Getting Something Off My Chest

A few moments ago I posted this as a note on facebook for all my friends there to see. I'm doing the same here in hopes of being able to feel better about myself once this secret is out.

My secret shame is that I totally have a beard.

I'll let that soak in.

I have hidden this fact from 99% of you by shaving daily or hiding away until it's grown long enough to wax it off myself. If you look close enough we all have peach fuzz but at a young age I was mocked about mine and the following years had me shaving my peach fuzz until it finally started growing in darker and thicker, only making things worse. Now, because some children in elementary school were assholes, if given enough time I can grow a very visible chin strap beard. I took their bullying and teasing to heart so hard that for over a decade I have had to almost daily shave my face to keep my shame in check. I have refused to let lovers, friends, or boyfriends touch my face because I fear they will feel the stubble of my beard growing back.

I'm tired of hiding and feeling ashamed of myself. Of feeling ugly and man-ish because of something so meaningless. This is not one of those "pass this on" annoying things. This is me, Shalene Sidra Walters, announcing a secret I have tried to hold in for over a decade to all of you because I don't want to hide anymore.

Of the few people who knew before some have asked me why I don't get electrolysis. The twisted irony of my situation is that I also suffer from a skin condition known as vitiligo. This is something I can't hide and those of you who haven't noticed yet simply haven't looked close enough or maybe just don't pay as close attention to me as others. They're my "white spots". The patches of skin where I have absolutely no pigment. I lucked out at puberty and it didn't fly off the handle and cover me completely making me look albino, but it is all over my body. The only place I do not have any white spots is on my neck or face, the first places someone notices. Why am I bringing this up? Well no one I have talked to about vitiligo and electrolysis can guarantee me that the process wouldn't scar my skin enough to stimulate my vitiligo to multiply like crazy all over my face.

So, for over a decade, I have had to decide between a daily ritual of shaving my face or risking to spend the rest of my life with people staring at me and asking "what's wrong with your skin?"

Now you know something about me. Something honest and something I've kept hidden. I trust most of you will treat me no differently.

Bad Habits

I have quiet a few of them. Most of them are small quirks or things I do while fidgeting. Some of them are fairly large things, like the desire to light up and smoke when extremely stressed out. My worst habit is the habit to push my emotions down and keep them bottled up until they finally spill out in very unhealthy ways.

For those of you that don't know, my Nana passed away Sunday May 22nd. She had been in and out of the hospital a lot over the past couple of years, having pneumonia so many times that it no longer came as a shock when I'd get a phone call from dad telling me she was sick again. My Nana was like most Englishwomen her age; feisty, strong and stable. She made pneumonia her bitch every time she had it. So when we got the call saying her kidneys had shut down (flash back to my late Uncle Ian's downward spiral into bad health) I figured she'd still have many more years to come. Why not? This is the woman who was the only survivor of a bomb that killed off most of her family in the war. She quickly degraded into a state of constant pain and delirium that it was obvious I was wrong. She wasn't going to last long at all.

That was when the rush of emotions started. I didn't really feel them much, as I'm so used to pushing "bad" emotions down that it's almost second nature. It wasn't until I got the phone call from my cousin Stacey that Nana had passed that I sat there, in my friends living room surrounded by people I was not comfortable showing "weak female emotions" to, that I felt a surge of emotion so harsh that I couldn't think. I could only manage to calmly say "my Nana just died". That was it. Calmly announced to a couple of guys I doubt even really cared. "Oh," was all I remember hearing in response.

The next couple hours, even days, went by with self control. I let out a surge of emotion when saying goodbye to my Nana, but other than that I managed to keep myself calm and in control. It wasn't until I went to visit a friend that I lost control. I had gone to comfort her over her recent break up and we ended up drinking. A lot. She was on medication that kept her from drinking a lot, but "in the spirit of friendship" I took 3 for every 1 she took. We were using the large "double shot" shot glasses. In the end, I ended up vomiting for over 2 hours, until nothing but blood was coming up.

This made me realize that I really don't deal with my emotions in a healthy way at all.

On a lighter note

The Quiet World by Jeffrey McDaniel

In an effort to get people to look into each other's eyes more, and also to appease the mutes, the government has decided to allot each person exactly one hundred and sixty-seven words, per day. When the phone rings, I put it to my ear without saying hello. In the restaurant I point at chicken noodle soup. I am adjusting well to the new way. Late at night, I call my long distance lover, proudly say I only used fifty-nine today. I saved the rest for you. When she doesn't respond, I know she's used up all her words, so I slowly whisper I love you thirty-two and a third times. After that, we just sit on the line and listen to each other breathe.

 This is my favourite poem. Enjoy.

Dark Thoughts

I didn't want to write this blog because I thought it wouldn't be the right place to do it. But I've been sitting here all day fighting back tears and dark thoughts realizing that if I don't talk about it somewhere, fully and without holding anything back, I'm not going to feel any better at all.


This is a warning, right now, that this post is not going to be happy at all. It's going to come from a very dark place in me that some of you probably don't know is even there. Some of you might be shocked, some of you might be used to it. But if you don't want to read about my depressing thoughts and emotions, then stop reading right now.














I woke up this morning at a reasonable hour, normally I sleep in purely out of exhaustion or laziness. Today I didn't want to face reality. I hadn't had a particularly interesting dream or anything, I just did not want to be conscious and have to face life. I say that because sometimes I have amazing dreams and I do not want them to end, but thats a story for another blog. Whether it was lucky that Merric didn't appear to want to wake up either, or a bad sign, he slept until I finally decided I needed to drag my ass out of bed and come downstairs to check my email. Why was this so important? Because I'm trying to sell a bunch of shit I have no use for to pay my bills. 


Yeah, I really hate admitting I'm a broke ass young mother, but it's the truth. I do what I can to get by and to make sure my son is fed. I try to down play it, but honestly some days I only eat once so I can make our groceries last longer. Merric eats 3 meals a day because, honestly, he's more important to me than myself. I've dealt with hunger pains before from refusing to eat in junior high because I was too lazy to wake up early enough to have breakfast before leaving for school and often not making myself a lunch out of the same laziness. I can handle it, it's not good for me, but I can deal. 


I feel so overwhelmed with just living life sometimes. I don't understand how people do it. I rarely have the drive to actually see friends, I often let communication slip until one of us messages the other claiming it's been forever and even then I sometimes let things slip again. I just don't seem to be capable of having the kinds of relationships other people have. I have a very small handful of people that I honestly think I could phone at 1 am for a ride home from the hospital, a position I have been in before. And even fewer people I feel I could call to ask to drive clear across the city to get my crutches and Merric's car seat and bring them back clear across the city because I cannot put any weight on my foot and I'm stranded at a friends house. Even then I feel like a complete burden to people and wonder why anyone would put up with me. 


In junior high I used to cut my leg. I was too chicken shit to attempt suicide a second time after what happened the first go round. It just seemed like some sort of a sign that it wouldn't be the best out, and yet I still have to fight back thoughts of it. I would cut my leg because I didn't cut for attention, so I didn't want them somewhere people were likely to see. I did it once as a mixture of punishment and an apology, and it backfired completely and really hurt and pissed off the person I was trying to make amends with. I didn't know why I started doing it, I mean I was having a shit time of it in life, but I still can't really figure it out. I tell people it's because I was trying to externalize my inner pain, but I'm really good at bullshitting and sounding smart. But I still think about doing it. Today I sat staring at my wrists, and when I do that it terrifies me. I knew I wasn't ever at risk of bleeding out when I'd cut my legs, I never cut anywhere near an artery and never deep enough to need stitches or anything. A lot of the time I would just sit there and watch as the blood would run down my calf and ankle. 


The first time I pierced myself I was mostly trying to cause myself pain. I tell people that it took me an hour to finally push the needle all the way through my belly button flesh because I was scared of the pain, but honestly I could have stopped if I was scared of it hurting. I kept it just in the middle of completion for an hour to feel the pain and cry. This probably doesn't surprise some people. 


I often think my son is better off without me. I know it's bullshit, but I still feel it. I feel like a terrible mother. When I look at him I cannot comprehend how he has turned out to be such a happy little guy. I know my keeping him has been a source of pride for a lot of people, but I do wonder if it was the right choice. If I am a good mother, or if he would have been better off with someone else. These thoughts are really not helped when certain people call me "a child with a child". They make me feel like I have no business being a parent. It's really not helpful when the person I should be able to turn to the most is constantly putting herself in the position of bad guy. I cannot count the number of times she's threatened to call child services on me because my house is not up to her standards of organized. Like she would put me through the pain of being questioned and scrutinized as a parent, or worse, judged without investigation, purely because I cannot keep a tidy house. 


I've just been having a rough day today, and I didn't want to talk to anyone about it because I didn't want to be a burden, I didn't want to bum anyone out, and I really didn't want to seem like I think my problems are more important than what is happening in the rest of the world right now. You know? Like there are thousands of missing, possibly dead people in Japan right now because of a natural disaster, and here I am feeling sorry for myself because I can't find the will to push through the day without thinking about harming myself. I think I'm going to end this blog here. I know I wasn't as open about a lot of things, but I tried. 

Ideals

It's not surprising to hear someone talk about their ideal something or other. Recently engaged women often talk about their "ideal wedding". Some people talk about their "ideal job". Recent events sparked me thinking about what my ideal future would be. 


It seems like a silly thing to think about considering I only have so much pull in what happens in my future, but it was useful in helping pass the time quickly. I realized that my "ideal future" is fairly simple. I don't want for much, honestly. My ideal life went something like this, in my head;

• a husband to love me
• a cozy house to call ours
• a sibling for Merric
• a dog

Seriously, that was all I thought of when I thought about an ideal future.

Anyways, it's not much of a blog post but here it is. 

What's your ideal future like? 

21 year old old woman.

I feel like an old person tonight. Why? Well simple reason, the arthritis in my ankle is acting up. It's only really bad when the weather starts to change giving me that whole "I can feel the weather changing in my bones" super power. I hate the feeling, a lot. Some times it's so bad it feels like it's broken again and other times it's even worse and I cry until my pills kick in. 


Right now it's the lesser, only feeling as though it's broken again. I had a hot bath hoping that the dull ache I was feeling earlier in the night was just from walking around Walmart for a couple hours. However, when I got out of the tub and laid down for a while I knew it was more than just normal wear and tear. 


So I figured, since I'm up right now anyways, I would write a new blog as I haven't in a while. So here it is, because after I take my pills for the pain I have to stay awake and busy for a while to distract myself from the feeling they give me. It's a hard feeling to describe but it's weird enough that it will start to make me panic if I don't go unchecked. Luckily, the last couple times I had people to talk to to keep my mind from wondering if I accidentally took too much (even though I only pop 2 at maximum) or if there's something wrong with them and I'm going to die. 


Lets awkwardly jump back to me in grade 7 now. Why? Well, that's when I broken the ankle that acts up. I broke it at my first ever wrestling meet, during my first ever "real" match. Yeah, by the way, I was totally a female wrestler in junior high. Aren't I just the awesomest? I didn't even realize I had broken it until near the end of the match, when we had to both stand back up and start again from upright position. When I stood and put weight on the foot I fell back down to the mat. I was winning 7 to 3 and there was about 10 seconds left to go. My coach (and most favourite teacher in the world) came over and took a look, told me he thought I'd broken it and then asked me what I wanted to do. I asked him how much longer there was to go in the match, he told me and I decided to play it out and spend the seconds avoiding her and not letting her get anymore points. 


My mother loves to tell people the story, but she never tells them how long I had left in the match from the time I realized my ankle was broken. She also leaves out that because of the adrenaline, I didn't feel any pain. From my ankle down was completely numb, it actually felt like my foot had fallen asleep. I won the match, of course, I was already winning when my ankle broke. And because there were only 4 of us in my weight class my one win in my only match got me 3rd. I was a bit of an asshole (okay, a real big bitch) back in junior high, so it made me very happy that the girl who lost to me had to go back home knowing that not only did she break my ankle but she lost to me. With a broken ankle, I kicked her ass. 


Anyways, when we finally got to the hospital (as we weren't sure it was broken and figured it was just a sprain or a twist and I wanted to stay and see if maybe I could still compete and to also cheer on my friends) the doctor said, after looking at my x ray, that it was the type of fracture that you would see in someone who jumped from the roof of about 5 stories  high and landed on their feet. He couldn't believe I'd gotten it just from wrestling. So, I got a cast and had to use crutches for a while. Which was hard since it was winter... and the bus stop closest to my school was still a literal block away from the actual school. My opposite leg got nice and beefy while my ankle heeled. 


So that's the story. I'm going to go watch Criminal Minds until I feel comfortable going to bed without panicking. 

Sleeping Habits

I recently read a blog post by a friend which was basically about how he sleeps and the state of his bed. It's kind of inspired me to discuss this topic further as a lot of the time people tell me my sleeping habits are "not normal." 

So let's begin with simply stating "this is how I sleep". I need white noise to fall asleep, or I stay up too long thinking and thinking some more, so I sleep with my fan on. This serves two purposes as it creates white noise and also creates a cold atmosphere. I love the cold and cannot sleep when it's too hot, so my fan is pretty key in me getting a good nights rest. I also sleep with one pillow between my knees and my teddy bear all entrapped in my grasp. In the summer I will sleep with the window open and only a sheet on, as I am incapable of falling asleep if I don't feel some sort of material weight on my body. In the winter I sleep with a 5 or 6 year old quilt on. When it's really cold, I toss on a second quilt as the first has pretty much lost most of the stuffing that makes quilts warm. If you're wondering why, when it's cold, I just don't simply turn off the fan then you're not paying attention. 


I have never been someone who makes their bed. Ever. The only exception is when it's not MY bed. When staying at my Grandmothers house, the bed I sleep in get's made in the morning because it's not MY bed. When I lived with my father and stepmother the fact that I never made my bed was one of many issues between my step mother and I. She was the type of woman who was very concerned about appearances. "We're having guests over for dinner, go make your bed!" It never made sense to me. My room has always been a fairly private place to me as, until recently, it's been the only room in an entire house that was ever mine. It used to drive me nuts that when I wouldn't make my bed she would come in and do it for me. It even got to the point that if I didn't "straighten up" my desk, she would come in and do that too. Seriously. I never really saw her do it, but the evidence was enough. When I gave in for a little while, in hopes that she would stay out of my room, she would still come into it. It drove me nuts. I knew she had been in my room because she would always close my closet door, because apparently closet doors are not allowed to be left open. I am a very paranoid person, I have never been able to be in my room with the closet door closed. I always open it. Currently, my bedroom has two closets and neither of them have doors. It has seriously solved my problem.


So that's another part to me sleeping well, the closet needs to be open and the bedroom door closed. There are only 2 places I seem to be able to fall asleep without these rules being followed, one is my friend Clever's house and the other is my friend Ricki's house. I don't know why, but they are just two places I feel really safe. There is a 3rd place that I feel really safe, but the last time I slept there the closet had no doors anyways, so my rules were accidentally followed. 


As scandalous as it's probably going to seem, I'm going to talk about sleeping with someone else now. I don't sleep well with someone else in my bed, and I sleep even less well when in someone else's bed. This doesn't even have to be a scandalous or sexual thing, even spending the night sleeping next to a platonic friend is rough on my sleeping habits. My son seems to be the only person I can sleep beside without it affecting me. I flop about a lot in my sleep, except when Merric is laying in my bed next to me. I wake up frequently when someone else is in my bed because I feel like I'm not at ease, I can't be comfortable and relaxed. Even when sleeping I worry that I'll roll over and smack them with my arm or something. 


Camping is even worse. Sharing a tent with more than one person, I absolutely hate it. I love camping though. I used to have to share a tent with my brother, and I think that was the only time I've ever been able to share a tent with someone. Boys are gross, and my brother is no exception. They fart and burp and scratch themselves in their sleep, and since it was my brother I didn't feel obligated to hold in my burps, farts, or scratching needs. Because, let's face it, girls are gross too. 


So anyways, I think that covers most of everything. I intentionally left out in what state of clothing I sleep in, because I think that's more a private thing. Whether I sleep nude, in flannel pajama;s, or in a space suit, it's not really anyone's business.