Category Archives: List Series

Numbers

  1. It’s 1am when I tell you that I self-injure, when I tell you that I take sharp edges to my skin and etch in bright red lines up and down my legs. It’s 1:15am when I tell you that I have a butterfly drawn in in on y thigh because that’s how I remind myself that self-harm hurts me. It’s 1:30am when you ask me how many people I’ve told, and I say you’re the only one. And you thank me.
  2. It’s been two days since I’ve told you my darkest secret. It’s taken two days for it to finally sink in exactly what I’ve done. And all I can do is lie in bed and think about every word I’ve said to you. Before I know it, it’s already two hours past midnight, and I’m still crying in fear of rejection and abandonment. I send you a text about how much I regret telling you my secret, and you send two back telling me that you care about me and that you will always support me.
  3. The longest I’ve gone without self-harming this year is three months and three weeks, and I’m actually so very proud of myself. I tell you, and you look just as happy and proud. And you show me the depth of your feelings in three ways: a caring a smile, a tight hug, and a whispered “thank you.” It’s three hours later before we finally get back to studying. We were too distracted celebrating with my favorite movie and my favorite chocolate (which you bought because you knew me better than anyone else).
  4. It’s the fourth time I’ve called you in the middle of the night, but this time, it’s so much worse. Because I can’t keep going. I can’t anymore. I just can’t. I’m terrified and broken and sobbing and I’m this close to ending it all right here, right now. I can’t breathe but I’m breathing too fast, my thoughts are racing, my heart is pounding, I can’t feel my fingers or toes, my blood is ice, and my eyes are wild. But you do your best to ground me, and after of four hours, I’m okay to let go of your shirt and pick my head up from your chest.
  5. You end our friendship in five sentences. One, “I’m sorry I hurt you.” Two, “I’m sorry that all of my promises turned out to be lies.” Three, “All of this was my fault.” Four, “I’m sorry I can’t give you more closure than this.” Five, “I hope this doesn’t affect our work relationship.” Everything we’ve been through together, destroyed in five simple sentences. Five minutes later, I’m still standing in the courtyard sobbing, uncaring of all the staring strangers.

But you know, what we’ve been through can’t be reduced to simple numbers. We were more than that. We were hurt and heartbreak, love and healing, life and close brushes with death. We were life, and life can’t be reduced to numbers.

But that’s the only way I can cope. Because if I don’t trivialize it, I wouldn’t be able o stand. I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed. I wouldn’t be here.

Because I burn your things, your possessions, every bracelet or jacket that reminds me of you, but that won’t be enough. Because I know that memories don’t burn. Because I can try to walk around campus and avoid your usual haunts, but I still have to work with you, and I can’t trigger warning your very presence. Because I would have jumped on a fucking grenade for you, but now you’re the one who threw it at me and shattered me into more pieces than I can find and collect.

I’m broken and all I can do is tell myself to breathe in, hold for five seconds, breathe out, and repeat. I’m going to be okay.

Suicide did not defeat me one, two times, and neither will you.


Colors

  1. Red. Red is the color of my lips when I wear my favorite lipstick because it makes me feel sexy and confident and badass. Red is the color of my lips when I kiss someone because I kiss with passion and fervor. Red is the color of my the color of my lips when I chew on them and bite them because it’s a bad habit. Red is the color of my lips when I cry because I don’t know why, actually. It just happens. Red is the color of my lips.
  2. Pink. Pink is the color my tongue when I stick it out at people because I like to make funny faces. Pink is the color of my cheeks when I blush because I’m easily flattered and embarrassed. Pink is the color of the veins in my eyes when I’m tired because I always stay up too late reading. Pink is the color of my nose when it’s cold because that just happens too. Pink is the color of my facial features.
  3. Black. Black is the color of my hair whenever because my parents gave me this hair that is always way too hot in the summer. Black is the color of my eyes because my parents gave me these eyes that are such a common color but I actually really like how they look in the light. Black is the color of all the little moles that I have all over my skin because my skin decided to have them and I think they’re cute weird freckles. Black is the color of my eyelashes that I always get in my eyes and I really don’t know and it’s super annoying because I have glasses!
  4. Blue. Blue is the color of my veins when I can see them through my skin. Blue is the color of the veins on the back of my hands and the insides of my wrists. Blue is the color of my veins on my inner thighs because the skin is thinner there I guess? Blue is the color of the veins in my mouth and I see them when I floss. Blue is the color of my tongue when I eat blue raspberry candy, and let’s be honest, that flavor doesn’t exist but it’s still the best.
  5. I am all these colors. I am every color of the spectrum and more. Because let me tell you something, color doesn’t define a person. In this day and age, it does (even though it shouldn’t but until people of color have equal standing with people who are white it will continue to do so). I am a woman of color, and I am all these colors.

5 Reasons why I am a Feminist

  1. I can’t walk alone. I carry pepper spray and a taser and my keys between my fingers because it is dangerous just to walk alone at night. My guy friends always walk me back if it’s dark, and if we’re off campus, they walk on both sides of me. Because it’s “safer that way.” And god, I wish I didn’t have to use quotation marks. Because it actually is safer that way. And if I go to a club with friends, the entire group has safety plans and back-up plans and contact numbers pretty much memorized, and hell, there’s even nail polish that changes color when it comes into contact with a date rape drug. It is not safe.
  2. I am afraid to go on dates with guys I haven’t known for years and years because what if they’re not who they seem to be? When I went on a date with a relative stranger, four of my girlfriends followed me because they wanted to make sure that this guy (who was bigger than me in both height and weight) would not shove me into his car and rape me. Because that’s an actual fear that girls have. Because it’s happened to so many of us that we all have to be wary of it.
  3. I hate playing online, interactive video games because as soon as the general gaming population hears that I’m a girl, they say things to me like “did your boyfriend teach you how to play?” or “shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?” or “go make me a sandwich bitch.” Crushing them in the game isn’t enough because then they’ll just say that I had my “boyfriend” beat them for me. I can’t even play games without being put down for being a woman. It doesn’t matter if I’m better than them or more well-versed in the game. I’m still not good enough because I am a woman.
  4. When I took a self-defense class, I was told not to shout “rape” or “sexual assault/harassment” if a guy ever attacked me. Why? Because no one would come. I was 13, and I was told that if I screamed for help when I was getting attacked, no one would come. They told me that a much better option to scream was “fire” because then someone would come see what’s going on. If that’s not fucking terrifying to you, then I don’t know what is. 13-year-old me was very disillusioned.
  5. By saying that I’m a feminist, so many people will discount me. People will tell me that if I’m really about gender equality, then I would be an “equalist.” What they don’t realize is that white women make about 80 cents to a white man’s dollar. A woman of color makes about 60 cents to a white man’s dollar. A woman with children (with the exact same skills and experience) as a male counterpart with children will never be chosen over him. What they don’t understand is that we have one scoop of ice cream and men have four, and we’re just asking for an additional three to make up for the fact that we’re so disadvantaged. And then the men with four scoops will just say that we’re being feminazi’s and that they deserve an additional three scoops. That’s what they mean by equality. Feminism is about bringing women up not bringing men down. And I mean damn, feminism helps men too. But what’s the point in even going on about it?

People stop listening as soon as I say that I’m a feminist.