My step dad's opinion of Gays

So, while I understand a person's opinion and for the most part respect the right to have one; there is one time when I will loose all respect for a person and their opinion. That is when you wish death upon people for being different.

My day was going completely fine until about a half hour ago when I was watching survivor with my mom and step dad. We were nearing the end of the show when it cut to commercial to "Doughnut Wars" or something. A rather flamboyant male was shown- freaking out about doughnuts- when my step dad stated that "all these gays should be taken off TV." While not really surprised, my mother and I exchanged looks of annoyance and then 'why'. My step dad's answer? "Because it's a bad influence".

This- of course- lead to an argument between the two of us, and left my poor mother is stuck in the middle (as usual). Most of these arguments go about the same when it comes to other people's sexuality; he says it's wrong; I say nothing's wrong with it; he quotes any and all religious text he can think of (despite being an Atheist); and I rebuttal saying pointing out that he isn't religious and (him) using religious text in an argument is just stupid.

Just to clarify, I'm not saying that religion is stupid.

Anyway, he then starts off again with "it's my opinion blahblahblah and in my opinion all gays should be put on a remote island an nuked."

Well... the room went silent and before my mother co stop me I yelled "so you're saying that all my gay friends should be killed."

My step dad shrugged and nodded "yes. That is my opinion."

"Well, you know what? FUCK YOU!"

"Don't talk to me that way."

"Don't give death threats to my friends!"

"I wasn't"

"You were! You said that all gays should be put on an island and NUKED!"

"That's my opinion!"

"And you're opinion is that my friends should be Nuked!"

This went on for a bit until I finally had enough and left the room, but before I left... I asked what he would do if my brother or I were gay? Would he kill us? His answer to that was "No, I wouldn't live with it." Which was explained as he would divorce my mom or kick me out (since my brother doesn't live with us, I guessed he just wouldn't be aloud in the house).

That was my evening and after the show ended (I missed it, anyone know who got voted off?) my mom came up and asked if I was okay and hugged me. She said that my step dad wanted to apologize to me for being an ass and was checking to make sure I wouldn't beat him to death with a blunt object. I said I was angry and that I had lost all respect for him.

I feel bad that my mom was (again) put in the middle of the fight... like she always is... But my step dad did apologize for not thinking before he spoke and that he didn't mean it to come across like a death threat. So... that's the end of that... until next week.

Seriously this is a weekly thing almost.  


    

Numbness

It used to be that the slightest thing would set me falling into the darkness of my thoughts. But now I always seem to be there and I'm growing numb to everything. I guess it's a good thing in some respects; if I get use to the sadness and hate for myself, maybe I'll stop feeling it? Maybe, eventually my body will get so sick and tired of feeling like crap I just won't feel anymore.

No more sadness.

No more anger.

No more worthlessness.

...

No more Joy.


I can't wait until I feel nothing, because the sadness right after the joy is the worse, because that's when every bad feeling feels as if it's times 10 and I feel the most hopeless- like I will never feel the warmth of Joy again. And that's why I hate joy and happiness because it never lasts and I'm stuck with this sadness for longer and it's always harder to climb out.

Sometimes I feel like I have forgot how to laugh.

But I will always know how to cry, and it's getting harder to fight back the constant tears, and the longer I fight the sicker I feel. Eventually I'll just drown...

I almost did this week.

A dam broke and I felt myself being pulled under. I felt my grip slipping, and my slip cost me. Now a part of my body will always be a numb reminder of my weakness. And I hate myself more for letting people see my like that, and running like a baby for help.

But, as much as it hurts to think about people lying to my face and saying they care. It hurts more that some people don't say it and make it impossible for me to pretend.

I'm Happy

Why is it so much easier to talk about the bad stuff than the good? Why do we always remember the negative things before the positive?

I guess it's so much easier to be angry and sad oppose to happy.

It seems more widely excepted to miserable... Even in music. I can't name one song off the top of my head that is happy... Unless of course it's about sex or something...

But anyways, I was very happy today.

No, I refuse to have that in pass tense. I am happy, I swear.

Happy happy happy happy happy happy happy happy happy happy!

I am to fan-flippin-tastic it should be fucking illegal!

...

Okay, that's a lie.

But I wasn't lying about being happy today, I have been happy most days lately... Though I never write about them because well, I've been sad for so long I'm not sure if the happiness is real or if it will last. I'm afraid to talk about what makes me happy because I'm afraid I'll lose it, if that makes any sense. If I'm proud of something I've done, more often than not other people either don't care, or don't understand why I'm so proud and then... the happiness is gone.

Like when my Field hockey team won gold in our tier. It came down to a shoot out (I was goalie) and I blocked a really hard shot, and we won! When I told my best friend, she replied with "I know; I didn't say anything because it would have gone to your head." Needless to say, my team's victory didn't seem as great anymore.

Fuck these drugs better kick in soon....

Anyways, after that incident I became aware that maybe my happiness imposed on others too much, so I stopped being happy. Then people got annoyed over that, saying I wasn't fun and too sullen... So, again I started to do things that made me happy... and it worked for a bit, but I think I was stunted some how.

It's hard for me to admit my feels towards people and things because I don't know how they'll react and I don't want to give up my feelings. They're mine and mine alone. I've had my good feelings turned sour too many times to count and now... I can hardly remember what it's like.

This is not to say that when I'm happy I fake it all the time, because I'm getting tired of pretending to make other people happy. And it's sad, but the people I pretend the most for are the people who have probably known me the longest. I'm pretty sure they can tell by now, but if they can they don't call me on it.

Fuck I'm tired.

But I am happy with my life (most of the time) now.    

The Realization is Scarier than the Story

One day, while I was crossing the street to get to the bus stop after work I was almost run down by a transport truck. Now, this was somewhat of a normal occurrence at this street; it was a four lane intersection right next to the mall, and to be honest where I live has the highest concentration of bad drivers in Canada. After almost being hit by a car once already, and been privy to an accident or two in the three months before (just at this intersection), I had become more aware of my surroundings.

 Anyways, it hadn't been a particularly good day for me, and it didn't help that my co-worker decided to be particularly bitchy to me (she was always a bitch but I mostly took it in jest since it was either jokingly towards me, or not about me at all). With the last six hours from hell only adding to my headache and stress, I wasn't really paying attention as I crossed the turning lane to get to platform to cross the street. I do remember seeing no cars and starting to cross, but a very loud honk made me look up.

I paused, nearly in the middle of the street as an 18 wheeler came speeding towards me. I stepped back out of the way and held my breath as the truck passed by. I then finished crossing the two streets to get to my bus stop.

It was on the ride home that I had a terrifying realization.

I wasn't scared.

The fact that the truck could have turned me into street pizza didn't scare me. I don’t want to die and I don’t wish to die, but I realized that given the situation- if I had been hit and not died instantly- I probably wouldn't fight to hold on.

So to this day I walk the extra five minutes to the Bus terminal to avoid that intersection. I didn't enjoy the feeling of content I had with dying; it scared me more than the thought of actually dying.

When my time comes, it comes I suppose.   

The Talk

I had an interesting conversation with my father one day- no, not the one where he awkwardly tried to explain to me about having safe sex while referring the action as "It", though that it quite a humdinger of a tale. No, this conversation was supposed to bring my father and I closer together; to develop some understanding between us, but just ended up confusing me more.

As it turns out my father can't handle emotion pain very well, so he ends up hurting himself in order to grasp what he's feeling a little bit more. Logic I guess, physical pain is something you can control a little better by putting an ice pack onto a bruised hand after punching a wall or running a burn under cold water. This was something I understood all to well, and I sympathized with my dad, but didn't really know how to help him, because well, I didn't know how to help myself at the time.

Now, what confused me about this conversation was when it was over and done with; I felt like my dad understood me and what I was going through, but I was terribly wrong. It wasn't much long after that I found myself in a low place, and in details I won't get into, I ended up hurting myself. Instead of consoling me like a father should (at least I think so) and asking if I was alright; he stared at me and then got angry. He was angry at me for being upset with something demeaning he said to me. He was up set with me because he made fun of my physical appearance and I was sad.

I was sad that someone who always said I was beautiful told me that there was something physically wrong with me. This was a bad thing. I was supposed to take it as a joke and laugh at myself along with him, and he was angry at me because I didn't find the "joke" funny.

Thus, my confusion.

He said that I was "over reacting" and couldn't "take a joke". I had always had a very low opinion in myself and my self-worth, and I looked to my parents to help pick me back up and tell me I was beautiful. Guess I'm not, and from that day forward I knew I could never believe anyone again.

I stopped trying to open up to my dad, because I only found that it caused more problems than solved them. I still love my dad, because well, he's my dad and despite having the emotion understanding of a rock, has still helped my grew as a person- in other respects obviously.

He taught me how to be strong in front of others and to hide my emotions well. He taught how to hold back my tears and get my point across in a way that is diplomatic. I'm not sure if all of these things are good or not, but they certainly do help when someone is trying to bully you. I learned to strike back twice as hard and pick what battles I fought with strength and what ones I fought with my mind. But the most important thing I learned from him is that I can never give up trying, because I would disappoint him and there is honestly nothing I hate more than seeing that condescending look on my father's face.