✯Sincerely, Me✯

☯LivingWithMyself☯
2016-02-28 20:09:32 (UTC)

Crossing The Line

Dear Reader,


I wrote an entry called "Recycled Canvas"
And I talked mostly about how I've grown to a point
where I don't change clothes very often.


Yesterday, my grandma noticed and brought it up to me,

She asked me when I was going to change mys sweatpants,
I told her I needed more pairs, and I was going to say because I don't have anymore, but she finished the sentence for me and said
"Because you don't fit in anything else?"


Thanks for slapping me in the face.


So, today I got dressed for the first time in forever.
I mean I got all decked out.

A blank tank top, a denim jacket covered in pin-back buttons
Red and black rubber rings, a spike bracelet,
guitar pick necklace, silver grenade necklace, dark jeans,
and my backwards Batman hat...
And Red converse.


And honestly,
It felt really good to get dressed up today.
Even though I'm not going anywhere.


Grandma came home today,
And I walked by her chair, and showed her my pin that says:
"You probably don't recognize me without my cape."


And she just said dryly:
"It would be nice to not be able to recognize you in a dress,
long hair, and make-up."


....


So here I am.
She did this not long ago, when I wrote
"What I Need"

Here I am writing about it, because I can't do anything else.
I'm so angry that I'm shaking.

I don't get dressed, she bitches about it.
I get dressed, she bitches about it not being the way SHE wants me to be dressed.

Back when I even used to wear make-up, she complained about it.
She told me I was too young for it, or that I didn't need it.
She always acted annoyed or belittled me when I got ready in the morning... or when I needed to buy more because I was running low.

There's no pleasing her.
I can't win.


I want to get up,
walk in there

And just say

"No, I'm not going to go off into my room and cry this time. I'm not going to let you walk all over me this time.

I don't give a shit that don't like the way I dress.

I am NEVER going to be feminine, so get the fuck over it.

You can either stop saying bullshit like that, or you can stop talking to me altogether. It's fucking up to you. "


But no, I can't do that.

Because she'd probably attack me.

I can't wait until I can finally stand up for myself...

Where I can say anything I fucking please to her,
And SHE'LL be the one that won't be able to do anything about it.


There's a major difference between respecting your parents/guardian,
and fearing them.


I have absolutely no respect for them.
Because they have none for me.

I have a letter prepared,
For when grandma/Rhonda pushes me over the line about this.

It basically explains that I love the way I dress now, It's never going to change, and they can either accept it or leave for all I give a damn.


I wrote this letter,
because of what happened in Walmart one night.


We went to pick up my grandfather's medicine,
and we were standing in the line.

In front of us was a girl with long natural curly hair.
Her hair was actually beautiful.


They were talking about it to each other,
and I knew where the conversation was headed.

Rhonda turned to me, and said
"You should be ashamed."
(For cutting off my own curly hair)


First of all, my curl pattern was nothing like this girls.
My curly hair wasn't beautiful curly.
I couldn't do anything with it besides put it up.
I couldn't even straighten it because it would have taken way too long.
It was more aggravation than it was worth.

And I love my short hair.


Rhonda kept saying that I needed to grow my hair back out..
That I needed to start dressing girly, and wearing make-up...

Basically reject every aspect of my identity and reconform to a standard that doesn't work for me, or make me happy.

She made the comment of people not knowing that I'm a girl...
(Like it's anyone's business whether or not I am.)

I wanted to say "Well for anyone who can't tell, one look at my almost D cup will clear it up for those poor unfortunate nosy souls who would shrivel up if they couldn't know that I indeed have a vagina."


I was growing increasingly upset, and louder trying to defend myself.

I knew everyone around us could hear our conversation, but I didn't give a shit. I wouldn't have given a shit if it had broken out into a screaming match right there in the middle of Walmart...


And the even more fucked up part is,
Grandma kept laughing that shit-eating laugh the more and more upset I got... like it takes a really twisted person to laugh at their kid for CAUSING them to be upset.

She kept laughing and going on about how I will change someday,
and it'll be because of a man that I like..
That I'll start wanting to dress up and shit for him so he'll like me...


I wanted to shove them both, and run as far as my legs could carry me.
I wanted to leap across oceans, and hop across planets.

We stopped at a gas station.

I was sullen the entire time after that.
I had cranked up music as loud as I could to drown them out.


Grandma started to half-ass apologize,
but not really saying that she was sorry for what she said...


She obviously didn't mean it, because she continues to do it.


But in the car I knew she wasn't being genuine.
I wasn't having any of it.

She couldn't put the toothpaste back in the tube.
She couldn't put every single feather back in the pillow.


She had said what she said, and she couldn't unsay it.

She couldn't undo the pain she inflicted on me.


The only thing she could ever do for me to forgive her,
Is for her to open her mind and accept me for who I am.


That's why I wrote the letter.
I'll post it here maybe.


One day they'll push me too far,

And I'll put my foot down.

I won't put up with it anymore.


I wonder, if when I get older and move out, and have my own job...


When I'll be able to start dressing full-fledged the way I want too.. no compromises, and no censors.

I wonder if they'd still have the audacity to blatantly disrespect me like this. I wonder if they still think they can treat me however the fuck they want.
I wonder if they'd finally take me, and my fashion seriously by then.

I know they'll talk shit about me behind my back, because they do with the other children/grandchildren.

But I wonder if they'll still think it's okay to talk shit to my face, as an independent adult.

Because, if they do...


I won't swallow it.
I won't stand there and take it.

I will stand up for myself,


And if they lay a hand on me,


I'm not above having a family member arrested.
If they think for a second that I won't have them thrown in jail, just because they're related to me...
They're dead wrong.


Because nobody has the right to assault me,
Regardless of relation.

Sincerely,
Won'tStandForIt




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