"I don't live a perfect life
But God knows I'm trying the best I can
And I've been wasting so much time
Pretending I'm not lying about who I am" -Decyfer Down
I am very much an introverted person. I don't go out of my way to make conversation with people, especially people I don't know. I have a lot of acquaintances, but I can count my close friends on one hand. Even my close friends don't know everything about me. I'm not the type of person to easily open up to anyone.
There are only three people in my life that know about what happened in my past: my aunt, my former friend, and my ex boss. The first person I told was my former friend, and it wasn't intentional at all. It was in May 2008, less than a month after I had attempted suicide. I was still very on edge (mentally). The both of us were working one day, and we were having a discussion about hugging - particularly why I never hugged a certain member of my family. My friend just kept asking me why I didn't hug this person, and I just kept responding "I just don't." She kept pushing it and asking me, so I just blurted out "because they molested me!" We were both silent. I never wanted it to come out that way, but my mouth opened before my brain could really think it over. I felt like the world was lifted off of my shoulders. I did feel better, but looking back, I regret revealing it to her. I feel that she used me. Correction: I know that she used me.
From then on, I've been extremely cautious about revealing my past to others. My three closest friends don't even know. They are the kind of friends you can talk to about the grossest things and not even get embarrassed. Yet, I haven't told them about what happened to me. I'm scared it will change the way they think of me. I'm scared they will use me like other people have before. I'm scared they will think it was my fault. So in a way, I continue to show them a part of me that really isn't true - it isn't the complete me. I don't really think anyone can understand me- why I think and act the way I do- without really knowing what I've been through.
Maybe one day I will find the strength to be honest with myself and with others. For now, I will continue on pretending I'm not lying.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
So I'm Not A Financial Genius
I admit it; I've made most of my financial decisions based on my heart and not my head.
I've been working since I graduated the 8th grade. I made decent money (I actually earned more money per hour when I was 14 than I earned with my most recent job at age 19) and had good hours, weekends off, and very low stress. All of the money I earned over the three years I worked as a daycare assistant manager either went back to the children I took care of or to my family, who always claimed to be financially strapped. I didn't know any better at 14. I didn't have any financial burdens, I wore Catholic School uniforms five days out of the week, and had a few outfits from K-Mart that I wore on the weekends, so I never really needed to buy anything. I didn't think I would become a constant money train for my family.
Ever since I was an infant, my grandmother had always given me savings bonds for my birthday. She never gave the real ones, though. She'd make a copy of the bond and put it in a card, so I (and more so my parents) would not be able to spend it. When I turned 18, I got all of the savings bonds she had bought for me the last 17 years. I cashed them at the bank, and received well over $3,000. A week later, the money was gone. My mother needed it because there was a "financial emergency" and I was the only one with the money to help. I couldn't say no, so she took the money. I never saw it again.
During my first year of college, I was bombarded with credit card applications. It was November, Christmas was coming, and I needed some extra money. I applied for a Citibank card and was instantly approved for $2,000. I made the mistake of revealing it to my family. BIG MISTAKE. My mother ended up going on a shopping spree with my card, buying gifts for people that didn't even care about her, expensive meals, and within a month, the card was maxed out. I never saw that money, either.
Later during my first year in college, my father's heart disease worsened. My mother was putting pressure on me to get a job (I chose to take a break from working to focus on studies) so I can support the family. I switched my school schedule to two 9 hour days a week so I could work the other five days at what is now my current job at a well-known retail store. I paid for groceries, electricity, and basic necessities for the household. Eventually, I dropped out of college the next year and ended up working more hours. I spent the extra money on myself, but was criticized for not helping the family. By this time, I was still paying off the now over $3,000 in credit card debt my mom left in my name (and FTR, I am still paying it off today). I felt bad, and instead gave my money to her. I assumed she was paying bills with it.
For the past two years, my family has had the electricity shut off at least a dozen times. At one point, my mother was five months behind on the electric bill, and couldn't understand why they kept shutting us off. Of course, the electric company demanded money in order for the power to be turned back on, and of course, no one had money but me. I regretfully paid the bill, numerous times, because I didn't want to be criticized for not helping the family. After a few times, I started getting pissed off. I saw my mother going on shopping sprees, spending hundreds of dollars on shoes and clothes, and then having the electricity shut off a week later. My mother got the call at work that the power was shut off. She then called me to the office, and in front of everyone, asked me to borrow the money. I said no. She then started her crying routine and made everyone think I was a bitch for not helping out my family. It was at this point that I started hiding my money by giving it to someone else, so I wouldn't have to feel bad when I told my family that I didn't have money, because, well, I really didn't have the money.
I also failed to mention that I loaned over $500 to a coworker because she needed to pay her rent and buy groceries. The loan was almost two years ago. I have yet to receive a penny or even a Thank You card back. Apparently I owe her an apology for telling other people that she owes me money. Maybe it's just me, but I'd rather NOT apologize. I should be apologizing to myself for being an idiot and loaning out that much money.
Now that I think about it, it makes me angry that thousands of my hard earned dollars I will never see again. Sure, most of that is my fault. I've heard "I told you so" a hundred times. I just haven't learned the lesson yet. I can't be a genius at everything.
I've been working since I graduated the 8th grade. I made decent money (I actually earned more money per hour when I was 14 than I earned with my most recent job at age 19) and had good hours, weekends off, and very low stress. All of the money I earned over the three years I worked as a daycare assistant manager either went back to the children I took care of or to my family, who always claimed to be financially strapped. I didn't know any better at 14. I didn't have any financial burdens, I wore Catholic School uniforms five days out of the week, and had a few outfits from K-Mart that I wore on the weekends, so I never really needed to buy anything. I didn't think I would become a constant money train for my family.
Ever since I was an infant, my grandmother had always given me savings bonds for my birthday. She never gave the real ones, though. She'd make a copy of the bond and put it in a card, so I (and more so my parents) would not be able to spend it. When I turned 18, I got all of the savings bonds she had bought for me the last 17 years. I cashed them at the bank, and received well over $3,000. A week later, the money was gone. My mother needed it because there was a "financial emergency" and I was the only one with the money to help. I couldn't say no, so she took the money. I never saw it again.
During my first year of college, I was bombarded with credit card applications. It was November, Christmas was coming, and I needed some extra money. I applied for a Citibank card and was instantly approved for $2,000. I made the mistake of revealing it to my family. BIG MISTAKE. My mother ended up going on a shopping spree with my card, buying gifts for people that didn't even care about her, expensive meals, and within a month, the card was maxed out. I never saw that money, either.
Later during my first year in college, my father's heart disease worsened. My mother was putting pressure on me to get a job (I chose to take a break from working to focus on studies) so I can support the family. I switched my school schedule to two 9 hour days a week so I could work the other five days at what is now my current job at a well-known retail store. I paid for groceries, electricity, and basic necessities for the household. Eventually, I dropped out of college the next year and ended up working more hours. I spent the extra money on myself, but was criticized for not helping the family. By this time, I was still paying off the now over $3,000 in credit card debt my mom left in my name (and FTR, I am still paying it off today). I felt bad, and instead gave my money to her. I assumed she was paying bills with it.
For the past two years, my family has had the electricity shut off at least a dozen times. At one point, my mother was five months behind on the electric bill, and couldn't understand why they kept shutting us off. Of course, the electric company demanded money in order for the power to be turned back on, and of course, no one had money but me. I regretfully paid the bill, numerous times, because I didn't want to be criticized for not helping the family. After a few times, I started getting pissed off. I saw my mother going on shopping sprees, spending hundreds of dollars on shoes and clothes, and then having the electricity shut off a week later. My mother got the call at work that the power was shut off. She then called me to the office, and in front of everyone, asked me to borrow the money. I said no. She then started her crying routine and made everyone think I was a bitch for not helping out my family. It was at this point that I started hiding my money by giving it to someone else, so I wouldn't have to feel bad when I told my family that I didn't have money, because, well, I really didn't have the money.
I also failed to mention that I loaned over $500 to a coworker because she needed to pay her rent and buy groceries. The loan was almost two years ago. I have yet to receive a penny or even a Thank You card back. Apparently I owe her an apology for telling other people that she owes me money. Maybe it's just me, but I'd rather NOT apologize. I should be apologizing to myself for being an idiot and loaning out that much money.
Now that I think about it, it makes me angry that thousands of my hard earned dollars I will never see again. Sure, most of that is my fault. I've heard "I told you so" a hundred times. I just haven't learned the lesson yet. I can't be a genius at everything.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
The Reason Behind The Title
The Damaged Genius. Creative title? Not at all. It's really just a literal title I came up with during last night's bout with insomnia. Yes, I am damaged. Yes, I am a genius. History shows that the two situations go hand-in-hand in a lot of cases. In my case, I don't believe they're directly related in anyway. I think God just stuck me with the shitty end of the stick...twice.
Some people would think it self-centered that I refer to myself as a genius. In actuality, I don't refer to myself as a genius or even as intelligent. I dumb myself down to fit in with those around me. I learned from an early age that being intelligent only isolates you from the rest of the world. I'm lonely as it is, I don't need intelligence ostracizing me even more. I can count on one hand the people that know my true intelligence.
I had a semi-revealing conversation with a friend last night, in which she asked me "So...you're like a genius?" I couldn't come up with a one word answer. The answer isn't yes, and it isn't no. I believe if my life had taken a different path, I probably could have been one of those people that change the world in some way. I, however, made a conscious decision that I would try to be normal. All I've ever wanted in life is to be normal, and being intelligent was not going to get me there.
So that covers the genius part of my title; now to explain the damaged. I was/am a victim of sexual abuse. I use both tenses because although I am no longer physically abused, the emotional part still affects me, and is a (much unwanted) part of my everyday life. I was sexually abused by a family member until the age of 13. I'm not really sure why it stopped or why it even happened in the first place. I spent years trying to find reasons and couldn't come up with anything aside from blaming myself. That is the main reason why I don't refer to myself as a survivor. I have yet to overcome the abuse; it still consumes me. I still fear that one day I will not be able to cope with my feelings and I will give up. Every day always has been, and always will be, a struggle.
Some people would think it self-centered that I refer to myself as a genius. In actuality, I don't refer to myself as a genius or even as intelligent. I dumb myself down to fit in with those around me. I learned from an early age that being intelligent only isolates you from the rest of the world. I'm lonely as it is, I don't need intelligence ostracizing me even more. I can count on one hand the people that know my true intelligence.
I had a semi-revealing conversation with a friend last night, in which she asked me "So...you're like a genius?" I couldn't come up with a one word answer. The answer isn't yes, and it isn't no. I believe if my life had taken a different path, I probably could have been one of those people that change the world in some way. I, however, made a conscious decision that I would try to be normal. All I've ever wanted in life is to be normal, and being intelligent was not going to get me there.
So that covers the genius part of my title; now to explain the damaged. I was/am a victim of sexual abuse. I use both tenses because although I am no longer physically abused, the emotional part still affects me, and is a (much unwanted) part of my everyday life. I was sexually abused by a family member until the age of 13. I'm not really sure why it stopped or why it even happened in the first place. I spent years trying to find reasons and couldn't come up with anything aside from blaming myself. That is the main reason why I don't refer to myself as a survivor. I have yet to overcome the abuse; it still consumes me. I still fear that one day I will not be able to cope with my feelings and I will give up. Every day always has been, and always will be, a struggle.
What's the point?
Some people, either now or down the road, may ask: What is the point of this blog? My answer: I don't really know. It was a spur of the moment decision. I've always had problems expressing my feelings out loud, but on paper, I could spend hours writing down every thought and feeling that was inside my head. I grew up in a family where feelings were not allowed to be expressed, and that practice continued on into my adulthood. I hope one day that I will be able to express my thoughts and feelings out loud. For now, I will let my keyboard be my voice.
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