Zero Dark Thirty...a review...

OK, so I stayed up late and watched Zero Dark Thirty (because I'm cheap and didn't want to keep the Redbox for more than one day)...**SPOILERS**

I am STILL processing this film.  I haven't changed my mind on torture, including waterboarding.  It's unequivocally wrong and should *not* be used by a democratic nation. Period. Plus, used on men engaged in a jihad??  Just gives them a bigger feeling of going out a martyr, tortured and crucified for their "cause"...those types are even less likely to crack under such treatment...they crave it as they feel it gains them higher glory in the afterlife.....it seems as if the most basic CIA interrogator would know that, not to mention one with a PhD in the stuff.  

But on a base, visual level, the scenes made my stomach lurch and I almost lost my dinner; it was a very, very dark portion of the film and I was terrifically glad they didn't linger on it and that it was over soon.  Perhaps they thought the overlay of 9/11 audio of victims during the beginning would make us feel some sort of righteousness over treating alleged 9/11 co-conspirators this way, but it didn't work.  Big fat fail. And I felt it was reaching, just a bit, into the no-no land of exploiting those victims to garner support for a knowingly bad agenda.

The rest of the movie, I kept trying to get "into it"...I wanted to feel that blind American patriotism when the end came and I could cheer, "We got 'em!"  But I kind of held my hand over my mouth the *entire* time, trying not to vomit or cry out.

My immediate gut feeling when the credits began to roll was that I had just watched the most clever piece of propaganda ever produced by Americans.  I still get that feeling the next morning. There are oodles of questions that still don't have answers...

Where is his body?
Where is unequivocal proof that the man supposedly killed was Bin Laden?
Why was half the participating SEAL team killed just a few months after the mission?
How was this so quickly declassified as to allow the publishing of a book and the making of a movie?  Al Queda is still a live, practicing entity...shouldn't all of this be classified?
How did this vindicate the deaths of Americans citizens killed on 9/11, and why did none of us feel that glorious feeling of "winning" when word of his death came out?
Why wasn't he given a trial?  Just like the Nurembourg trials, shouldn't even the worst global offenders be given the right to a trial for their crimes against humanity?

None of these questions were answered for me by this movie; rather, many, many more deeply disturbing questions were raised, namely, why on earth was this movie ever allowed to be made?

Another point that was kind of floating in the back of my head the whole time was that this movie & its actual true story could be held as some kind of feminist achievement...a woman brought down the leader of a global terrorist group (and one who hid behind the religion of Islam...ohhh, the irony). While technically correct, it didn't do that for me. It made me wonder where this woman is today. What's she doing? What's your next career move after catching and killing Bin Laden?  Why was so so intent on killing him instead of capturing him and giving a trial? Don't get me wrong- she fought an overwhelmingly male organization, clawed her way to get some respect and a foothold in a man's world, but at what cost? To use and grow accustomed to torture? To see your friends killed? To have nearly no solid evidence of your achievement, only the eyewitness accounts of those there? 

I had planned to watch this movie with my boyfriend.  I'm glad I didn't.  It's most certainly NOT a date movie.  It's most certainly NOT a movie for children, even older ones. I wouldn't allow a kid under 16 to watch this film, and I am extraordinarily liberal about what my kids view. The topics it addresses, sometimes very visually, are absolutely, positively inappropriate for children.

I'm glad no one made a movie like this after World War II. Vietnam survivors made Full Metal Jacket and Platoon to f*& with our heads about that war, and I'm afraid Zero Dark Thirty is going to join those ranks with this war.

Do I recommend?  As long as you view this with the full knowledge of what you're about to see, if you already have pretty firm opinions on torture, detainee treatment, the Iraq War, 9/11, and Bin Laden, and if you have a pretty strong stomach (there's not a lot of gore- there's a lot of psychological brain-play). Otherwise, pass it up and watch a film more geared for entertainment, not propaganda. 

Secrets of Happy Families..

Experts have determined that one key factor to a happy family is telling the family story.  I've told some stories so much my kids roll their eyes and tell me they've heard it already.  I remember doing the same thing to my parents and grandparents, so I figure I'm doing it right.

Verbal storytelling is one of the glues that holds societies together, anyway...of course it should start in the home!

http://onpoint.wbur.org/2013/03/25/the-secrets-of-happy-families

Humans Losing Emotion? Weigh in...

So I read this article where researchers determined that humans are losing emotion...or rather, we are failing to express emotion (based on a survey of literature) as much as past authors, poets, etc.

http://www.naturalnews.com/039608_emotions_literature_culture.html

Don't believe it?  Think about the great love stories of time gone by.  Boy sees girl across the May Day Feast.  One glimpse, one flutter of eyelashes, blushing cheeks, and he's gathering whatever wits he has to approach her family about a marriage.  Sonnets have been written, ballads sung, entire epic quests have been launched, based on love at first sight.

Does that happen now?  One word: prenup.  I, for one, do still believe in love at first sight, if you're prepared to deal with your and your partner's families and friends treating you like you're insane. I think society has shoved it down our throats that relationships must be constructed over an extended time period according to a very specific set of rules in order for it to gain "validity".  I don't think so. I think you can exchange correspondence and then meet someone whose combination of intellectual, physical, and emotional attributes makes your heart and stomach flutter and you feel as though you'd leap mountains for them.  That's just me, though...

Anger?  Display it and you have an "anger management problem".  Sad?  You're depressed....take some meds.  Happy?  You're senile, crazy, or "unstable".  Free-thinker?  You're a dirty hippie and need to straighten up and conform.

Yes, I can completely see how society is making us lose emotion by making us shove it down, bottle it up, and try to pretend it doesn't exist.  What do you think?

Pumpkin Gnocchi w/ Ginger Coconut Mushroom Sauce

Late Sunday lunch/early dinner didn't disappoint.  I had a rather unique mix of ingredients laying about that I wanted to try, so I threw them all together and wished for the best.  It turned out to be one of the best quick meals I've ever made at home.

I got the pumpkin gnocchi at Target...made by Archer Farms.

Gnocchi mix:
gnocchi, cooked 2-3 minutes in boiling water & strained
sliced mushrooms (I used baby bellas)
chopped walnuts
chopped green onion
fresh rosemary
olive oil

Ginger Coconut Mushroom Sauce
sliced mushrooms
minced garlic, about 1 Tbsp
sliced green onion (less than one...I used about 3/4 of the green)
1 can coconut milk (I used low-fat and then had to add about 2 Tbsp of almond milk for it to thicken properly)
ground ginger to taste
1 tsp ground mustard
rosemary, about 1 full stalk
approx 2 tsp ground cinnamon


Start the sauce first while water's coming to boil for gnocchi and throw a few pieces of walnut in the oven to roast....don't forget them..it only take a couple of minutes.
Saute garlic, green onion, rosemary, and mushrooms in a little olive oil with a sprinkle of sea salt.
When soft, add 3/4 can of coconut milk and bring to slow boil...reduce temp to simmer.
Add ground ginger, cinnamon, and ground mustard...whisk to incorporate.
Allow sauce to simmer & thicken.

Remove gnocchi from boiling water, strain, and immediately toss into preheated pan with olive oil.
Add mushrooms, rosemary, green onion, and walnuts.
Continue tossing to sear gnocchi and keep moving to avoid gnocchi sticking until mushrooms are softened.

Plate gnocchi, top with sauce, add vegan mozz. shreds and roasted walnut pieces.

I served with jarred, preseasoned, all-vegan collard greens made by a local NC company: KW Collards in Charlotte... http://kwcollards.com/

Vegan Banana Bread

Had a couple of glitches, so I'll point them out first:

You're supposed to mix the apple cider vinegar with the soy milk and let it react for a couple of minutes first. I didn't do that, so I think my bread came out a little more dense than if I had.

I didn't have canola oil, so I used vegan mayonnaise, and it worked wonderfully (the main ingredient is canola oil anyway, so yeah)..

2 cups all-purpose flour (I used organic, unbleached)

3/4 cups white granulated sugar (I used raw sugar, and I use less...closer to 1/2 cup)

1/2 cup dark brown sugar, packed (I used a little less)

3/4 t. baking soda

3/4 t. salt

3/4 t. cinnamon

1/2 cup plain soy milk or almond milk

1 t. apple cider vinegar

2 cups mashed banana, from about 4 large very ripe bananas

1/4 cup canola oil (I didn't have it, so I actually used the same amount vegan mayonnaise, and it worked!)

2 T. maple syrup

1 t. vanilla extract

walnuts

I didn't use walnuts because the kids just pick them out, but if it were for me, I LOVE walnuts and it would have been chock-full of them (chock full 'o nuts...LOL).
Preheat oven to 350.
Anyway, like I said mix the vinegar & soy milk and set aside to let it react.
Sift together dry ingredients...
Mash bananas and mix with wet ingredients.
Add all together and pour into greased loaf pan.
Bake @ 350 for an hour or until knife comes out clean.
     *Note: I baked for exactly an hour and it was perfect, however the top was pretty dark (see photo). I think this may be from using the raw sugar and it caramelized more deeply than white sugar may have. I totally didn't mind...it had a nice 'crust' on top, which I love, but if you like a softer top, maybe using the white sugar...

Like I said, mine was more dense because I didn't let the vinegar react properly, so next time maybe it will have a little more rise, but it still rose pretty well and I'm pretty sure I could give this to friends and they would have no idea it's vegan!

Vegan Curried Faux-Chicken Salad

Eat it warm, eat it cold....just eat it.

1 package faux chicken
yellow curry powder
cinnamon
brown sugar
craisins
cashews
green onions
vegan mayonnaise
salt & pepper

Saute faux chicken sprinkled with curry powder until warmed and very firm.
Cut up green onion, add to bowl with vegan mayo, cashews, and craisins.
Add chicken, then season with addt'l curry powder, ground cinnamon, salt & pepper, and about a Tbsp of brown sugar.

This version tastes a lot like Earth Fare's deli version, if you've ever had it, but when it's this easy to make, I'll never pay Earth Fare prices for it again!

What is a modern feminist?

Listening to an interview with Tina Fey on NPR this morning as I was driving John to school, I thought about how much I admire her, not just for being a great comedienne and actress but having the guts to be openly and hilariously feminist.  In an almost "post-feminist" society where many feminists of the '60's and beyond are seen (and dismissed) as radical, crazy, closet lesbians with a hatred of men and sore shoulders from carrying that huge chip, there's a certain resistance among younger women to classify ourselves as feminists.


Then along come women like Tina Fey, who throw that word around like candy and revel in it!  She loves her feminist comedy, she remarks frequently on it and cracks jokes that level the playing field, subtly (and sometimes overtly) pointing out the absurdities in our society.  She high-fives our society's hard-hitting winners like Hillary Clinton and take back ownership of previously derogatory terms like "bitch". Take a listen:


Part of my obsession with Tina Fey stems from the fact that she does not take herself too seriously while still taking the subject matter very seriously.  She advocates tirelessly for women's rights and has no problem being seen as a proud, blatant feminist while still being a very active player in the Hollywood scene, putting her in a uniquely prime position to comment on our society and have the platform and visibility to reach millions while doing it.  She's no fawning Hollywood actress, however. She doesn't shy from speaking at political and activist events.  Here's a clip of her commentary on the definition of rape that shows just a bit of her passion and her fire- while still making jokes and keeping the tone light, her anger and disappointment is crystal clear:

So what inspiration does that give us, the third-wave feminists who were raised by moms with careers, cared for by fathers and daycares, who now stand outside state capitols to fight the legislators who think we'll stand by and ignore the attempt to revoke ground gained by Roe v. Wade, among other issues?  It shows us that you can be beautiful, smart, successful, witty, and call yourself a feminist.
You don't have to wear Birkenstocks.
You don't have to burn your bra.
You don't have to forgo makeup and pretty clothes.
You can revel in your femininity while demanding respect for your gender.

There have been countless women throughout history who have progressed the cause of women's rights but many have been expressed through artistic creation, mainly writing. Women began to shed light on their misery and unhappiness as far back as the 15th century with the publication of authors' Christine de Pizan and Anne Bradstreet's groundbreaking protofeminist writings. By the time the suffrage movement was officially in swing in the late 19th and early 20th century, dozens of female authors had introduced some level of feminist thought to most educated women in the world.

Women today, like myself, still struggle with the continuing themes of balancing motherhood and career, romantic ideals and equality in intimate relationships, and conveying a sense of proud ownership of our feminist status in the world. While not every feminist is regarded as a "radical" nowadays, the word does still carry a hefty weight in sociopolitical conversation.  With legislators and politicians nationwide circling back and taking a stab at deconstructing decades of women's rights, for which second-wave feminists fought tooth and nail, risking imprisonment and social condemnation, it's just as important now, if not more, that those of us who consider ourselves in the ranks of modern feminism rise up and stand firm for the rights of our neighbors, our daughters, and all women.

Do you consider yourself to be a feminist (this goes for men as well!)?  If not, why?  Do you agree or disagree with modern feminist thought and theory (that women should have equal pay for equal work, that reproductive rights are inherent civil rights in a free democracy, etc)?  Please comment below, share to your friends and colleagues, and start a conversation!

Silver Lining on Iraq? I think not...

In re: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/03/20/opinion/the-silver-linings-of-iraq.html?_r=0

As I read this article by The New York Times' John A. Nagl, I found myself shaking my head. Looking for a silver lining after ten years of war...I can see that. I can see the need for seeking something positive to possibly, maybe, slightly justify the loss of those 4,400 lives.

I'm sorry John, with all due respect, I don't see it.

Late one night, after taps, I'm lying on my rack in boot camp and I hear a girl say, "I heard something today....we're at war, y'all."  Metal racks creaked and groaned as everyone sat up, looking around, trying to identify the voice in the dark.  The tousle-haired girl from New York, hard from the streets of the Bronx, was the only one lying still, staring at the ceiling.

"I heard on the TV at the commissary.  We declared war on Iraq. They're sending troops." Her voice almost sounded dead, monotone and flat.

We all tried to process what she was saying.  Here we were, being trained for battle, and war was beginning.  Holy. Shit. Three days went by with all of us having our personal nightmares, visions of Red October and scenes of the USS Cole with a 40 foot hole blown wide in her hull.

Finally, the base chaplain was sent around to each division to inform us in person.  Yes, we were now at war.  Yes, this changed the game. And yes, we were now warriors. When we left this facility, there was a good chance, particularly if we were being trained to be corpsman or gunners mates, we could be sent to fill out Army or Marine forces. So yes, we could have our boots in sand, in a combat zone.

We were given the unique opportunity to walk away right then.  A recruit had found out on his own and decided to jump the back fence, a high brick wall, and was hit by a train making his escape.  The Navy wanted to avoid any more of those tragedies, so we were given a one-time only walking pass, good for 24 hours.  I never thought about leaving. I did think a lot about dying.

For all my concern and worry, I actually never spent more than a few scattered weeks in any desert. I was never in direct combat, not even close. Most of my time in the military was spent behind doors layered with lead, vault doors, processing and sending classified messages and documents, closing the filter behind the eyes to what I was seeing and reading, just passing it on, passing it on.  I didn't feel the neck-snapping jerk of my truck running over an IED, I didn't experience the phantom pain of a limb blown away, and I didn't look in the eyes of a brown-skinned child pointing a gun at me.  That was for my friends to experience. I waltzed my way through this war managing to avoid all personal injury.

The rest of the military wasn't so lucky. Over 4,400 deaths....young men and women, tattooed and salty-mouthed, listening to Lil Wayne or Rascal Flatts on their iPods when their lives were ripped from them. The very people we shared locker rooms, classrooms, parties with in high school....dead. For a search for weapons of mass destruction that proved to be one of the biggest shams in military history.

And you find a silver lining in that?

Absolutely not.

The one quote with which I heartily agree is this: "But there have been two such wars over the past decade, and the all-volunteer force has come through these crucibles of blood and fire with enormous distinction."

You're damn straight we did, John.  You're damn straight.  We stayed.  When given the opportunity to walk, as I'm sure most boot camp facilities did that first week, we stayed.  We went into the face of unknown terror, kicking down doors in a foreign land, our minds twisted with the atempt at understanding the oppressive and violent religion that seeped through the very oily sands of the country, seeing women, children, and the handicapped used as bait, bombs, and murderers. 

How can you make a distinction with Vietnam except that we did not exercise the draft?  So these men, hiding in sand bunkers, burying IEDs laden with rusty nails, screws, and shrapnel, sending forth children in explosive vests, my generation faced these men voluntarily.  Our nation didn't need the draft because we kept coming. We kept facing it, deployment after deployment, time after time, month after month, the horrors mounting, and doing it all only to return home to a military medical system that wanted to ignore the realities of PTSD and send us home to our husbands and wives- the men and women who would try to heal us with their words and love but receive only brutality and chaos.  Families ripped apart, shredded, children left fatherless as soldiers, marines, sailors, walked away to settle into their life of eternal, exquisitely private torment.

Where's the silver lining in that, John?

There isn't.  The first lesson you cite is a lesson to politicians to not push our nation into unnecessary wars. They had the opportunity to learn that lesson in Vietnam.  You know the saying that those who don't heed history are doomed to repeat it.  We did.  To the tune of 4,400 lives.

The second lesson you cite is one to the military: about being underprepared for a "different" kind of war and failing to recognize the importance of language and culture.  We were unprepared to fight religious extremists, extremely young men being told that this was a religious war and that salvation awaited them for their dutiful service to their nation.  You can't fight that.  

And finally, the third lesson I've already pointed out- that our nation has evolved past the need for a draft, as demonstrated by a supply of willing, young, healthy men and women volunteering to fight.

But I'll tell you John, I don't know if that last lesson will stick.  The stories we pass on to our children are ones of disillusionment, horror, and shame.  We volunteered, yes, but for what? For the glory of securing oil?  For the advancement of political ties? To destroy a nation's culture under false pretenses and then attempt to "rebuild" them into America 2.0, nation of proud people from an ancient culture, one that didn't particularly need "saving"? To have the arrogance to assume the actions of a few extremists defined a nation and demonstrated a "need" for our help and interference?

I don't know if our children will be so willing to volunteer for such a task.  They've seen their fathers broken and changed. Their mothers cold and distant, eyes glazed over while staring into an unseen dust storm of horror. They've seen the cruel ramifications of this war, one which went largely unnoticed by the astoundingly selfish and uneducated American public who demanded more celebrity and entertainment news than caring which city was being seized or which American soldier laid down his life that day.  Never has the American media been so willing to gloss over and ignore the real atrocities of war than during the past decade, and that is shameful.

I can't find the silver lining today, reflecting back on my time in the military and that of my friends who are now forever and horribly changed. Who have picked up their dead comrades' blasted body parts. Who now wear silver legs. Who have puckered scars of stolen bullets shot from the hands of children. Who wake up sweating, screaming, at the eyes of the families they murdered under orders. I was insanely lucky to have been spared those experiences, but we all weren't and for us, there is absolutely no silver lining- there is a decade of a nation's mistakes. Ours.

Steubenville Rape....Solitary Incident or Sign of the Times?

http://www.underthegunreview.net/2013/03/18/henry-rollins-comments-on-steubenville-rape-verdict/

So, after days of staying away from the Steubenville rape story, I've decided to throw my thoughts in the mix because...well, everyone else is. And because, well because I can relate.  Let's plow ahead.

Over ten years ago, I was an undergrad at the University of South Carolina.  My freshman year we were "voted" in the top ten "party schools" in America by Playboy magazine, and videos of our riotous partying were broadcast by ESPN as our football team had a crazy Cinderella season after years of losing entire seasons.  Life was good, crazy, hectic, and for a wide-eyed innocent from small-town South Carolina, it was a lot to take in.  I was raised in a conservative, religious, traditional Southern family and had never been exposed to heavy drinking.  Which, of course, meant I walked around my freshman year nursing a bottle of Captain Morgan like a drunken sailor.

Fraternity and sorority life was the apex of the social scene at that time.  To be "seen" at the right Delta party could land you "friends" and party invites for the rest of your college career (which for some, was spanning 7, 8 years). Although the pledging thing wasn't for me, I had enough friends in the scene that I was always tagging along to some fete or another, sipping warmish Bud Lights, taking shots of whatever liquor was there,  taking a hit of the joint going around.  No big deal...college life.

One day, a guy...gorgeous Sigma Chi senior invited me to go out to Five Points with him after class.  Tall, tan, gorgeous smile...of course I said yes. We met up with a group of his friends, tall, lithe, athletic, tan beauties, men and women alike, and began drinking at a local bar, the Cock Pit.  He was buying and bringing me my drinks.  I was being reserved, sipping instead of chugging, sticking to one kind of drink and not taking shots.  I wasn't looking to get sloppy drunk. However, after only two small mixed drinks I was seriously feeling super drunk. I was thinking about what I ate that day and chalked it up to not eating enough, but was beginning to feel unwell and kind of wanted to go home. I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of these people by getting sick or something.  Right then, he seemed to notice and looked really concerned and asked if I wanted to leave. I said that I didn't feel very well, and he said, "Well, a bunch of us are heading back to our house and you can just lay down until you feel better," and brought me a bottled water from the bar for me to sip.

I was fresh from a small town, naive, dumb, and had never heard any warning against any such OBVIOUS line.  I was getting increasingly nauseous and dizzy, so I was grateful to be with such a caring, sweet guy, and said yes, sure, that would be great.

I think you can all surmise what happened from there. I won't go into detail, but by the time we got to his house and were walking inside, he was having to guide me as I was damn near having double vision and indescribably dizzy- more than the drunkest drunk I've ever been.  He proceeded to, with cold, calculating actions, take me to his room, take off my clothes, and go from there.  It was surreal. Like an awful movie.  I threw up in a trash can right beside his bed, and his friends' laughter was audible in the hallway.  After I left out the back door, I can't describe the shame I felt. A friend picked me up  a few blocks away after I called her, and she didn't ask a question but took me to my dorm, brought me lots of water and crackers, I guess assuming I was just  super drunk. I didn't tell her, didn't tell anyone, thinking there was no way that was a "rape"..it was just poor decisions on my part. I didn't know what a roofie was or what date rape was....I had never been educated.  And only recently am I discovering that many, many of my friends and associates experienced a similar situation in college or even late high school.  Like....a shocking percentage of women just count it as a ticker in their personal timeline to have been sexually violated.

I tell this story (which is the first time I've told anyone, by the way....just put that out there) to indicate that this is a long-running, deeply rooted societal problem.  Women are walking vaginas, walking sex toys.  This is a deep and prevalent problem, one so sick and so vile that most people would rather turn their backs on their sons' internet history of porn and stack of Hustlers to have the tough conversation with that child of what sex is truly about. What respect is truly about.

I'm not going to sit here and preach abstinence and love and all that. We're biologically created to mate, reproduce. If you want to wait for marriage and all that, fantastic! That's a wonderful and admirable goal.  Others are going to go a different path and allow themselves a bit more sexual freedom, and I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with that, either.  But sex has to be taught, instilled, as a part of a healthy, respectful, mutual interaction, with neither sex being dominated or the dominator.

The boys, these football players, involved in this story, had obviously never been taught these lessons.  More disturbing than the guys who actually performed the rape were the dozen or so young men sitting around allowing this to happen.  THAT is disgusting. THAT is disturbing. THAT is unacceptable.  Even after countless studies showing the damage done by boys and young men watching pornography, it still is rampant and readily available to any child with an internet connection.  Pornography (and I won't go into this in great detail, but I've done quite the research and written papers, etc.) has been proven to rewire boys' brains, to condone violence against women, causing a dehumanizing of the entire female population and a subtle but pervasive theme that men are superior and women are lesser, there to be choked, spanked, tossed about, and then disposed of.  Watching a series of what would be considered "average" porn clips (not bondage, BDSM, anything like that) in a documentary, women are routinely choked (or the man's hand placed on or around her neck), flipped around, tossed about, slapped on the but, breasts are violently handled, talked to in a demeaning manner, subjected to humiliating and degrading situations, positions, and comments, and then walked away from after the act.  This sends a clear and pervasive message to boys and young men watching this that this is the role of women: to serve, to please, and then to disappear when a man's needs have been met.

Many call pornography a harmless entertainment.  Perhaps that's true for a man in his late 20's or up who has  a normal sexual appetite, a healthy respect for women, and can clearly view such material as entertainment (although it kind of sickens me that such a man- one with said respect, etc.- could view a woman being dehumanized like that and be turned on by it...but that's a different discussion), but boys and young men whose sociological ideas and structures are just being shaped can't make that distinction and begin to take on those messages as fact and truth.

It boils down to responsibility in the home.  I hate to blame the parents, but on many levels, these parents grossly failed their children.  Allowing them to engage in a partying lifestyle more suited to young adults in their early 20's than children in their mid-teens, not properly supervising their social interaction, not questioning their whereabouts...these are all parental failures.  When raising a teenager, you're not supposed to be terribly popular. You're not supposed to be a friend.  You're closing in on the back nine of giving your kid the tools they need to become a successful adult....it's probably the worst time to try and be their "friend".  You can be their friend when they're hitting their stride in their mid-twenties and are getting life figured out. When they're fifteen?  Not friends. Parent and child. Authority. Rules. Structure.

I don't know what else to say.  A young woman was raped, and now, thanks to the behavior of this town, etc., the whole country knows it.  Her life is forever changed, just as my life was forever changed and that of all the other young women I know who have been fondled, grabbed, touched, and raped at the hands of society's pretty boys who thought we were there for their amusement. What's done is done....her life can't go back to before.  The boys are in juvie, where they'll probably let this "disgrace" fester and fester until they develop a real and true hatred for women.  Sad to say, but this is typically the end result of criminals incarcerated for crimes against women...they become repeat offenders, domestic abusers, rapists, etc, because they feel they were targeted and victimized by the women they assaulted.

It starts at home.  It all starts at home, just like many of the societal issues that plague us. We have got to stop teaching girls how not to be raped and teach boys how not to rape.

Are you smart?

So I found this quote this morning...I'm going to share, then discuss:

A sage is not afraid of lack of knowledge: he is not afraid of hesitations, or hard work, but he is afraid of only one thing — to pretend to know the things which he does not know.

You should study more to understand that you know little.

(Michel de Montaigne, October 1)
Do you do this?  Are you a "know-it-all"?  When someone mentions something in conversation, do you nod knowingly, even if you have little or no idea what they're talking about for fear of looking "dumb"?

Don't be that guy!!

I absolutely love it, and I can tell when I am in the presence of a real intellect, when I hear someone say, "No, I haven't thought of that...please go on!" or "I've never heard of him- tell me more!"  The thirst and quest for knowledge is one of the most attractive, sexiest things ever.  Yet this arrogance that pervades our society, particularly my generation, so the younger, twenty/thirty somethings, typically well-educated, hip, professional types, is becoming a huge barrier to the organic sharing of knowledge and information.

Google Reader is closing down!!  Let me throw that out there and tie that in with this topic.

Google Reader was a free service that allowed readers to follow their favorite websites and compile lists, organized tables of banks of information.  A journalist or researcher could keep this wealth of data at his or her fingertips, readily available, when a question or curiosity arose.  What does it say that it's now closing down?  We have less curiosity?  Less thirst for knowledge?  Ohhhh no. That's ridiculously awful.

We don't know it all. Yes, we live in a time with almost all written knowledge at our fingertips.  Religious texts, philosophical musings, great works of literature...all available with just a click of a mouse. So why aren't we using it?  Why didn't Google Reader servers crash on a regular basis?

Arrogance. We've all been there...sitting in a coffeehouse having an "intellectual" conversation with someone who skims over deep content and who you can tell is too busy forming his or her next sentence than even listening to what you are saying. A fake conversation, a tepid back and forth, where no real information is shared, no new knowledge revealed, no questioning of one's own thoughts, preconceived notions, etc.  I observed and was a part of such conversations enough times to realize that the most incredibly intelligent people I know are those who listen deeply and intently, who take time to form their responses (why do we think those who are quick with a tongue and witty response are smart?), and who constantly admit their ignorance on a particular topic and are eager to research it further...and then they do!  If they haven't read a particular author, the next time you see them they mention, "Hey, I took a look at that Flannery O'Connor you were talking about...crazy stuff, huh?" And BOOM! You're having an amazing conversation about the quirkiness of a somewhat hidden gem of an American author with someone who can actually relate to what you're saying. That's an intellectual banquet!  A feast of shared knowledge and experience!

Why are we so scared of such an exchange?  Why are we so scared to admit ignorance?  There is so much knowledge, infinite, really, in the world- it's OK to admit you don't know it all. That you don't know a fraction of it, and you never will! There's no better door to great conversation around a fire pit on a spring evening or in a coffeehouse or around a coffee table littered with beer bottles, books, etc. with friends than the words, "No, man, I didn't know that....tell me about that...sounds cool!" Opens the door to a rich sharing of knowledge in the most rich and timeless way- storytelling, verbal communication.

Don't be afraid to spend your life constantly learning, seeking knowledge, facing every day with an innocent and wide-eyed wonder at the vastness of the world and all that lies therein.  Go forth and seek knowledge, read, listen, watch, and take pleasure in this simple joy!

Vegan Bruschetta/Pizza

Since we were going to be drinkin' beers Saturday night, I figured some pizza-like grub would be appropriate, so here's what I did...

Flat breads
Basil/avocado spread (recipe below)
tomatoes
roasted red peppers
onions
mushrooms
vegan cheese

Basil avocado spread:
3 heaping tsp basil pesto
1 avocado
2 tsp minced garlic
2 sundried tomatoes

Blend it all until spreadable consistency.

Spread the flat breads with basil spread.
Top like pizza.

Cook (350 for 6-7 min)
Eat like a fiend.

Good, quick, simple way to enjoy pizza while sticking to your vegan diet.

Vegan Chocolate Mousse....for real.

So I made this for friends, and they loved it...we were literally licking the glasses clean (OK, maybe that was just me, but still).

Three ingredients, boom, you've got amazing chocolate mousse that could really stand against the non-vegan version.

Soft tofu
Bar of very good quality, very dark chocolate
Agave nectar

Blend the soft tofu until creamed.
Melt the chocolate bar in double boiler, then pour into the blender.
Add agave nectar to taste (the dark chocolate will be very bitter- you've got to taste it and add agave accordingly).

Refrigerate at least an hour or so for the flavors to meld with the tofu (I did mine overnight...it was phenomenal).

Add fruit & enjoy!

Ticketing homeless for eating trash?

Stumbled across this story this morning, and it made me sad:

http://www.alternet.org/hungry-homeless-man-ticketed-digging-through-trash

A homeless man was ticketed for digging through garbage cans to find something to eat.

What....I mean...where are we going as a society?

Why didn't the cop grab him a $1 burger at a local fast food joint?  Or drive him to a shelter or soup kitchen? Or, I don't know, just leave him alone?!?! He's already at a low point in his life...
oh wait! oh wait! Did I mention he's a NAVY VETERAN?

O.o

Addiction to sugar...it's real. For real.

If you don't think addition to sugar is real, try quitting.

No seriously, totally quitting. Soda, sugar in your coffee or tea, cookies and cakes...when you stop and look at how much sugar you actually consume in a day, it's pretty shocking.  Now picture it all gone, cold turkey.

Whoa.

Yeah, most of us still have the taste for something sweet every day, so here's what you gotta do. First of all, this is assuming you've got a pretty healthy diet structure going on, anyway. So go ahead and go full-vegan first..I'll wait.
I kid.  Now put down the Splenda and step away. NOW.

OK, so there are alternatives, the best of which is agave nectar. You can go the honey route if you're not a strict vegan, but if you are, let's save the poor bees from exploitation, shall we?  Agave nectar is naturally very sweet and so you actually use less of it than sugar in any form.
[Note: raw sugar is g€ood, better for you than processed sugar and is definitely ethically sourced, so if you're worried more about the global socioeconomic implications than the dietary ones, go for it.  But it's still sugar. Keep that in mind.]

Here's a link to a bit about the dangers of artificial sweeteners. You should probably try to stay away from ingesting as much "artificial" stuff as possible, anyway.
http://truththeory.com/2012/10/15/how-to-give-up-artificial-sweeteners/

Must Love NPR.

It's days like this
gray, foggy, misty,
when I love to sink into myself.

I hug the warmth
of a mug of soy chai,
some good music
in a coffeehouse
watching humanity roll by.

These are introspective days,
examining, questioning,
more for reflection than new beginnings.

Today changes all of that....
I'll be on a stone bridge,
waiting on forever.

See you there.

Where's the political rage?

So.....those of you who have been real-life or Facebook friends with me longer than a year know that I can get pretty heated over political topics.  Like....downright mad.  In fact, when I created this blog, I made a whole page called "The Mire" for just such rants. Aaaand that page hasn't had an entry in months, almost a year, in fact.

I have found that, for me personally, ranting about politics is akin to holding a burning coal and expecting someone else to get burned (yes, I stole that from Buddha). Politics is a dirty game for dirty men and women, or at least men and women who know how to play the game.

The very idea of democracy involving every single citizen is idealistic but pretty much fails in execution in a massive nation. There will always be the disenfranchised, the unheard voices.  People screaming in CAPS LOCK at each other on some internet forum isn't going to do a thing.  Perhaps my more recent studies of Buddhism and Hinduism have made me more peaceful, also, and less willing to engage in a hostile tete-a-tete with some staunch conservative.  I'm not willing to absorb their negative energy for some pointless debate.

That doesn't mean, however, that I won't go out and protest for the things that are wrong. That never changes.  I protested DADT....it was repealed.  I protested for more rights for military same-sex spouses even after the repeal of DADT, and the DoD has now approved benefits for those families.  The social machine is conducive to change if you are willing to shut your laptop, go outside, grab a protest sign, and get in somebody's face. There is a place for writing and advocating in that sense, but the need for boots on the ground, so to speak, is far greater.  Instead of yelling at someone on a comment thread on Facebook, go find an organization that's working on that particular issue and volunteer. THAT is what truly brings change.

New video! Questions for me? Writing exercise/challenge?

So there's this awesome feature on this blog where you all can interact with me...it's called COMMENTS....AWESOME! (And I have the pageviews...I know you're there...silently watching....). Watch, and please leave a comment. Challenge me!

St. Patty's Sunrise VLOG

For Lee

My days now are filled with remembering
and frantically trying to forget
of reminding myself of things I didn't get.
I tear my mind away, time and time again,
I force myself to look, to remember brutal truths,
of hopes and dreams dissolved,
of oceans between, and months and months of pain.

All to avoid the foggy remembering,
of smoky bars and drunken grins,
and snowflakes stuck to dirty boots.
Electric blue lights to indie rok
under icy-laden drooping trees.
The parking lot, cliched kiss in the rain,
"It's not goodbye, it's see ya soon."
Dreamy haze of the wedding day
under a sweltering Southern sun.
Laughter and pranks in that tiny apartment
and the smear of egg yolks
from the carton you dropped when I told you.
Driving around town all night to find
the "fat gas station pickle" that I craved.
Lying on the beach with my two piece on,
and that band drawing pictures on my growing belly
during our last Warped Tour.

The perfect nursery, the perfect house
the perfect foundation crumbling beneath us.
The spinning pain as the world tore at its seams,
and now its doing it again.
The future I have of swallowing my pain
and living your memory again and again,
to tell our son of the big rock star,
the fisherman, the family and friend...
The confusion in his eyes
and the future of pain for him.

One day, years ago, you said you wanted better,
you wanted more, for your boy.
I will give him that, I swear:
at any cost, I will.
And let that be a final promise,
my final farewell to you.
I will mend burned bridges
and reconnect his whole world,
forgive past transgressions for his sake,
all the things that you wanted will be.

I may not yet forgive, and I certainly can't forget.
But I promise to move on and raise him well,
rest easy, rude boy, our son is OK.
You've lived your life hard, fast, and fun,
and your memory, I promise, will live on.
Your rocked and I loved you and it's my honest prayer,
that you rest in peace
and know that our child is well.



~In memory of Lee, we might have had hard times but in my mind you will always be the guy in the band, sweet, fun, and my first love. Here's to PBR, Bouncing Souls, fishing at the beach, Jimmy Eat World, New Brooklyn Tavern, shows, dancin, drinkin, and living life to the fullest, the way you knew how.

P. Lee Player. March 6, 1983- March 16, 2009.~

Nights.

Grief is always worse at night.  I wrote this a couple of years ago.

Tiny night

When does it come, when does it end

Darkness is only a symptom

Little nights, little nights I fail, I try

I surprise and surmise, I feel the

Night, the little nights, the knights,

Your face makes me cry, makes me feel at night,

Your eyes burn like hell, my fire is in the night, at night, the little night of inside

Lights, firing lights, strobing lights, pierce, tear the nights, big nights, little nights,

The boom boom nights and the firefly nights

Flicker, flicker, faint

Flicker, flicker, ain’t.

Big, no little nights. Little lights in little night

I try.

It's that day.....it's a bad, bad day.

I remember once, there was an ice storm in Columbia. Being young and dumb, Lee and I borrowed Cember's car, drank some PBRs, then drove around really slow all night, watching the blue pop of transformers blowing and the eerie glow of the ice in the trees through the city lights. We listened to Jimmy Eat World on repeat. We talked a lot, but it got quiet and this song came on, and you remarked, "I wonder if this song will still be around when I die so they can play it at my funeral?"

It's still around. I'm sorry.

Probably shouldn't have listened to this today. That nights is one of my most vivid memories with you. You wore a blue jean jacket and that beanie. Sometimes I just want to tell you I'm sorry and hear your voice saying, "It's OK..it's OK." like you would do. One time after a fight, you went down to the corner bar and came back an hour later, still stone sober, put on Jimmy Eat World, and sat on the couch looking at me. We both knew what was happening. All of it hurts, even now. You changed who I am, who I became. I could never thank you enough for that.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snyk8vQD3Vw&feature=artistob&playnext=1&list=TL92MLpSaLmhw

short story writing assignment- take one

Assignment: Alarm Clock Dream- Write a short story in which an alarm clock going off in the middle of the story plays some kind of crucial role. Half the story will be dream and half reality.

Here goes:

'Always my favorite part,' she thought, gently spreading her arms at her sides in savasana, feeling the firm pliancy of her mat yield slightly beneath her hips and her breaths slow to a deep, tidal regularity. She closed her eyes as she envisioned her breaths as strapped-bamboo rafts, riding the tidal flow, and felt the firmness of the floor slip away from her back as she lifted in the depths of solid meditation, her core resonating outwards. She hadn't experienced such pleasant savasana in months, and she allowed herself to enjoy the weightless sensation. After a few moments, she began to ponder when the gentle chime was going to signal the end of this session. Surely Amy wouldn't allow her students to slip into sleep on the floor of the studio.

She felt her body weight settle back to the floor and her thoughts began to wander as she waited for the smooth, silvery sound. She was keenly aware of a cool breeze across her ankles...curious in a warm yoga studio. Perhaps a student had left early and the door caused a breeze. She stretched her fingers wide and then clenched them tightly as her reverie was disrupted by a harsh buzzing. She rolled to her right, blinking open her eyes when her cheek scraped against gritty concrete.

The worn sleeping bag had slipped away from her feet. The earliest light of dawn was breaking over the railing of the overpass, and she struggled to prop herself on an elbow and grab the cell phone to silence the blaring alarm. Fuzzy thoughts tripped through her mind...foreclosure...car stolen...the kids' guidance counselor calling concerned...foster homes. Freeing her legs from their shabby covers, she shook herself against the morning chill and struggled to stand on her stiff and aching legs.

This was visitation day, so she had but a few hours to get to the shelter, shower, and make her way the dozen or so blocks to the foster home. Shaking in her hurry, she clumsily rolled her makeshift bed and stuffed it in her backpack, steadying it on her back before gathering her phone and small bag of gas-station junk food and setting off for the shelter and shower facilities.

It only took a couple of blocks for her stiffness to wear off and her jerky gait become a smooth, determined pace. Adjusting the pack and pulling up her long auburn hair, she decided to cut across an alley behind some shops to save a block or two. Simultaneously pulling her phone out to check the time and stepping off the curb underneath an overhanging oak tree, her vision suddenly went black and she felt her body being viciously thrown through the air and landing with a crisp crunch. A warmth spread underneath her back as she tried to catch her breath. She vaguely registered sounds, shouting, screams, as she screwed her eyes shut and focused on steadying her breathing. Arms limp and outstretched, she felt herself rising from the asphalt, her body weightless, just like a good savasana. A good one....breathing deep and regular, consciousness slipping away as she focused on her chakra, now a smoldering deep crimson.

ding.......ding.....ding.....
The delicate silver chimes slid through the silent air of the wooden room, and women began to stir, rolling to stand and silently stretching, rolling mats, slipping out the back door with quiet murmurs and nods to one another. She sat up, shaking her head and rubbing an eye before following suit and making her way to the parking garage. Sliding into the driver's seat, she pushes over a pile of mail, selecting a large white envelope from Countrywide marked URGENT. Sliding a finger under the flap and pulling out the first page, a single sheet of crisp letterhead, she leaned her forehead on her hand as she read....and sighed, leaning her head to rest on the worn steering wheel.

Yum.

Why is food

So goddamn good?

I may as well take this butter and jam

And slather it on my soft, rumbly tummy.

I nibble chocolate candies…

as I flip pages in the skinny-girl mags, fingertracing waspy waists

with my nubby, stubby, work-worn finger…

Air-brushed luxury, plastic, artificial sex

sells.

Makes moms and nuns uncomfortable and stare in their mirrors late at night,

in cotton panties and stringy hair

…maybe strike a sexy pose for funs and laughs

that are so fun, right? Right…..right.

My shell is silky smooth and soft,

no concrete in sight,

succumbing, receiving, pliant

and curvaceous…full swoops,

thick.

Maybe I like food being so goddamn good and me being so goddamn bad and

Maybe I like soft roundness and being such for such

a good time.

the briefest of words....

Mother

A finger stern and soft,
A wilted cotton smock.

Love

A ratty blanket square, darned crookedly,
smells of Dove.

Do you live your life or simply exist?

I ask this out of sheer facetiousness, as I know most of my friends reading this are some of the most active, vivacious people I know (hence our friendship!). The sheer flurry of activity on my Facebook and Twitter newsfeeds on any given morning is astounding...friends in New York, Egypt, South Africa, Australia, Denmark, Germany, Israel, east coast, west coast, communes in the mountains, farms on the eastern shore, some gritty start-up in Detroit....my friends are GOERS and DOERS.

To my new readers....are you?

Little story (since I'm just so egocentric and am in the mood to talk about my favorite topic...meeeee!) about when I decided to open up and live my life to its fullest.

Four years ago I was a returning student. I had just had my son, John, and decided to quit my comfortable gov't contracting job and return to college and finish my degree.

This was Step 1 in what I'll call the Butterfly Process.  At this point, I was still firmly and completely a caterpillar.

When I returned to school, the most social interaction I'd previously had was with other Navy wives at arranged playdates.  Other than that, I drove to school, stayed only long enough for my class, and came home to dutifully clean, cook, and care for my children.

And I was going.....banana sandwich.

I wanted to stay after class and discuss with other students. I wanted to reach out and make friends (there were quite a number of returning students, many of them fellow veterans, at ODU).

Then I was hit by a truck (figuratively, of course).  During class one day, my phone "blew up", as the kids say. Buzzing, buzzing...I was in my favorite class with Dr. Mourao and didn't want to disrupt, so I turned the ringer off completely without looking at the screen.  I left class...it was a chillly, windy spring day and I was wearing a brand new jacket I had gotten for my birthday...a black, vintage swing coat. I got in my car and pulled out of the parking garage before remembering the phone calls.  I glanced at the screen and saw several SC numbers, highlighted one, and pressed send.  I was then navigating traffic from the campus and turning on to Hampton Boulevard, the main avenue cutting through ODU and wrapping around through downtown Norfolk.

I made a left as I listen to the phone ring.  Adjusted my mirrors as she picked up. Careened into the sidewalk as she began talking. Felt my hands go numb as her words flooded through me...like that feeling the first time you take a shot of whiskey.  Heat, then cold, numb, then sick. Vaguely heard horns around me and saw a light pole just feet front my front bumper, angled as my tire was propped on the curb.

We all go through life choosing shirts, sniffing perfume, fighting with friends over perceived slights, listening to good music, making fun of bad music, wondering about our fiber intake, trying different diets, different meditations, and one thing none of us expect is Death.  It hits us like a ton of bricks every time, even when you see it coming..but this time, we didn't.  No one expects a 26 year old man to just...die. To be gone. To be forever...just..gone.

[Insert factual fill-in here...the deceased was Lee, my first husband, my first love, and the father of my son, Grayson.  Due to marrying young and the strains of being a military family, we had amicably decided to part ways after only two years of marriage. He still was, and is, the first resident of my heart. He was killed in an auto accident.]

I'll skim through the next year, because it's ugly.  I hid within myself, sleeping during the day while the kids were in daycare, skipping classes, puking some, crying into a lot of towels, blankets, whatever I could shove my face into.  I had never, ever felt such raw and intense hurt in my life, and let me tell you, friend, I have been through a lot of shit (subscribe to the blog...you'll see :) ).  About a year later, after quite a few rounds with a therapist and settling on a reasonable visitation schedule with Lee's family after many terribly ugly courtroom scenes, I woke up one morning...it was a morning in March, and felt...peaceful.  I felt OK. I felt, for the first time, that it was going to be OK.  I went to school and began reaching out.  What is there to DOOOO?

I was given a suggested volunteer role (and I can't remember for the life of me who suggested it, because I would kiss them...it changed my life). Pouring wine for a benefit party in the illustrious Went Ghent home of a glam couple, local yogi Logan and her hipster cum editor/magazine owner partner, Jesse for a local gay pride organization.  It was the most random decision of my life, and apparently one in which I let some other force take the oars and row my boat....right into destiny's hands.

The event was beautiful...swanky in a deliciously chill, low-key way. I spilled red wine on a white tablecloth and almost splashed Michael Hamar, local attorney and blogger. I met one of my very best friends, Tony, who has since become like a family  member (the kids call him Uncle Tony) that night.  But above all, I witnessed something I had never seen before: an inside look at the gay community.  I was intrigued, humbled, curious, and left with the seed implanted in my brain that began to dig roots and grow faster than anything I could remember.

Within one year, I was helping organize protests for marriage equality outside the local military base and City Hall, as well as sitting on the Board of Directors for that very LGBT organization (and writing occasionally for that awesome rag of Jesse's). Within a couple of years, I was sitting on the highest dune in Ocean View with some of these dear friends, who had become my closest and best supporters, bidding goodbye to this magical time and place as I shoved off on the voyage of my next adventure.

Housewife to local activist, someone to whom people listened in cocktail parties, community meetings, someone who was asked to speak at events and my voice would raise above the crowd and settle down on waiting ears....ears...waiting..to hear me.  It was not exhilarating inasmuch as it was terrifying and humbling.  What words were coming out?  What words were defining me?  Were my words inspiring these people? Were my words helping bring about ch

It all started in Death.  The Death opened the door for me, it illuminated an entirely new path, a new way of thinking, and new life where I grab it by the horns, where I take the road less taken, and I march forth into uncharted territory and discover new lands. New friends. New hurts. New joys.

Do you live your life or simply exist?  Don't do what I did and wait...wait for a terrifically horrible tragedy to get you off your ass and on to your destiny.  Get up now and go for it.  Yes, you have a lot to lose, but you also have a lot to gain.

the value of a warm body

It was
absolutely
the value of a warm body.
The equalizing weight
on the other side of the sheets.
The body heat,
the presence.
Nothing left
of any semblance of anything;
always simmering rage,
just under the crust,
waiting to ignite
and spew searing agony at my face.
But he was there
always.

Now they fade and reappear like holograms
now you see 'em....
now you don't.
Heat, flash of passion,
smoldering kisses, warm butterfly words,
filling me for a moment before flitting away
to another willing ear.

The value of a warm body...
the value of my pride, my loneliness,
staring down the face of a tundra of forever.

In a jar I kept it,
safe from his wrath,
and I fear it's nearing expiration.
So fragile, my heart,
so frail,
and the pieces are beginning to chip away,
every time one of them
touches my face while carefully avoiding my eyes.
Doors shutting inside,
shutting down,
losing hope, losing faith,
calculating the value of a warm body.

Scars

So we hear this crap all the time about being proud of our scars. I don't know how on earth to possible even begin to do that.

Having apple cider with my daughter one evening, I catch a glimpse of this ugly white vertical stripe on the inside of my wrist. A more angst-minded observer might think I had once lost all faith, given up, and applied a blade there.  The truth is, I think, somehow more sad.

He and I had just closed on our new house. The first couple of months were nice, fun even, as we tore out cabinets, spun, dizzily on floor sanders, collapsed into bed splattered with paint and laughing. The euphoria quickly wore off as contractors fell through, funds ran short, and tempers flared. Callie was a baby and celebrated her first birthday in a kitchen of bare studs and plywood floor.

One evening, after a shopping trip that culminated in an argument, we returned home tense and tired. He stomped ahead of me into the house with me on his heels and slammed the door, an old wooden slab with thing, cheap glass panes, in my face. Balancing Callie on my hip, I reached in front of me to catch the door but watched almost in slow motion as my hand continued straight through the glass as it shredded around my outstretched arm.  Speechless, I slowly pulled my arm back from the jagged hole and watched silently as the crimson thread unfurled.  Juggling baby, bags, and now dripping arm, I entered the house quietly, almost hoping he wouldn't notice, but he had.  The look of scorn and disgust was clear on his face, and I carefully avoided his eyes as I went into the bathroom.

This scar is embarrassing to me, and I've breathed gratefully as I've seen people glance at it and uncomfortably look away without asking. This scar reminds me of such a dark time, when I realized with acute clarity that I was mired in a ruthless, domineering relationship with a version of this man- a version I barely knew but whose dark, empty glares struck fear to my core. I'm not certain how healthy it is that I would rather a stranger think I had attempted suicide than to know I am someone who accepted blame for abuse, who stayed for years and tolerated the humiliation and degradation of both passive and aggressive control and pain.

Don't tell me to be proud of my scars. You look away and let me forget.