We are humans…
…we are not machines. We respond spontaneously. We react with our emotions. We react with OUR emotions.
Yet people get upset when we don’t respond they way they expect us to. We have a soul and spirit. When we act the way that it is expected, or to their expectations, we become machines.
People don’t really want to hear how you are feeling when they ask. They want to hear that you are good. They want you to move on with task at hand. Be another clog in the wheel. Be a machine. No emotion, no expression, no ideas.
I am not a machine. I am not a conformist. I am an individual. I have always led with my feelings and my heart. My soul and spirit has been suffocated for too long. I have lost my meaning. I have lost myself.
Today’s theme has been who am I? I am me. Sarah C Me. But who is this individual really.
I think it’s time that I really start to explore this on a much more open level.
I am funny.
…we are not machines. We respond spontaneously. We react with our emotions. We react with OUR emotions.
Yet people get upset when we don’t respond they way they expect us to. We have a soul and spirit. When we act the way that it is expected, or to their expectations, we become machines.
People don’t really want to hear how you are feeling when they ask. They want to hear that you are good. They want you to move on with task at hand. Be another clog in the wheel. Be a machine. No emotion, no expression, no ideas.
I am not a machine. I am not a conformist. I am an individual. I have always led with my feelings and my heart. My soul and spirit has been suffocated for too long. I have lost my meaning. I have lost myself.
Today’s theme has been who am I? I am me. Sarah C Me. But who is this individual really.
I think it’s time that I really start to explore this on a much more open level.
I am funny.
Or so I think. I have a dark, wacked out sense of humour. I make myself laugh. I draw from the British and Canadian influences that I was brought up on. Basically Monty Python, Kids in the Hall, Second City (SCTV), Are you being Served, and the like.
As well, I grew up watching horror movies at a very young age. I think this cultivated my sense of humour. Made me see things from a very interesting and sick point of view. (Blame my Scottish grandparents for that one).
I have been called eccentric, weird, entertaining, eclectic, original, abby-normal (Young Frankenstein), and strange. Doesn’t bother me. I am not normal. I am not typical. I don’t want to be average. I will never fit in to the mainstream, nor have I ever strived to be.
I don’t hurt other’s feelings. I don’t judge. I’m never rude. I’m trying to have fun. And if people think that I’m funny then that is a bonus. If not, then oh well, I’m not here for their amusement. I’m basically here to amuse myself.
I am Angry.
I have a deep well of anger inside
me. Deep within my core. It bubbles up very easily. I have a very
quick, volatile temper. Some people call it passion, but I know it’s
anger. I have anger built up inside me from everywhere. Mostly from and towards
myself. Self hatred and anger.
I am angry at my parents for making me be my grandmother’s keeper. I am angry at them for the lies they told me and the promises that were never kept. I am angry at the boy who took away my innocence at the age of 13. I am angry at the man who beat me down for over 5 years. I am angry at the world for not accepting me for being who I am. I am angry at myself for hating me for so long. I am angry at my inability to make a proper decision at this time. I am angry at him. I am angry at them. I am angry for being angry at him and them. I am angry because I have let anger eat me for so long and never dealt with it. I am angry.
I am angry.
I am Anger.
Anger is me.
#angereatsme
I am Sexual.
I am angry at my parents for making me be my grandmother’s keeper. I am angry at them for the lies they told me and the promises that were never kept. I am angry at the boy who took away my innocence at the age of 13. I am angry at the man who beat me down for over 5 years. I am angry at the world for not accepting me for being who I am. I am angry at myself for hating me for so long. I am angry at my inability to make a proper decision at this time. I am angry at him. I am angry at them. I am angry for being angry at him and them. I am angry because I have let anger eat me for so long and never dealt with it. I am angry.
I am angry.
I am Anger.
Anger is me.
#angereatsme
I am Sexual.
I love sex. I love sexual images, I
love porn, I love writing porn, I love writing erotic words, I love writing
about erotic images, I love looking at sex. No really, I do.
I am a flirt, a tease, a seductress
with words and images. I know that I make people (both men and women) hot and
bothered with my stories. I love knowing that they are being aroused and turned
on. I’m delighted that I bring such enjoyment and entertainment to people. Who
my stories are about doesn’t matter, because if you read them and see yourself
in the story then that is what is important to me. It makes me know that I have
written something that is real (or could be real). Yes, it is from my point of
view, but the “I” and “you” could be anyone really:
·
A woman could read
them to her man, and both get worked up.
·
A man could read
this to him self and picture his personal sex goddess’s thoughts.
·
A woman can read
this and think that I am writing what she is too afraid to think herself.
There are many pleasures that can be
derived from them. But the truth of the matter is… the pleasure is all mine.
Yes I post erotic, almost
pornographic, photos on Tumblr. These are images that invoke something inside
of me. Something that I want. Something that is missing from my life. The
cleavage shots of me grab attention. Everyone wants attention. Sometimes it’s
good, sometimes it’s not so good. Sometimes, I just want to see myself up
there, and feel good about myself.
If you met me in person, you might
not know that I was @AngerIsMe. I don’t act like the Sex Tiger or Goddess that
I am online. Online gives you anonymity and therefore the freedom to be
who you really are.
I am a Humanitarian.
I am someone who cares deeply about people. The homeless person on
the street that I've made friends with, the woman at Tim Horton's who knows how
I like my tea, the stranger on the street who needs directions. The people in
real life who would judge me if they knew the real me. The people online who
seem to know me the best.
I deeply care about my friends. I am fiercely protective of them. If you hurt someone that I love, I will not stand for it. I have done things in my past in the name of protection of friends. I will do things again, if need be.
I wear my heart on my sleeve. It gets easily broken. But I prefer to be that way then to have a heart of stone. It means that I care and love very easily. It means that I'm alive when I feel so dead inside sometimes.
Sometimes my anger gets in the way of my humanity. It takes over and makes it hard for me to show my feelings. I hate that about myself. I hate not being able to say things because that's when the tears start. My emotions are so raw and deep. It is easier to be nicer to strangers than it is to the people closest to us.
I can go out of my way to help anyone. If you ask me, I'm there for you. I offer my services willingly. I am a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen to, arms to hug you, a person to lean on. I try to make people feel better when they are having a bad day. I try to be helpful. I try to be me. Just me. I need to start doing this more in the real world. I don't know why I have so many walls up. So afraid to be touched by love. So afraid to be hurt. So afraid to have emotions. So afraid to let go of my anger. So afraid.
So afraid of many things, like letting go.
I am human. I am me.
I deeply care about my friends. I am fiercely protective of them. If you hurt someone that I love, I will not stand for it. I have done things in my past in the name of protection of friends. I will do things again, if need be.
I wear my heart on my sleeve. It gets easily broken. But I prefer to be that way then to have a heart of stone. It means that I care and love very easily. It means that I'm alive when I feel so dead inside sometimes.
Sometimes my anger gets in the way of my humanity. It takes over and makes it hard for me to show my feelings. I hate that about myself. I hate not being able to say things because that's when the tears start. My emotions are so raw and deep. It is easier to be nicer to strangers than it is to the people closest to us.
I can go out of my way to help anyone. If you ask me, I'm there for you. I offer my services willingly. I am a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen to, arms to hug you, a person to lean on. I try to make people feel better when they are having a bad day. I try to be helpful. I try to be me. Just me. I need to start doing this more in the real world. I don't know why I have so many walls up. So afraid to be touched by love. So afraid to be hurt. So afraid to have emotions. So afraid to let go of my anger. So afraid.
So afraid of many things, like letting go.
I am human. I am me.
I am a Survivor.
I have survived many things.
·
bullying in school
because of my weight problems
·
sexually abused by
an 18 year old at age 13
·
my alcoholic,
suicidal grandmother’s keeper at the age of 15 and beyond.
·
my father’s lack of
love and support, his rage, his selfishness
·
my mother’s
coldness and judgments
·
five and a half
years of physical and emotional abuse from a boyfriend
·
a marriage that
didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to be. The way it should have been.
·
suicide attempts,
my own personal attacks towards me, the voices in my head, my self hatred
·
The list goes on….
But I survived. I didn’t turn to
drugs and alcohol. I continue to survive. No matter what is thrown at me. I
continue with this life. '
I raise my voice against what I feel is wrong. I fight for what I feel is right. I keep getting knocked to the ground but I keep getting up because I am a survivor. I have no other choice. It is in my blood. The anger that lives inside of me keeps me going. Keeps me from giving in when everything in my brain tells me to give up. I have fought many battles. I wear my external scars like medals. The internal scars open often and won’t heal. I am a survivor…
But I am tired of surviving. I want to start living…
(to be continued)
I raise my voice against what I feel is wrong. I fight for what I feel is right. I keep getting knocked to the ground but I keep getting up because I am a survivor. I have no other choice. It is in my blood. The anger that lives inside of me keeps me going. Keeps me from giving in when everything in my brain tells me to give up. I have fought many battles. I wear my external scars like medals. The internal scars open often and won’t heal. I am a survivor…
But I am tired of surviving. I want to start living…
I am Small Town.
I was raised in a
small town. I have small town morals, values, respect and manners. I treat
people the way you are suppose to with the “pleases”, and the “thank yous”, the
“Mrs. This” and the “Mr. That”. I hold doors open for people. I smile at
strangers and help them out if I can. I’m that person.
I live in a city
where one million people come and go. Multiculturalism/melting pot. It’s
wonderful. I treat everyone the same. But city folk are different than small
town people. You can be small town and live in the city, but it takes getting
used to. Like when you hold the door open for someone and they just walk
through without saying thank you. Or they just expect someone will open the
door for them. (By the by, you can
be born in the city, and depending on how you are raised, you can still be
small town.)
There is a line on
Hwy 17 where you begin to feel that you are no longer in the city range. I feel
it every time I go home to visit my parents. When I stop in Mattawa for lunch,
I start to feel the small town welcome again. It’s nice. People are different.
It’s an attitude that is undeniable.
I’m not bashing city
people. I’ve met some really nice people here. But they are different. They
care about the materialism things that my friends and I did without growing
up, and still hold no relevance to me now. We were surviving our winters in big
boots and snowmobile jackets. We listened to great music, hung out watching
Monty Python and Saturday Night Live, and things
of materialistic value meant nothing… I still feel the same. But my
RL friends here want better cars, bigger electronics, more clothes, Blah, blah,
blah…. So not me.
That’s why I like in
the rural area. There is a small town feel to it. So me.
I am
Momma Bear.
I am
protective. I am someone you don’t want to mess with. I will seriously injure
you up IF you hurt someone I love.
I live with
and love two little girls that I refer to as monkeys. I have them tattooed on
my back (that is all I will say). I mentor teens on Facebook. If you were to
hurt any of these children I would do illegal things to you. You would not
survive, or wish you had not survived (that is all I will say).
You do not get
in between a Momma Bear and her cubs. EVER. Try and find out what happens. You
will not last.
(that is all I
will say)
I am Afraid.
·
of
change
·
of
small enclosed spaces
·
of
jumping off of high places
·
of
the voices in my head
·
of
getting hurt
·
of
hurting others
·
of
who I could be
·
of
being depressed
·
of
being touched
·
of
being pushed into a corner
·
of
feeling trapped
·
of
what they say about me
·
of
not caring what they think about me
·
of
not being loved
·
of
being killed by a transport
·
of
not being able to get out of this hole I’m in
·
of
being buried alive
·
of
him
·
of
disappointing my parents
·
of
my mother’s opinions
·
of
losing everything
·
of
living
I am afraid.
I am
Creative.
I am someone
who writes stories and poems. Much of my creative flow comes from free writing.
I just write what I am thinking and let the emotions and words take over. I let
my feelings guide me.
I also make up
songs (usually to the tune of something else à la MAD magazine), that are silly
and playful.
I paint wood
art pictures. They litter my walls.
I even find
that twitter is an outlet for my creativity, when I want to express something.
I just never
knew how creative I was until I came here. Most of the time it seems that my
creativity was being mocked or ignored. I feel appreciated and validated with
this online community. I feel like I’m able to express myself more freely. It
feels good. I feel juiced up to create more.
Q - Do you think this
has shaped your creativity into a direction you may not have seen yourself
going in the past?
A - I think I’ve
always been headed in this direction. Only it is widening it up to a more
positive experience for me and allowing me to embrace who I really am. Instead
of allowing people in RL telling me I shouldn’t be writing what I am writing,
or saying what I say, the online experience has allowed me to reexamine myself
and say “screw you”, it’s alright to be like this. I’m accepted. I’m “normal”.
So if I had not opened myself to this experience, I would be suffocating my
creativity right now, however, instead, I’m feeding it and allowing it to live.
I am
LOVE.
When I mentor
teens I tell them that they are LOVE. No matter what their circumstances are
they are loved by someone, but more importantly they are LOVE. LOVE is the
essence that flows through us. It is the make up of our soul. If you believe in
a God or Deity, we are made up of their LOVE. We have the capacity to
HATE, but more importantly, we have the capacity to LOVE. If you don’t have a
higher being that you believe in, LOVE is what sustains us from the pain we
have. It holds us when we creep in the darkness. LOVE guides us like a shining
light.
I am LOVE. I
have a tremendous heart filled with LOVE. I seek out LOVE. I give LOVE. Even
when I am angry, I am terribly afraid that I have offended or upset someone
that I LOVE. I’m always worried that my LOVE isn’t good enough. That I’m not
good enough for LOVE.
With this LOVE
I am beautiful. It’s hard for me to say that. It’s hard for me to hear that. I
don’t always think that I am. People have said that I am a beautiful person. I
don’t feel like it. I can’t always look in the mirror and say “I am a beautiful
looking person” and I can’t always think “I am a beautiful person on the
inside”. I have many demons I am fighting. Many insecurities of others telling
me that I’m not. It is far to easy to listen to those negativities than
to listen to the positives. The darkness always haunts me.
But I am
beautiful. And I am LOVE. I have to keep telling myself this. I have to keep
believing this. because as lovely as the darkness can be, I don’t want to live
there anymore. I want to shine in the light.
I am Intelligent.
I went through
various forms of “higher” education. But that doesn’t make me smart.
I have big boobs and
I’m a natural blonde, and I take my time to respond to certain things. But that
doesn’t make me dumb.
I use big and lots
of words and don’t always like to use acronyms or short forms. But that
doesn’t make me smart.
I don’t always get
people’s jokes, or I have to google certain things. But that doesn’t make me
dumb.
1.
I’m
intelligent because I can think quickly.
2.
I’m
intelligent because I can figure things out when left on my own.
3.
I’m
intelligent because I can read what is not written.
4.
I’m
intelligent because I understand much of what is going on around me without
letting others know.
5.
I’m
intelligent because I can do my job, my bosses jobs and half of my co-workers
jobs without thinking.
6.
I’m
intelligent because I’ve been around the block a few times.
7.
I’m
intelligent because I have to be to survive.
8.
I’m
intelligent because “beauty fades, but dumb is forever”.
If you follow me
because you see I have big boobs and blonde hair and think that I’m here for
sex, think again. I have serious wit and intelligence. I can talk my way out of
anything and out think and wit almost anyone.
You wanna play with
me, the game you think you are playing may be one of fire. I am Anger. Anger is
me. #angereatsme
And never forget, I
am Intelligent.
Who Am I?
Mother’s Side:
My mother and her family were born in Scotland (Southern parts).
Father’s Side:
My Father discovered that his father’s family came from Scotland (when he was there with my mother and my grandmother on her last voyage there before she died). They went to America and moved on to Canada as they were British Loyalists.
My Father’s grandmother on his mother’s side was born in South Africa. She was sent to a convent in England with her sister to be raised as she was the only person in the family with red hair and it was Taboo. She came to Canada when she was 18 to “find a man, because English men were asses.” It is rumoured that her sister was a lebian, as she was never married and was rather “close” to another lady teacher that she roomed with.
Myself:
I am Scottish Canadian by all rights. But do I see myself as “white”. Actually no. Apparently, there is aboriginal in my blood. There is rumoured to be African in our linage. Am I a Christian? No. Am I religious? No.
I am accepting of all races. I welcome the melting pot. I am accepting of all religions. Just don’t thrust it upon me. I am accepting of all sexualities. I don’t judge. I don’t label. Especially myself.
Who am I? I don’t know. What am I? I could careless.
I love you all for who you are. And if you hurt someone I love, I will never forgive you.
That’s who I am.
————————————————————
Oh and by the by…
with the two MRIs I’ve had, I also have proof that I have an actual brain so
there is that as well.
