I’m only human. Let me feel like one

I saw something this evening that really made me think.



This is very true. People seem to think that because you’re spiritual, you should be happy and light all the time. The same ideas really apply to age as well. Like just because you’re older, you should act a certain way, like maturity equals handling things differently.

Well, some of this is true. My spirituality has helped me look at things in a different way, and getting older has made my priorities different. However, I am still human, and I have human emotions. Being out in the world and being with different people and different personalities everyday isn’t always easy. It’s not easy for anyone.

If I find myself in a toxic environment, even if everyone is laughing and it “seems” happy, I can always feel the truth. The longer I am in this environment, the more it affects me. The energy eventually becomes a part of me, and unfortunately, I act that part. It takes practice to control to not let this take me over. I’m not perfect at this, but I’m working at it.

No matter how much I work at it, the end result is the same. If I am beaten down again and again, it breaks my spirit. I can feel it. How can I not? I think this is human. Being evolved spiritually and being on this earth longer than some doesn’t mean that I have no emotions, and it doesn’t mean that I can let everything go easily. It takes work, and with the things I’ve been through lately, it’s been a challenge.

Spirituality tells me to love. Just love. But I personally don’t believe it’s possible to love everyone. It’s impossible to live up to. Maybe accept everyone is a better word, I don’t know. In my experience, it’s hard to both love or accept anyone that constantly tries to break me down. Yes, it’s their issue. Yes, their actions most likely have nothing to do with me. But when they affect my ability to be myself, when their actions break me, how can I feel love and acceptance? I can’t. And I shouldn’t be expected to feel these things. I get angry. I get resentful. I get pushed to my limit. I accept that I have limits.

So, I absorb negativity. Even if it’s disguised as happiness, I still feel it. I’m an Empath. I can’t help it. I do what I can to handle it, yet I’m not a perfect spiritual being. I’m a human being. And yes, I can be negative. Unbelievably so. Some people look at me and can’t comprehend this, because I’m older than them, or because I am spiritual. I am indeed these two things, yet I feel things just like everyone else does, and even though I have the tools to handle bad things, they don’t always work.

I know I can never realistically separate myself from everything negative. It’s everywhere. But I can try to make myself better. And even so, I still swear, I still complain, and I still point out things I hate. I know “thoughts are things” and what you give is what you get, but I have a very low tolerance for mean. It affects me, I won’t lie.

So, I’m going to try again. I’m praying for patience and understanding, and the ability to let things go. I’ll try everyday. Maybe I’ll get it right.

Crazy Hooker Cat Lady

So, today was interesting. I was at work and the boyfriend stopped by on his motorbike to bring me coffee. We were standing outside, minding our own business, and suddenly some random guy in red plaid pajama pants appeared, and asked me how much I charged. Huh? Was he serious? He said, “You look like a hooker!” My boyfriend turned around and looked at him, and he yelled, “Do you want to fight me, bitch?!”

What the hell. We both started laughing, because, well, how could we not? This seemed to piss him off more. He yelled obscenities at us and I yelled obscenities back, and told him to put some clothes on. He kept telling me I looked like a hooker. I asked him what his problem was. All he said was, “You look like a hooker.”
When I told him to fuck off, he said, “I’m in college! Get a job!” And then he left.

The boyfriend and I just looked at each other, wondering what the hell just happened. We kissed goodbye, and he drove away, and I went back to work.

How bizarre that was. I continued with my day, a bit shaken up for about five or ten minutes, and then I started to get pissed. Not because of what this guy said, not because of the fact that we were the target of his random and unwarranted rage, but because of what I could’ve said and didn’t. And this is when something hit me. A moment of clarity.

This kind of treatment was “normal” for me a few years back when I was living in NYC. I was 25. I was yelled at on the streets by men If I didn’t acknowledge them, they’d call me a bitch. On the subway at rush hour when it was standing room only, I would be rubbed against and groped. I’d go home and cry. Their comments broke me. I was fragile anyway, and someone calling me a bitch just broke me to pieces. I took their behavior and their words personally.

So, fast forward to today. This completely random act of anger from this man made me want to fight back. My boyfriend stood there, stunned and laughing, like I was. Not once did I look to him to save me. And not once did I take his words personally. “You look like a hooker” didn’t have anything to do with me. His anger had nothing to do with me. I was very happy to tell him to fuck off, and I would’ve kept this clever banter going, but he left.

Now I’m sitting here and writing this, and I feel empowered. It might seem crazy, but this angry dude showed me how much I’ve grown, and how strong I’ve become. Words are just words. They aren’t necessarily the truth. A few years ago, I would’ve been crushed by this, and I would’ve started an argument in my relationship as well. I can hear me now, “Are you going to let him talk to me like that?” “Why aren’t you saying something?” Well, I said something. And the thought of a man saving me didn’t even enter my mind. Fuck this douche for taking his bad day out on us. Fuck him. And he left the situation. Not me.

If this guy was in front of me now, I would rip him a new asshole. I look like a hooker? No. I’m a woman that dresses the way she wants and doesn’t give a shit if she’s objectified or judged by anyone. I was wearing tights with cats on them. So I’m a hooker that wears cute cat tights? Is it because I was wearing all black ? I’m a cat wearing hooker? Give me a break. Wearing pajamas in public should be more embarrassing. Especially if you pick fights with people. You can at least look tough. Red plaid pajamas aren’t so tough, buddy boy.

So, very long story short, I learned a lot today. That I have a thicker skin than I thought, that I can stand up for myself, and that I don’t take someone’s random verbal assault personally. So, today was a bit odd, but I think I win. Do I wanna fight you, bitch? I think I already did.


I’m unapologetically myself with no backup

How do we define our own personal style? Is it rebelling against society? Is it how we were raised? Is it what is the most trendy at the moment?

I’ve always been a bit different. Style-wise and in general. It comes naturally to me. I don’t “try” to be different. I just am. I have a hard time with people who are “different” in groups. Like the oh so popular Hipsters we hear about. They like to say they stray from the norm, yet they all look and act the same. Groups of rebellious people. I’ve never had the luxury of fitting into any group. It’s always been just me. No one ever dressed like me, never thought like me, or acted like me. And I suffered for it. I didn’t have people just like me to fall back on. I was out there all alone, fighting to be myself.

I see people everyday who try to show how quirky they are. Following the trends. But are they really quirky and different? Aren’t they just a part of a group of people that do the exact same thing?

As I’ve gotten older, my style has changed, but it’s not because someone else has done it too. Individuality is a precious thing. The key word is “individual” here. Being comfortable enough with yourself to dress your own way, and be yourself. Without the comfort of anyone else doing the same. I had friends in school who were “out there” for a while, and then it faded. Then there was me. Still the same, because it’s who I was. And I usually felt alone. Because who I was wasn’t a phase. It was real. I got stared at and laughed at in public, and I couldn’t figure out why. In a moment of desperation, I went to see my guidance counselor about this. Her response to me was, “Well, have you thought about changing the way you dress?” No. I didn’t think of that, since how I looked was clearly normal to me. Now that I look back on that, how dare she say that! Try to suggest that changing to please people is an appropriate solution. I wish I could see her again, so I could tell her this. It’s damaging. It’s almost humiliating. Especially to a 16 year old kid.

It takes courage to do what you do when no one else is doing the same. For those of us that are real, it’s a necessity. There’s no other choice. No like-minded people to fall back on, no labels to define you. Yet we do it. It’s the essence of who we are. I’ve grown to be proud of this, even though it’s painful at times. There’s no other option after all. I’ll take the snickers and the stares. Something about me is worth noticing, I guess.