#(Hunter is selectively mute btw!!!

[hunter-the-sad-skeleton]

First part of a ninjago fancomic I’m working on! Hope y’all enjoy!(Reblogs HIGHLY appreciated!)

[mouwzer21-blog]

Let's talk about feelings...

I feel like our world as a whole competes for pity. Like who got abused the most as a child, who got the least presents on Christmas, who was forced into eternal abstinence, etc, etc. But really, who would want that trophy, “Congratulations you’re the most pitiful person in the world!” Oh, yay, I’m gonna go put this in my closet. Now, I wasn’t abused or ignored, I’m the youngest of three sisters, and I have two loving parents. It’s just my parents work a lot, and my sisters are 11 and 9 years older than me, so they were always out with their friends. But, I was bullied. 

    Up until 4th grade I was bullied every day I went to school. Nobody noticed because I was a selective mute. I never spoke about school, ever. I hardly spoke at all. I was under this amnesia spell, that whenever something bad happened, I forgot about it. That’s why I’m so forgetful, my brain only remembers the things that don’t relate to anything bad. It’s a habit I’m in the process of breaking. But there are many more that I acquired over those 5 or so years of my life. nail-biting, fidgeting, not being able to sit still, flinching when really I don’t need to. I think people are starting to notice that last one. My friends often times when their hands come near my face for whatever reason, to fix my hair, or my glasses, I flinch. It’s not like I’m afraid they are going to hit me, it’s just my body is so used to dealing with it. 

    I went to an elementary called Parkside from pre-k to 3rd grade. And there, my only friend was math homework and the school nurse. The only way I wasn’t being bullied was if I helped someone with their homework, or I was at the nurse. I absolutely refused to do other people's homework. I just wouldn’t do it, but I did share with them tricks and tips that I’d figured out myself. Most considered me the best at math there. That did a lot to my ego, but so did the constant name-calling and excluding. Nobody wanted to be near me.

    My nickname back in elementary school was ‘bear’. Now, I have nothing against any form of bear. Really I think bears are magnificent. But, being called a bear, hit hard. Because it’s what I was, hot-headed, short, wide, and quiet. I wasn’t the most healthiest person, and my growth was partially stunted because I was sad. I don’t know if that’s real, but, after 4th grade I grew an entire foot. The one and only thing I had going for me was that I was smart. And that didn’t get you anywhere when you went to a school of rich people. Especially when neither of your parents really did anything great with their life, they just worked at Walmart and gave you the best life they could give.

    Then something happened. My cousin, Rodney, and his son, Hunter, got into a huge argument and the rest of the family is still unsure of what happened. But we ended up going through CPS, child protective services. It was crazy. I was actually considered being put through foster care. And it was just because of where I lived, in a beat up house built in 1890. Other factors contributed to this, my dad smoked inside and the house wasn’t exactly clean. And just for that people that didn’t know me, that didn’t know my life, took what I knew from me in just an instance. My life changed at the very moment I got my own CPS agent.

    My sister, Becca, who was 17 at the time, would be out of that situation in a year, with scholarships from CPS that nobody thought she would ever get. She went to college. She’s going to college, this is her last year in law school. I couldn’t be even more happier for her, she’s engaged to a 30 year old hippie with a goatee and a 4-year-old-daughter. I’m so proud that she found something in life to boost her up there, she’s a beautiful human and she deserves only the best, and if this is what she thinks is best for her, I’m happy. 

    My other sister, Alysha, isn’t and hasn’t exactly been the best role model. I don’t know the whole story because hey I’ve had traumatic amnesia since then, but the earliest memory I have of my sister, is watching her leave when I was five. I don’t know if I cried. I just remember that when I went back inside there was a bunch of sticky burrs on my feet, the really sharp ones that really hurt to take out. And that is a total and complete analogy of me and my sisters relationship. I wanna walk around barefooted but I know  it’s gonna come back and hurt. 

    My life has been a series of ups and downs. And CPS really only added to a huge down. Lucky for me, my grandparents become foster parents for my sister and I. They fed us, clothed us, and took us to school But, for me, my entire style was taken over by someone who looks like an old nurse, because that’s what my grandmother is. I wore collared single colored shirts, khaki shorts and tacky sneakers. My hair was in a pixie cut. And btw, I look really good with pixies. But I’ll never get one again because it’s a reminder of how little freewill I had. I hate formal wear because of that, I always had to look like that, a prim and perfect child of God. 

    Not to bash on anybody who believes in the church, but, I never got with the program, I’m an atheist, deal with it. But, my entire family is Christian. And I have no idea how my grandparents find time and will to be Christian in their lives because it seems so straining. It seems so life-sucking. I believe that people have the right to believe in what makes them lifted. And having the weight of “he’s watching you” lifted off of my shoulders is what I wanted. My dad doesn’t believe in the church, but he’s Christian. He says the ways of the church have corrupted minds over decades. He believes everyone is equal, and he accepts me for being pan.

    The world needs more people like dear father o’ mine. Ones that don’t care who you are, and just want the brightest things to happen to you. They want you to go places and have fun. But they also want you to succeed in life and they don’t care for your race, gender, religion, or sexuality. They, are the best kind of people. I’d like to say I’m one of those people, maybe I am in some way. It’s just people that think they are better than others and flaunt it get on my nerves. 

    Admittedly I’m the kind of person that sees how a person behaves, and doesn’t care what they may be going through. The reason for that is that I’ve been through stuff and I’m decently nice. So why can’t they?

Moral of the story, people have a different way to deal with things. Some become aggressive, others become quiet. I dealt with mine by forgetting. But, I don’t think I’ve forgiven. There is a lot of built up and pent in anger and angst that I may never get out. I may die before I finally admit to someone’s face that I need help. I may die before I admit what’s going through my head, all of the hate and love and feelings. 

It’s not my fault I don’t understand these things. I’m 14, I’m alone, and I won’t admit it. I refuse to admit weakness. Because I’m not weak, not anymore. I have friends, I’m growing a better bond with my sisters. I’m opening up. People may have thought I’d already bloomed into a flower, but now I’m growing into a tree. I’m strong and nobody will cut me down again. I won’t let them. I won’t let someone bring me down to what I used to be. Because I HATE who I used to be. I don’t ever want to be that person again. That person is dead. That flower died and spread its seeds in a way nobody expected. I’m going to grow stronger and bypass all predictions made by everybody on this world. I’m going to be great.

You can be great too. In your own way you can leave behind those scars that were left in your mind and body. They are irrelevant. Scars can be hidden. But you need to find something where those scars don’t have to be hidden. Where scars make you great. You can find that anywhere. And, it’s ok to let it all out. It can explode, seep, or just come falling out, if you find the right place for yourself, you will feel safe when it all comes crashing down. Don’t compete for pity, relate with pity. So… let’s talk about feelings.