Claimyourbeauty's Blog

Today I’m going to write about bullying. Bullying has many forms and it has affected me throughout my lifetime. I’ll start with being fat.  It seems that fat hatred is the last form of regulated hatred. Fat hatred ranges from the comedic to the ethical. It’s pretty crazy when you think about it a fat person can be a punch line or the subject of Michelle Obama’s crusade. (For fuck’s sake the US has bigger problems than fat kids.) Being on the Internet I have experienced my share of fat hatred, some comical and some really mean. Last year a Croatian site took one of my photos, posted it and picked it apart. The member’s comments were even worse… My stretch marks, my lopsided boobs, my pubic hair, they berated every inch of me. This unpleasant experience taught me a valuable lesson. I learned that I could not control everything. From that day forward I did not try to control who took my photos for whatever purpose. I have had porn sites post my photos and quite frankly as long as those sites post links back to my blog I don’t care. It’s up to the viewer to read Claim Your Beauty and decide if it speaks to him or her. I’m fat if you don’t like my blog move along.

So it sounds like I have that resolved… well, not really. Yesterday, I posted a photo on my Tumblr blog and the caption read, “I’m not a size 4 deal with it…” Someone re-blogged my photo and wrote their caption. It read, “I have diabetes deal with it…” Because I have been made fun of so much online fat jokes usually don’t bother me but yesterday I was hurt and I had to evaluate why. This person is taking my photo and making fun of me in a public venue. He is bullying me. So I think to myself. “This person is an idiot, a bigot” Saying that a fat person has diabetes is a form of discrimination. Fat stereotyping is created in the malicious spirit of bigotry. Being fat is not a moral failing… being a bigot is…  Problem resolved… then why does it still hurt so much? It hurts because he is bullying me.

I have dealt with my fat issues but the scars of bullying run deep. I will start by saying I don’t have very many close friends. When I say friends these are the people that I will do anything for. And they love me in return. I know this because they understand me. They lead me when I need direction and they hold me strong when I am hurting. I tell my loved ones about my injuries in bits and pieces. It’s not easy for them. They have to pay attention and they must wait to hear the whole story. The story reveals itself in sentence fragments between the small talk and silences.

This is a symptom of a past harm. Years ago I wore a victim’s wound, a partial handprint over my mouth. The bruise has faded but I still wear that handprint today. When the time comes to ask for help words fail me, they always have. As a child I sat next to my Mother and I could not tell her that someone had harmed me. So I would put my head in her lap and she would run her fingers through my hair until I drifted into the safety of sleep. This is how I run my life. I say very little, my friends comfort me and for a while the pain is dormant.

The problem with avoidance is that things resurface if they are not dealt with. I am no longer a child but I find myself in situations that resemble bullying. Work has always been a nightmare for me. I’m an easy target. I shy away from professional criticism and I can never say no. On a more personal level. There is always some form of coercion in my romantic relationships. This ‘no means yes’ phenomenon only exists in the movies. You say no over and over again and eventually acquiesce but your heart hurts. This is not consent this is coercion. Recently I had to report an assault and in the process I felt bullied. I had to repeat myself while answering unsavory questions until I was a crying child.  To be honest the whole thing seemed so sinister. At the end of my statement  the detective said to me, “I believe you” and I responded, “Of course you believe me because I’m telling the truth.”  They ‘coerced’ me into telling the truth. Their course of questioning is to obtain compliance. Wanting to know if a person is telling a lie is not the same as wanting to know if a person is telling the truth. The entire process left me with an empty feeling.

So how do these things relate to being fat? Sometimes when a person calls me fat it’s so much more than being fat. Today the humiliation brought me back to a place where I was not safe.  As an adult I have to learn how to cope with these feelings. This is why I write, why I take photos. I reclaim power and I create safety for myself and hopefully for others.

Navigating my life as a child has been treacherous at times but I need to say that it has also provided me with tremendous gifts. I laugh like a child, I give freely like a child and most importantly I love like a child. In the grand scheme of things it’s not that bad. When I am overwhelmed I remember one of my Dad’s pep talks. I was six. It was summertime. It was the 70s, lots of kids in the park with no supervision. I came home crying. I stood on the lawn trying to tell my dad what happened in between sobs. He bent over and while he was wiping my face he said in earnest. “Lisa, you’re alright. You’re a brave little girl. You’re MY little girl.” He turned me around. “No go back and play.” And I ran back as fast as I could…

Thanks for reading today,

Lisa

Say something, say anything… I am always here…

Now and then I think of when we were together. Like when you said you felt so happy you could die. I told myself that you were right for me But felt so lonely in your company. But that was love and it's an ache I still remember. You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness. Like resignation to the end, Always the end. So when we found that we could not make sense. Well you said that we would still be friends. But I'll admit that I was glad that it was over... ~ Gotye

I have written 3 lengthy blogs in the last 10 weeks. All very descriptive, chronicling the latest dramas. The writing is a process that helps me but when it’s time to post I have to consider the ramifications of airing my dirty laundry publicly. Once its out there its out there for all to see and the outgrowth takes on a life of it’s own. I am an emotional person. This is why I hold on to my posts for so long. It is difficult for me to censor myself when I am angry, sad or disappointed. I take the time to process my feelings and then I am capable of editing my posts. We all know the saying ‘If you can’t say something nice don’t say anything at all.’ I have my own version of this. ‘If you can’t write a post without ripping someone to shreds then hang onto it until you can edit it responsibly.’ I’m funny… LOL

I’m going to start backwards today. Usually I lead with what’s going on in my life and then I explain the inspiration behind the photos. This time the photos told me how I was feeling about what was going on in my life. I went in to the shoot with pretty simple inspirations. I was looking at album covers belonging to Iggy Pop and Hole. I frequently search for photos of Iggy pop and Courtney love, both are super rough in candid, put them in front of a photographer and they are works of art. Inspired by rock stars… Seems pretty simple… but I discovered something when I was editing my photos. I thought about how I felt when I was preparing for the shoot.  I realized that I bandaged my chest because I was wounded and I wrapped my hands because I felt like I had to defend myself.

My body is a gentle messenger. It reminds me when the time has come to deal with life’s challenges. It also allows me to process emotional pain when I don’t have the fortitude to do so psychologically. There have been traumatic events in my life that I let be. An anniversary of the event will pass and a few days later I will realize why I was so bitchy, teary, snappy or whatever. Unfortunately heartbreak has never been something that I can ignore, I wear it and I can tell you exactly how it feels. A dull compression the size of a baby’s hand pushes evenly on the top half of my sternum. I feel the pressure with every breath. Its intensity fluctuates throughout the day, like its preserving energy for the moment I lay down to rest. Under my right arm there is an incision beginning at rib 6. It cuts through the remaining ribs, it moves at a slight angle and stops beneath my right hipbone. I feel exposed.  If I’m not on guard part of me will fallout or someone might damage me. I am conscious of this and it is visible in my body language. My arms are on lock down. I don’t go out of my way to reach anything and I distance myself from others. As time passes I begin to stitch the wound but it unravels if I’m not careful.

In February I welcomed a familiar ache into my life. I opened the door, just a crack and before I knew it, all that I left behind sat down on my sofa, head in hands weeping. I take him into my arms and I feel myself unravel. I held him and kissed him in my bed. After I lay my head on his chest it was like we had never been apart. I listened to his heartbeat. I thought to myself, as I did every night. “This is where I will spend the last few moments of my life. I am safe here.” Oh how I miss the virtues of loving him. I was so powerful when he loved me in return. In an hour and forty-five minutes I had slid back into last year. What followed was pretty standard. I changed my mind, he changed his mind… I came to my senses but it took a few days. I had to follow the same path to find my way out, lots of anger, yelling and tears. Not to mention the confrontation of close friends.

I suspect that I started to unravel before I even saw him. I found myself on the other end of some very stern conversations. First Vicky, “I don’t like this at all. I can’t stand seeing you like this. I have to intervene.” Second and much more severe Sheri, “You are fucking with your sobriety. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? Do you think you can live through another relapse? Because I don’t think you can.” I understand their frustration, my friends know what its like to be loved by me. The loyalty, commitment and compassion are available to all of those I love. This is why they worry when he comes around. There is no prudence in my heart when I love someone I spare nothing. The love comes and I can do nothing but feel it. It’s not about being brave or weak or even certain. Love in its pure form has no eyes or ears. There is only the feeling deep and true.

I managed to get away. Once again I was shredded emotionally. I know this is horribly redundant but I assure you it was necessary. It led me to the right place a beautiful place and I will share that in my next post.

This is a valuable set of photos because I recorded an emancipation. While I was shooting I was feeding my resentment. I was so angry and you can see it, its ugly… but somehow I figured out that this had to end ‘HERE AND NOW.’ So I surrender, the tears come, the hands naturally take their place and the camera clicks. It only takes a second to be freed and I was lucky to photograph it. After my big cry I painted on my lipstick heart. I wanted to show that I am undefeated. I’m disheveled and my mascara is smeared with tears. My bandaged heart is seeping out but there is a small sparkle in my crown. I am down but not out.

Leave me out with the waste. This is not what I do. It’s the wrong kind of place to be thinking of you. It’s the wrong time for somebody new. It’s a small crime and I’ve got no excuse. Is that alright? Give my gun away when it’s loaded. Is that alright? If u don’t shoot it how am I supposed to hold it… ~Damien Rice

Lately I have been typing up a storm. Some entries are happy. Some are not. I feel like I owe you a disclaimer. This entry seems miserable but it has helped me tremendously. It is actually a page from my journal and I am sharing it with you because some might find it helpful. My blog is about self-acceptance and sometimes that can be ugly. Be forewarned this post does not paint me in the most flattering light. As always, I hope you will appreciate my honesty.

I am a serial online dater. Last year I was on the market as soon as I was categorically unquestionably single. When I decided to move  to South Carolina I made a profile on 2 websites. I joke about my dating life being a disaster. It is funny and IT IS a disaster. So much so a guy contacted me and wanted to interview me for his ‘documentary’ about single women. Well it turns out when I said I wouldn’t sleep with him he stopped calling me… surprise, surprise.

I’m not upset about this. Sad as it sounds I kind of expect it. If anyone contacts me about stuff concerning or via my blog I am always a little skeptical. There are so many photographers, agents or writers that would like to make my acquaintance. I say whatever to that. I am not an aspiring model and I have no desire to be photographed by anyone. I photograph me. That’s it.

My latest dating disaster has me pondering my disastrous dating year. I am accountable… maybe too accountable. Someone once said to me “You are far too sensitive. Why are you taking such and such on? The guy is a jerk it has nothing to do with you.”  That statement is true. I am too sensitive and I do take stuff on that has nothing to do with me. I agree that it is not my fault that certain people are jerks but there may be a reason why I am attracting so many ‘jerks.’

So I decided to do a step 4 on my dating life. This is one of the 12 steps belonging to Alcoholics Anonymous.

Step 4… Made a searching and fearless inventory of ourselves.

How it works. A business which takes no regular inventory usually goes broke. Taking commercial inventory is a fact-finding and a fact-facing process. It is an effort to discover the truth about the stock-in-trade. One object is to disclose damaged or unsalable goods, to get rid of them promptly and without regret. If the owner of the business is to be successful, he cannot fool himself about values.

We did exactly the same thing with our lives. We took stock honestly. First, we searched out the flaws in our make-up which caused our failure. Being convinced that self, manifested in various ways, was what had defeated us, we considered its common manifestations.

-A.A. Big Book p.64

I literally started a list of all the men I have had more than just online contact with. This ranges from people I have spoken to on Skype to people I have dated and slept with.  I know this may sound scary and it has evoked a tear here and there but it has also given me some insight into my dating life. There are a number of things I have learned.

1) I can be shallow. I don’t like it if my date’s photo does not resemble who he is physically. I don’t know why people do this. It is just delaying the rejection. I find that unforgivable. I will sit through the dinner, coffee or whatever but the entire time I am counting the minutes. To add to this I am never truthful in this situation. I usually do the “It’s not you, It’s me… I’m not over my ex-boyfriend.” routine.

2) If I am physically attracted to someone I tend to be over optimistic and far too tolerant. A pretty face and a nice ass goes a long way… sorry if this offends anyone. This is my list. I am being honest.

3) I carried on a sexual relationship with someone I didn’t like. The sex was AWESOME and that was it. I had no interest in him in any other capacity. When we broke up I was indifferent. Maybe even relieved

4) In the beginning I only dated certain people to quell the pain of my break up with Michael. I channeled my break up anxiety into making a doomed relationship work.

5) I put myself in harm’s way when I disregarded my intuition. I dated someone whose cultural beliefs were incongruent with mine. I was more concerned with my physical attraction to this individual than my apprehension. I paid for that dearly. Lesson learned.

6) I lied to E about the extent of my relationship with Michael. I lied to E with ease and justified my dishonesty because I no longer respected him. I now realize that this lying has little to do with E. It is true that I do not respect him but I compromised who I am as a person when I lied to him. Again, I paid for that dearly.

7) I was a real shit when I broke up with a couple of people.

8) For many reasons I have jealousy issues. They are inconsistent. They go from minor irritation to “Fuck you, I never wanna talk to you again.”

9) I have a very low tolerance for dishonesty. If I think someone is lying to me I don’t even bother to find out if they are actually being dishonest. I am out of there.

10) I have played the waitress quite a bit. I have been disingenuous on more than one occasion to say the least. There are men that I have dated that I don’t care about. Not in a malicious way. I don’t wish them any ill will. I just don’t care. (I’m not sure if this is a coping mechanism.)

11) I have cried in the dark about many of these men. Some I really cared about. Some I didn’t care about at all. WTF was I crying about?

12) I have to face the fact that I’m not a ‘modern’ woman. I don’t do this dating thing well. I realized this a few months ago when I let this guy stay over. We were in my bed and he’s drifting in and out. I say to him “How can you close your eyes? I could be a serial killer” he looks at me sleepily, smiles and says, “Well, you’re not” He turns and pulls my hand so I spoon him. I didn’t want him to sleep over. I lay there spooning him. My tears ran down his back. He was unaware of the emptiness that his presence thrust upon me. I lay there for a few hours before I woke him and asked him to leave. I saw him a few times after that even though I had no intention of sleeping with him. What a waste of time.

13) In March I met someone I really liked and I chased him away. I liked him because he has secrets just like I have secrets. Unfortunately for us there was a set of circumstances that would have challenged the most stable couple. This strange thing happened and he completely withdrew for a week and I just couldn’t take it. Eventually I lashed out and said some stuff that I wish I didn’t.

14) Thankfully I don’t have sex with everybody I date. My physical interactions resemble a middle school make out session. I have a couple of rules I follow. NO sleepovers. I don’t let anyone touch me below the waist unless I have decided previously that I want to have sex with that person. Most dates don’t even get to the make out session. I’m back where I started. The majority of my dates end with “It’s not you, its me.”

While taking my inventory I tried to figure out where my ridiculous tolerance for handsome men’s bad behaviour began. When did I start to overlook MAJOR things?  I traced it back to 2003 when I was using. I had a relationship with a man who was an enforcer in an ‘organization.’ At first I was oblivious to his profession.  I met him in an after hours club. I said to him “Your body is amazing. You’re in incredible shape.” He said to me, “Thanks, my work is quite physical.” I thought he was a carpenter. In a few weeks I found out that he’s the guy that picks up the money. It’s surprising how quickly you get used to things. He would come home from work. Take his gun out of his strap remove the clip and place them on the dresser next to his wallet. I didn’t care because I wanted to be with him. I felt like I got to sleep next to the lion. I knew what he was capable of and I liked the danger. He was fearless… furious, fearless and totally into me. Needless to say the sex was incredible. One night during our pillow talk I cautiously asked him if he had killed people. He said “No. Lisa I don’t kill people. I can’t collect money from people if I kill them.” He rolled his eyes as if to say ‘DUH’ then he saw that I was shocked so he reassured me with a patronizing tone. “The only time a person gets killed is when something goes wrong. And I’m good at my job so things rarely go wrong” Can you believe that made me feel better? We broke up shortly after that. A year later I heard that he was in jail for attempted murder. That was 8 years ago… he’s probably out on parole now. You’re gonna think I’m terrible but I actually laughed when I typed that last sentence. Sorry, I have a morbid sense of humour.

Anyway, I moved on to bigger and better things. I met my one and only ‘daddy’ at the same after hours club I met the enforcer. He is a charming financial advisor who liked to party. Unlike me, he had this part of his life under control. He worked all of the time. When it was time to unwind he would do a few lines and hangout with beautiful women. He came into town every 2 or 3 weeks. He kept me in a nice apartment and treated me like a queen. It was pretty easy actually. There was a bunch of girls I hung out with who had similar arrangements. I remember skipping out of work one day to meet my daddy and my friend said “Lisa, guys like T are not your boyfriend they’re your job.” Well I’ll tell you something. I fucking sucked at my job. I went and fell in love with my job. Who wouldn’t? He is lovely. Not the best looking guy but so confident. He commanded respect. He had great boundaries. I always knew where I stood with him. When he worked he was unreachable but when he came to see me we enjoyed our time together. He was focused and affectionate. In the 3 months we dated he only took one business call. And I was pleasantly surprised when he took that call. My guy spoke fluent Cantonese. Never mentioned that to me… this barrel-chested white guy spoke fluent Cantonese I was impressed. Towards the end of our relationship it was visible that I had a problem. And when he broke up with me he took care of everything and set me up in rehab.  Looking back at this makes me sad. It pains me to say this but this is the healthiest relationship I have ever had with a man. He was honest with me. He never promised anything he couldn’t deliver. He respected me. He did not abandon me when I needed him. He is a good guy I was lucky to have him.

I still haven’t finished my dating inventory but the conclusion is obvious. I have no business dating. I don’t have the tools to pick a partner. I don’t have the tools to be a partner. At this moment it feels like I will never want a partner. I just want to be alone. I realize it is okay to feel like this. So I am going to take a common AA phrase and switch it up a bit… I find it empowering.

My name is Lisa and I choose to be alone…

Posted photos with candy… Too much candy is not good for me.

As I have said in previous posts I find the concept of stoicism, dignity, grace, etc, to be overrated. I don’t need to put on a brave face. I respond to how I feel. ”Chaotic action is preferable to orderly inaction.” ~Will Rogers.  I’m not graceful; I don’t need to be. I am honest. I don’t believe in living life passively.  I take action. I try to do what’s right. If I subscribed to any spiritual belief it would be my version of karma. I find karma to be a merciless math…all equations will be reduced to zero. When I apply this mathematic formula to my life I can easily see that I have paid for everything I have done. Throughout my lifetime I have lost almost everything that I love, I’ve been in horrible situations and I have had to make decisions that have broken me.  One in particular destroyed my marriage and left my child without a mother for over a year. The point I’m trying to make is life hasn’t been easy, but I don’t surrender to passivism. I take what comes and try to follow through. “Inaction may be safe, but it builds nothing.” Dave Freudenthal

A few months ago I falsely took the road of passivism. You know let the cards fall where they may. What a load of crap. I withheld information because I was angry. I could have spoke up and spared a person some heartache but I chose to say nothing and watch the fallout. “A person may cause evil to others not only by his actions but by his inaction, and in either case he is justly accountable to them for the injury.” ~John Stuart Mill. I should have got in touch. Instead I just let it go… I thought to myself… “Go on take your fill… you’re on your own”. I knew she was being lied too. I knew what was going to happen and it did happen. I could have reached out and prevented her heartache but I didn’t because I was angry.

Once again the time came for me to speak up and this time I delivered the information with anger… but I wasn’t angry with her. I was angry with the other party. I took no pleasure in hurting her. The truth is I was hurt too. I was also a victim of a half-truth.  What led to this moment took so much out of me. My heart hurt with shame. Tears intruded upon me as I wrote her email. I missed my teaching circle graduation because I had to complete the task that I should have weeks ago. I couldn’t stop crying. Why put on a brave face? This just delays the emotional process.

To make things worse I realize that I have betrayed myself. Half-truths are always harmful. I am completely aware of this. I advocate for honesty in my studies. Some of you know that I am a bioethics student. I study bioethics because I believe in the principles that guide medical ethics and biotechnology. I believe the most important principle is autonomy. I have faith in the patient and the medical process. A patient must be presented with the truth so he/she can be autonomous. This is a relatively new concept in medicine. For hundreds of years the foundation of patient care has been paternalism (doctor knows best.)  Patient autonomy is a complex theory but I will try to give a crude definition in a few sentences.  A competent patient can only exercise complete autonomy if there is full disclosure. That means a doctor must provide the patient with a thorough understanding of his/her illness. Then give a full description of treatments, explain side effects of treatment and also explain the outcome should a patient choose to refuse treatment. The patient is free to make her/his decision with complete understanding and without interference.

Now back to the current situation. I am not suggesting that I hold any importance in this woman’s life. Nor do I believe that I am responsible for her happiness. The misdeed here is that I know I could have prevented harm and I actively chose not to and disguised it as passivism.  We all know that lying is a form of coercion. If a person only knows a limited version of the truth she may make poor decisions.  And so it is here where she loses her autonomy.

I watched her make decisions from afar knowing that they were based on a lie. This is not congruent with how I run my life. I am honest. Some people find fault in that. Fair enough. “The truth hurts” is an accurate phrase. Hurtful truth aside, working with all the information is better than working with some.

There is no way to resolve this. I owe her an apology but I have done enough harm. I can’t possibly know what she knows or what she doesn’t know. Clearly both of us have been lied to. I welcomed a familiar pain into my life even though I didn’t want it. Still somehow through all the tears I have been emancipated. I hope that she will find her freedom too.

Love and gratitude,

Lisa

Photos are a bad match with this post… happy spring photos and I am not happy…