Summer Storms

At 8pm on a Saturday night, I lay in bed. Content. My husband, snoring loudly to my left. My daughter, cuddled up against my body, snoring almost imperceptibly. If you listen closely, her snores sound like quiet little copies of my husband’s.  It’s easy to get lost looking towards the finish line. Every day feels like a battle as I drag myself towards a future I can’t quite envision. However, once in awhile, the present makes an appearance. An early night in bed with the love of my life, our progeny between us. She looks so much like him but, at the same time, so much like me. How easy it is to overlook the present. But when I take a moment to really bask in my current reality, I feel it. Serenity. My little family in our little house in our little town. Somehow, without realizing it, I’ve made it. I’m exactly where I’ve always dreamed I’d be. And for just a moment, one small moment, I’m not looking towards the finish line. For I’ve already completed the race.

The Ultimate Betrayal

I remember opening a doll house one Christmas morning. My parents were still recently separated and I was always so upset on holidays. But you wanted me to have a good day. The dollhouse was huge. Furniture sets for six rooms. You took the rest of the day to help me set it up. I played with that house for years. Fast forward 20 years and you tell a crowd that I honestly don’t want assembled how I’m one of the most precious people in your heart.

Who knew that six months later we wouldn’t be speaking.

My grandma has passed. But she’s not just my grandma, is she? I lived in her house for most of my life. She helped raise me. My mom has just passed. Our mom has just passed. And we’re not speaking.

I think what hurts that most is that you won’t say why. What hurts is hearing you make comments about how easy it is not to talk to someone. How can I be one of the most precious people in your heart and it also be easy for you not to talk to?

Instead of telling me what’s bothering you, you look the other way as you walk in and refuse to acknowledge me. Tomorrow I’ll stand in a room with you as people tell us how sorry they are for our loss, but I think I might just feel your loss more.

My grandma was one of the most important people in my life, but I’m glad she’s not suffering anymore. And hopefully soon, this betrayal will no longer force me to suffer either.

My whole life our family has operated on the pretense that you can be the worst type of person but at the end of the day, we’re family. Blood of the covenant and all that. But I’ve learned something recently that weighs heavy on my heart. The whole expression is really “the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” If there’s anything that I’ve learned from integrating into my love’s family, it’s that families don’t treat each other like this. Psychological warfare is never on the table. Blood means nothing if you have to sacrifice your own dignity in allegiance to it.

Our mom has just passed. Yet you’ve lost more than one person precious to your heart.

November 9, 2016: Heartbroken.

WARNING: Usage of racial slurs as example of how I’ve heard them in my life. 

When I was 16, I was a walking beauty standard. I wore a size 3 and had a tiny little waist with a pretty substantial chest. I looked like a literal hourglass. I always did my makeup and wore my clothes a little too tight– I looked older than 16. Though I didn’t realize it then, I hated how I looked. I always thought I was too big as my mind tricked my body into never being hungry. And that self-loathing blinded me to a scary fact– I was walking bait. My friends told me once that they didn’t like to go to the mall with me because I received so much attention. 

When I was 15, I had my first kiss. That first kiss was part of a first relationship that was tumultuous and not very healthy, but taught me a lot about what a relationship should be. I was in two significant relationships in high school, but if you were to ask my family, they’d tell you my current, college boyfriend is my first relationship ever. Because when gay marriage passed in New York State and my uncle told me that “the humans had lost,” how could I possibly tell my family I was in love with a girl if that meant to them I’d be less than human? And if they read this, and this is me coming out to them, then so be it. I’m not ashamed of who I am and my boyfriend has always loved me, regardless of what gender I’d dated before him. 

When I told my cousin not to use the word “retarded,” I was told to not be so sensitive. But I had volunteered at a school designed for children with autism. I wasn’t being sensitive, I was trying to stop hate speech. It’s hard being on the left when your family bleeds GOP. Every time I heard the words “retard,” “nigger,” “faggot,” “chink,” “spic,” “rag-head”…the list unfortunately goes on and all I could think was that my young family will grow up to think these terrible slurs about wonderful people.

When my family voted for Trump, it solidified to me that they can’t see past their privilege. I know I’m privileged. I may be on the LGBTQIA+ spectrum, but you don’t know that by looking at me. I’m a young white girl who went to private school and though my family isn’t rich, I never wanted for anything. But I know what it’s like to be spit on and called a dyke. I know what it is to be looked at by a man as if I’m wearing no clothing. I also know what it’s like to sit in an interview room with two men and feel inferior– out of place. I’ve seen my black friends get stopped over nothing. I’ve heard people I know talk about the neighboring Seneca Nation as if they were savages and tell me if I’m caught driving through the reservation too late, I might be kidnapped. I witnessed classmates in outrage over wearing a scarf on their hair when we entered a mosque for a field trip. They literally felt as though we shouldn’t respect a Muslim sacred space. I’ve watched coworkers judge an “uncontrolled” child, when in reality the child was exceptionally overwhelmed by all the things happening around it. I’ve seen so much hate in these (almost) 22 years, and the culmination of that is this Trump presidency. And though I’m truly heartbroken that people I love and care about care so little of others that they could support this train wreck, I will never stop loving every person in this nation who feels victimized or oppressed. 

Today, we may be scared, but tomorrow we will pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, support one another, and we will overcome the hate our country has just shown. 

If you need anything, I’m here for you, and so are so many other Americans. Stay strong.

June 12th, 2012

It was fate. 

It had to be. Here I am, 13 hours away from home, from my family, in 100 degree heat. 

Only fate could have brought me to the place I am today. Looking at my Timehop these past two days really got me thinking. Four years ago yesterday, I met the man who would end up changing my life. Four years ago today I left orientation wondering what college would bring. And in October, four years we’ll have been together. 

It had to have been fate that brought him to me. Without him, I probably wouldn’t have finished college. I wouldn’t have dared to fight and grow and be. Fate knew what I needed, and fate provided. 

I love you, Joe. 

Asking: Right or Rude?

Sitting at work, I’m listening to Kidz Bop. How I feel about this is a different story entirely. However, “Rude” by Magic! was playing. And I always think about the song as it plays. I think long and hard about it because it bothers me.

Here’s my thought process behind it: The boyfriend goes and asks the dad for permission to marry his daughter. The dad basically says, “Over my dead body.” Then the boyfriend responds, “Yeah, well she’ll follow me to the ends of the earth, so she’s going to marry me anyway. Fuck you.” This whole situation is mind-boggling to me. Who do these men think they are to decide the fate of this girl? No one asked her opinion. They are just duking it out over who has the “right” to this girl, as if she’s a piece of property. In my mind, I like to think we’ve gotten past this mindset, but alas, it seems we have not.

See, my boyfriend and I have talked about this whole idea of “asking permission” before. I’ve told him explicitly numerous times that I do not want him to ask my dad to marry me if he decides to propose. Yet, he still feels as if he is doing the wrong and improper thing if he does not ask. But here’s how I feel– I am no one’s property. The decision of whether or not I marry someone depends entirely on if I want to or not. That simple. The only relevant people in an engagement, in my opinion, are the people getting engaged. That’s it. I love my dad. I love him and appreciate everything he’s done for me. He’s been a great dad, and part of that is letting go and allowing your child to make their own decisions. That includes marriage. So, if you ask me, everyone in that situation was being rude for not letting that girl use her own mind to make her own decision.

It was lose-lose.

Tonight, I stood in the kitchen of my new apartment, packaging meat to be frozen. My boyfriend and I were singing along to songs that we like, and for some reason, a certain song popped into my head. So, I put that song on. That got me thinking about you. How I first heard it on a mix-tape you gave me. Years ago. You are over three-and-a-half years gone and yet somehow, I still find myself thinking about you from time to time.

You know, we never would have made it.

I never would have admitted that four years ago, but it’s true. We never had a chance.

No matter how much I loved you, or how much you loved me, darker forces were at work.

Depression is a terrible thing. Especially when mixed with sad, repressed, outcast kids. Whether it be a broken home and severe mommy issues, or an overbearing parent that restricted our access, we each had our own demons. When I was preparing to leave, you told me not to drink. You didn’t trust me. But didn’t care that it killed me every time you lit a cigarette. I had seen firsthand what those can do.

You weren’t the only one who was selfish, though. There was plenty I didn’t notice. Signs I missed. Sometimes I put my feelings first because I didn’t realize how serious the whole thing was.

But the problem is, depression has no reasoning. It’s hard enough to keep a relationship when one person has depression. It’s hard to balance each other’s needs while one person is struggling to survive every day. But when both of you are suffering independently, it’s impossible. It’s impossible to try and help one another when you can barely help yourself.

We never had a chance. But I learned a lot from us. I learned how to be a more attentive partner. I learned how to care for myself so that I can then care for someone else. I learned how to be a better person towards those in need.

It was tough, and we tried our hardest, but it was a lose-lose situation.

Depression makes no sense, but I thank it, and you, for the lessons I’ve learned from it.

Dear Number Eleven. (A Rant).

Dear Number Eleven,

With every fiber of my being I want to follow what society tells me is okay and trash your job based solely on the stereotype that all security officers are “wannabe cops.”

However, I know I am unable to justifiably do that because

I don’t know your life

or your history

or your dreams

and how you do your job

But I do know this: you have a reputation. And you should know that you have a reputation.

And though reputations mean nothing if one gets to know a person I do know that tonight, you lived up to yours.

Let me paint you a picture:

I pull into the circle and grab my keys, running to grab my boyfriends wallet because all he needs is some laundry detergent and needs to do laundry so he has clean clothes but he’s on duty and can’t go himself

And when I walk in, he tells me about an assignment he’s working on

And I listen because I should

And when I walk outside maybe ten minutes later I see an empty car next to mine

Lights flashing

And have no clue what this means

So I head to the store

And buy the detergent.

When I come back,

I sit in my car and wait and wait for his round to be done so he can get his detergent and go back to his job

When you pull up next to me.

Number Eleven.

And you ask me if I was parked here earlier

And I say, “No, I wasn’t”

And you ask, “Are you sure?”

Like I’m some hardened criminal evading arrest

And then you have the audacity to shine the giant light on the top of your car into the back of mine as if I’m committing a crime and say, “Nope, it was definitely you.”

But I reply, “I just ran in to grab something.”

And you LIE to me, saying “Well, I waited here for like 25 minutes and no one came out, but I didn’t have my ticket book so I went in to get it and then you were gone. But you can’t park here because it’s a fire lane and it’s a $100 ticket. And I hate giving out tickets so next time just don’t get out of your car or park somewhere else.”

And I nod and say, “Oh, okay” and “Thanks” and we part our ways.

But what you DON’T know is that while I went to grab the card from my boyfriend, I heard you on the walkie Number Eleven talking about a car parked outside a townhouse with it’s hazards on

And how you didn’t have any tickets but wanted someone to come bring you some tickets

Because even though we are allowed to unload as long as we aren’t parked, you felt like he was there “awhile,” which I guess is too long?

I don’t know, you were very nondescript.

But I was inside about ten minutes

And I bet the security camera could vouch for me

And I have been told by countless numbers of people and even a DIFFERENT security officer that it is okay to load and unload in that place

So don’t try to intimidate me.

Don’t tell me you don’t like to give tickets.

Don’t tell me I’m wrong.

Because once you had a face to your victim of a illegitimate ticket, you couldn’t handle it

And you know if I contest they won’t take my side.

Because you have a reputation for being over-the-top in your tactics. Stories of you chasing cars into store lots because you thought they might be speeding on campus are joked about at parties and how there is not real authority for security

But just because you think you deserve that authority

Does not mean you get it.

So next time you decide

To intimidate a twenty-year-old girl

Just trying to buy some laundry detergent for her boyfriend

Remember this: your job is to keep us safe. To keep the campus safe. Not to use your position to bully students into tickets they can’t afford.

Oh, and Eleven? If you can’t unload/load there, you better tell everyone else on the team, because the’ve been letting students do it for years.

See how well your superiors respond to that, newbie.

A late-night thought.

I’m on my way to Myrtle Beach right now. It’s midnight and the CD playing is a bunch of love songs. They make me remember high school. They reminded me of a moment.

Have you ever had a moment so pure and so raw that it cemented itself in your mind? This moment was the moment in my life when I think I felt most beautiful.

We were kissing in the stairwell. I was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, and you were leaned up against me. You looked at me and kissed me. I remember opening my eyes, meeting yours, and I remember the audible sound of your breath catching. I whispered “What?” at you. And you looked at me and said, “Your eyes are beautiful. The way the sun is hitting them shows a million different colors.”

As I look out the dark windows at the shadows passing me by, I remember the sun shining in that little window in that weird staircase and I remember that way you made my heart flutter.

A memory.

A Midterm Mess

I hear my alarm go off and hope it’s 6 a.m.

NOPE.

8:30 a.m. and I’ve missed my first class.

I’ve come to notice lately that I am perpetually exhausted. I feel overextended and can’t catch up.

I finish the assignment due today and think about how I still need to shower, eat, do another paper, plan what I need to do before tomorrow night, go to my one o’clock class, go to my 2:30 class, go to my five o’clock class, finish my assignments, pack my bags for midterm break, take my pets home, drive 14 hours to where my boyfriend and I are staying…

And I am not relaxed. It is 11 a.m. on a Thursday and by Saturday night I will be on my way to Myrtle Beach. But I don’t know how I’ll possibly make it to Saturday.

My dad hasn’t answered me in days about whether or not my car is done at the shop. Stressor.

I still have a lot of assignments to do by Friday night. Stressor.

I have to work my internship—and an event— on Friday afternoon. Stressor.

I have to take my pets home and (hopefully) get my car after my internship Friday night.  Stressor.

My boyfriend and I have to be back on campus by early Sunday morning so he can work check-out with ResLife. Stressor.

He has to work the game Saturday after check-out but neither of us are packed yet or have the time TO pack. Stressor.

We have to drop his car off at his house before we start the drive down south. Stressor.

I have no money. Stressor.

I know this sounds like a lot of complaining, but I’m reaching a meltdown point. Anxiety flutters through my organs as fear and nerves set in. It’s MIDTERM. Am I on track? I am slated to graduate in December…will I make it? Am I ready? Is this semester going better than the last three? Is my academic record salvageable? Will I ever sleep well through the night again? Will I be able to wake up to my alarm tomorrow? Will I wake up tomorrow?

And then, you see, I spiral out of control as my mind whips around, circle after circle, like an amusement park ride.

One. Two. Breathe. 

This is not permanent. Next week you can relax. But for now, it’s time to clean up this midterm mess.

Bonnies vs. Colgate

Today in my Photojournalism class, we had to take some pictures and put them onto one sheet. This was practice for our final assignment. My professor told us to take three photos that we had shot and had currently available and toss something together. This was my result. It wasn’t totally horrible, so here ya go, WordPress.

 

 

We won, and it was quite the game.

With love, XOXO.

 

(c) 2014 Jessica M. Miller, all rights reserved.