Depression can suck it

The world is full of two kinds of people; people pleasers and those waiting to be pleased. 

I used to be the type of person that wanted to be pleased. Of course, I went into the military at 18 and had that knocked right out of me. In the past years, I’ve become the person that pleases everyone. Literally. Everyone. No matter who the person is, I feel like I have to make them smile, like when they leave from my presence or mine theirs, they should be happy. A person could be horrible to me, and I will still try to make them happy. I bite my tongue, I hold back my anger, and I no longer do anything for me.

Where does it stop ? I feel like my depression and anxiety have played a big part in this. I felt like I would be happy if everyone around me was. I felt like it would help the depression melt away. I found this to have the opposite effect and it doesn’t help me at all. 

The last few days I have been reflecting on my life and trying to decide what I want to change. 

After I had my son I fought with PPD. I loved my baby, and I hated everyone else. I cried over anything, I was like a jack in the box; my handle was turning and turning until I finally popped with emotion. I would look in the mirror and hate who was looking back at me. I always found something to be disgusted at: my hair, my skin, stretch marks, being out of shape because I just had a baby; anything. 

So today, I made the decision to start working out. Now, I don’t particularly like going to the gym, it’s too busy, and it sends my anxiety on a wild roller coaster, so going alone was definitely not an option. I decided to grab my weights and hit the living room. I’m out of shape, so it hit me quickly, but just that 30 minutes helped me feel better. My son even joined in, and let me tell you, his squats are the cutest I have ever watched. I’m sore, but it will help in the long run. 

Part of my decision was made because I’m in physical therapy. My trauma and having a baby caused some muscular issues so I’m doing pelvic floor PT. I won’t go into detail, but it’s like having a masseuse and chiropractor in one. I need to strengthen my core and start feeling better about myself in order to help my PF so I made up my mind today. Everyone has to start somewhere, right ?

Anywho, everyone around me seems to be working out and on “health trends,” but I didn’t want to do it because of everyone else. I needed to do this for me. So I am. It took time for me to finally make the decision to work out, but I already feel great about it. 

I’m trying to be someone that is not a complete people pleaser anymore but also not a person that is sitting and waiting for people to please me. I just want to be someone in the middle. 

I want to be happy. 

❤️ LAFMommy

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A delicate flower

6 months. 6 freaking months.

The amount of time that the judge felt was appropriate to give a RAPIST. He did not sell weed, he didn’t steal a candy bar. He raped a woman, he stole her life, her comfort, her being. He took everything from her that made her, her, and all he received; 6 months.

That’s like a slap on the hand of a toddler that keeps getting into the oven drawer and pulling out pans. It doesn’t teach anything. It isn’t a punishment. It’s an open invitation to do it again. It says, “Oh, no one minds if I stick my fingers or my penis in a place it doesn’t belong, it’s okay, I can do it again.” It teaches other rapists or would-be rapists that it is okay to rape a woman. Go ahead, rape her, you’ll get 6 months in jail and then you can go back to your wonderful life. All the while, she has to suffer through nightmares, panic attacks, self esteem and self worth issues. She will fight with living a semi-regular life and have difficulty maintaining any relationships in her life.

He’ll probably go in and serve his easy six months and then get out and return to his pre-rape life. He’ll drink and he’ll party. Then, one day, it will happen again. This time, it will be someone else’s daughter, mother, or sister. Maybe the next time, he’ll get a harsher sentence. Maybe next time he’ll be seen as a rapist, and not just the toddler than pulled the pan out of the oven.

Let’s talk about why. Turner is a white man, upper class, attending Stanford. Judge Aaron Persky is also a white man, upper class, and previously attended Stanford. Of course, he couldn’t let a Stanford student “suffer” in prison, he’s an alumni. Turner is a delicate flower, he’d SUFFER. Oh, you mean like his victim is suffering ?

What does this say about women ? That we don’t matter ? That because we freaking wake up in the morning, we are giving someone permission to violate us ? Women have fought for equality for a long time. Then, we get a massive slap in the face when a Judge gives a 6 month sentence to a rapist. Equality doesn’t mean that a man can rape a woman and get away with it. Had she done the same to him, she’d have received a harsher sentence.

I’ve been raped. I know how it feels to be stripped of everything. I don’t know what it’s like to go to trial and face such a huge demon head on. I don’t know what it’s like to look your rapist in the eye and confront them in front of a courtroom full of people, and still watch them only get 6 months when all is said and done. However; I do know the endless suffering day to day. I know what it feels like to want justice and not get it. I was too scared to speak up about what happened, and this beautiful woman did. She done what so many others haven’t been able to do. Yet, all she gets is 6 months. Pathetic. Where is her justice ?

❤ LAFMommy

 

[in]Sane

Occasionally I go to your Facebook. I look to see where you live, if it still says the same place as the last time I read it. I scroll through your posts, the ones I can see to see if there is any hint of any new information about you. I study your pictures carefully, remembering the shape of your eyes, the creases in your face.

It isn’t that I want to remember that smirk that you make, or the way you sound when you speak. I don’t want to remember how you smell or how sick I get when I even think of your name. In fact, I don’t want to remember you at all, anything about you. But I have no choice. 

You gave me no choice, no say. 

I struggle to remember every day things, but I remember everything, every little thing, that you did. I remember like it was yesterday. I have no choice but to remember. 

I try to forget, I honestly do. I can’t. So if I can’t forget and I can’t live a normal pre-rape life, then I’m going to etch every inch of your face into my memory. I want to prevent ever seeing you, or you seeing me. Look at that, you even took my sanity. Just when I thought I hadn’t lost almost every bit of myself to what you did to me, I find another part of me that you took. You made me crazy. I try to get my pieces back every day, but you’re holding them hostage it seems. 

I need to know, how do I get my pieces back ? 

❤️ LAFMommy