis for the three women gossiping away in their elevated chairs. I slowly undressed him with my eyes, adoring his muscular structure; off came his shirt, and I drooled at his cut, tan arms and chest. I undid his pants, and oh shit!!!! Ugh, that dreadful disgust was still with me. Just envisioning his penis, I couldn’t go through with it. I quickly threw on his shirt and turned my gaze. I wandered off in thought… Just the thought of seeing a penis grossed me out horribly, and touching one, ugh, never again could I go through with it. I’ve had plenty of men in the past and I never enjoyed any of them, sexually or otherwise. I didn’t understand. Did all women feel this way? Did they hide their disgust just to please their men? I had no idea.
6/21/07
I sat back in my foldout chair in the corner of the crowded field remembering the days when I was confused, or should I say afraid to make a change in the right direction. I looked out amongst the diverse crowd, the vendors, the crowd, the dark clouds rolling in slowly over the ocean from the east. My friends were out amongst the crowd somewhere, but I was in a contemplative mood for some reason, so I just sat alone for awhile, thinking about the past as to cherish this present; for some reason I just couldn’t take any single moment of my current life for granted.
1/19/02-2/19/07
Oh, how I dreaded all of those nights, for approximately 5 years, two relationships altogether. I used to make up excuses left and right, to postpone that dreadful act. My main excuse was not wanting to go on birth control, not wanting to gain weight, so we could only hop in the sack around the time I was expecting my period, or sometimes I would fake that I had my period, other times I would just fake that I was sleeping. And when I could excuse myself no longer I would envision someone else in the bed with me, or turn my head and cry when they weren’t looking. I didn’t want to experiment with positions other than missionary, and oral sex, ugh, no! Sometimes when I couldn’t avoid either I would just pretend as though I enjoyed it or actually cared. I felt like an actress or a robot, or even a blow up doll sometimes. I remember not minding holding them, kissing them, caressing those perfect muscles, but once their clothes came off I felt like running for the door.
6/21/07
I watched all of the types of people there that day and they kept reminding me of the past…the women, all the sporty ones…
6/02/06
I knew I had to make a change sooner or later, I was just so afraid of breaking his heart and perhaps making a decision that wasn’t meant to be made, but this feeling, there had to be some truth behind it, some reason for it, some way to ease it. I couldn’t go on feeling as though I was lying to myself. Feeling as though my life was not fulfilled in the way I knew it was meant to be. I knew I just had to make a change, and so I did. I finally broke up with him. I told him it had nothing to do with him, it was me. He knew before we got together the kind of person I was. I couldn’t drag it on any longer; the longer we were together the harder it would be in the end. I thank god that we’re still able to be friends to this day, best friends at that.
6/21/07
I watched all of the types of people there that day and they kept reminding me of the past…the women, all the sporty ones…Whenever I saw these women when I was younger, (starting at age 10 most likely), the ones that you just knew were gay…oh god, how my chest ached; it felt as though my ribs were being ripped open and my heart was falling on the floor. I longed and longed, wanting them so bad, and knowing I, myself was one of them. But I was so fucking shy to even talk to them, and to do anything else down the road, I just never had enough confidence, especially regarding my body. I had various girlfriends in high school, when I was strong enough to come out of the closet, but they just weren’t the ones for me. The ones that I truly desired, well, they were the ones I just never thought I could have; it just seemed too good to be true, like I wasn’t lucky enough to live that life I wanted so bad to live. My freshman year in college I tried to search in the right places for those girls that were right up my alley. I knew the kind of girl I wanted- sporty being the most important factor. So where did I go that semester? To the basketball games on campus. A lot of straight chicks played soccer, but I knew that most of the basketball and softball teams were gay, and since it was the Fall, I headed to the gym every night there was a home game. I would just sit at the top of the stands with a book on me, or homework. I barely watched the game, I just watched the girls. I believe there were only two white girls on the team, everyone else was black, but black girls didn’t turn me on, and the two white ones were just not my style, a little too butch or something. I kept going back game after game though, hoping there’d be someone there who wasn’t there last time. And after I gave up hope I still went just to scope the crowd hoping I’d find Miss Right. Too bad I never found her.
6/21/07
We were at Asbury Pride that day, me, my girlfriend, and my huge new group of friends I made that year. I loved it. I felt so at home, so at peace with myself, like I could finally breathe, knowing that after feeling like a god damn cuckoo bird all my life, that the closet door was shut and locked forever, and I was standing outside…so proud and comfortable to be what I always knew I was- a lesbian, loud and clear.
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