#my grandparents constantly berated her for this and my grandmother would sit with me when i was younger and didnt understand

[narutomaki]

when a girl asks you to get her the demon core for Christmas you deliver

[theonlinemuse]

And now it’s Yolanda’s turn to have a headcanon post! @freckledpianoman and me wanted to contribute more Yolanda Montez content to the tags now that the season finale has aired: 

Yolanda’s family follows Mexican naming conventions so her full name is Yolanda Pilar Montez Zurita. Montez is her father’s last name while Zurita is her mother’s maiden name. And yes, Zurita is for Juan Zurita

Nicknames are also a tradition in the Montez family. Yolanda’s parents called her mija and nena before their estrangement while her maternal grandmother and her little brother call her by her diminutive name, Yoyi 

Courtney’s absolutely delighted when she first hears Yolanda’s abuelita call her Yoyi. She thinks it’s adorable. Yolanda just fondly rolls her eyes when Court whisper yells Yoyi at her all starry eyed 

She’s third generation Mexican American. Her maternal grandparents, the Zuritas were originally from Puebla and they came to Blue Valley in the 1970s where their daughters, Maria and Mimi (Yolanda’s mom and aunt) were born and raised. Yolanda grew up speaking Spanish, but she’s not fluent like her parents. She sometimes blanks out trying to remember certain words 

“Man, I don’t even know how to begin explaining this in Spanish.”

Yolanda admits that she’s not much of a cook, but she grew up helping her abuelita make traditional dishes and as a result the only two dishes that Yolanda’s capable of making are mole poblano and chiles en nogada 

She shares these recipes with Beth and they eventually start cooking together in Beth’s kitchen while Chuck blares music requests in the background 

Yolanda usually wears her hair in double braids because her abuelito used to braid her hair in the morning before school. He always claimed that braids were the one style he could confidently do out of all the hairstyles that Yolanda’s abuelita taught him 

She does start branching out after Courtney and Beth start helping her experiment with different hairstyles. Yolanda does styles like half up or regular space buns, topknots, braided low ponytails, and she rarely wears her hair down 

Courtney once accidentally dyed Yolanda’s hair red when she was trying to give her highlights. Artemis helped fixed it (thanks to the time she accidentally went blonde for a month) but Yolanda ended up with ombre hair for a few weeks 

For her quinceañera, Yolanda took inspiration from old photos of her abuelita and silver screen bombshells from the Golden Age of Mexican cinema 

Yolanda started learned how to box from her abuelito when she was nine. He was a former lightweight boxing champion in Puebla and he taught boxing classes at a school that he founded with a fellow boxer (who Yolanda later discovers to be Henry Grant, the first Wildcat’s father) after he retired. It became their bonding time

He died when she was fourteen and she joined the Blue Valley High boxing team as a way to honour his memory. She even adopted his boxing nickname, The Mauler 

Boxing wasn’t the only sport that she did growing up. Yolanda’s mom signed her up for ballet classes when she was in kindergarten and she was good enough to attend summer classes at the American Ballet Academy during middle school, starring in a few small productions like Coppélia and The Taming of the Shrew 

She was forced to quit ballet after the fallout with Cindy leaking her pics and she was closed off for weeks because she missed dancing. After joining the JSA, Beth invited her to sit in on her ballroom dance lesson because “I know it’s not ballet exactly, but you get antsy if you don’t dance, I totally get that” 

Yolanda only intended to go to the one lesson, but after partnering up with Beth for a not-so-serious tango and laughing harder than she has for months, she went back to the next lesson. And the next one and by the time the fourth lesson rolls around, Yolanda decides to sign up for the same classes as Beth 

Yolanda can eat spicy food as long as there’s just ground spices in it, but she cannot handle chilies, much to her dismay. Every time she accidentally eats one, her eyes water and you can literally see her trying to hold in her reaction going, “nope, I’m not gonna do this, I’m not going to have my ancestors laugh their collective asses off just because I can’t handle a damn pepper” 

She eventually caves when Courtney and Beth offer her their chocolate milk 

Because she was raised Catholic, Yolanda has a habit of eating fish and shellfish instead of meat on Fridays. Fridays are when the JSA go out to eat instead of staying in the cafeteria and it’s Yolanda’s day to indulge in seafood. Courtney is still surprised how Yolanda can put away two giant king crabs like it’s no big deal, their bodies alone are bigger than Rick’s face 

Yolanda’s favourites are coconut curry steamed clams, grilled shrimp, and the crab boil, all washed down with a raspberry lemon agua fresca 

Her love for seafood has earned her an annoying, yet affectionate nickname from her cousins, “fish head”

“Mauler Montez, huh? You should’ve gone with El Mero, it’s much more on the nose.” 

Courtney and Beth are the only people that Yolanda will share her seafood feast with because a) she gets to feed Beth for once and b) she knows how much Courtney loves shrimp 

Rick can starve and Artemis keeps getting her hand smacked away every time she tries to sneak food 

“It was one freaking scallop!” “Aren’t you allergic? Do you want to break out into hives again?” 

When Beth first brought Artemis to sit at the loser’s table, Yolanda was a little wary of her because she’s known for tackling football players twice her height and she’s pretty sure her parents are Sportsmaster and Tigress. Now Yolanda and Artemis are snarky, overly competitive friends who arm wrestle and and have each others’ backs on the football team 

Artemis managed to convince Yolanda to join as an alternate member since football season is right after boxing season and the team could use more girls

Artemis is still trying to convince Beth and Courtney to join as well 

“You guys need something other than the JSA, you can get all your frustrations out in football.” 

Courtney and Beth drag Rick to games to cheer them on 

They both have huge sweet tooths and Artemis is constantly trying to steal the tres leches cake and chocolate flan that Yolanda brings to school. And it’s often a race to get the last one of whatever baked good Beth has brought with her that day 

And as huge tomboys as they are, Yolanda and Artemis are arguably the best at doing makeup out of all the girls. Artemis likes experimenting with eyeliner and smokey eyeshadows while Yolanda knows a lot about lip products thanks to her abuelita, who rocks red lipstick and berry flavoured lip gloss well into her seventies 

Yolanda means “violet” and she was named as such because her landscape architect mother was working on a Phillipine violet garden during her pregnancy and there was a pot of Persian violets in the OBGYN’s office the day the Montezes found out they were having a girl 

Even the earrings that her grandparents gave Yolanda for her first communion were a pair of violet shaped stud earrings 

Her abuelita even gave her a pressed violet pendant choker for her fifteenth birthday 

Yolanda is a huge horror movie fan. It was a tradition that she shared with her dad since no one else in the family can stand them. Now she keeps trying to get Beth to watch horror movies with her despite the “Halloween only tradition” because Beth’s the only other person who would survive a horror movie 

Beth spends half the time clinging to Yolanda when they’re not booing at horror cliches and trying to predict which character is dying next while berating fictional life choices 

Courtney and Rick are in the other room pouting, trying and failing to catch up on homework

On the flip side, Beth makes Yolanda watch cartoons with her after horror movies because between school and the JSA, they need other ways to relax and unwind. Yolanda ends up loving The Owl House 

“I started watching it because Luz looks like me. I kept watching because it’s so good.” “Yolanda! You did get hooked, you big nerd!” 

Beth also finds out that Yolanda is also really into She-Ra, which may or may not have to do with how Catra and Adora look like Yolanda and Courtney. Beth doesn’t stop grinning and nudging her for the rest of the night when she sees Yolanda blushing over Catra and Adora 

“You guys could dress up as them for Halloween!” 

Despite their different tastes, they both enjoy true crime and history shows. They’re both fans of Drunk History and the Drunk Mystery Halloween episodes 

And Beth is surprised to learn that Yolanda has a soft spot for period dramas as well. The both love Hidden Figures and The Personal History of David Copperfield 

Yolanda is what Artemis likes to refer to as a distinguished bi. She knew that she was bi since she was fourteen when her abuelito pointed out that the way she acted around the very pretty ballerina in her dance class was the exact same as the way she acted around the very charming baseball player 

“Abuelito, oh my god! Did anyone else notice?” “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, mija. You just have very good taste in people, just like your Tia Mimi.” “Tia Mimi likes girls too?” 

And thus, her abuelito technically became the first person she came out to 

She’s out to only two other people in her family, her little brother and her abuelita. It’s not like her parents would be disappointed in her for being bisexual (the congregation that the Montezes go to is fairly open) but Yolanda wasn’t able to talk with them about it because of her estrangement with them 

Whenever she gets a crush on someone, she does this little honking laugh that makes Rick look at her in a mix of horror and confusion

“What the hell, is that your laugh? Stop flirting and help me find Hootie before Beth finds out he’s missing.”

It’s what clues him in to Yolanda’s crush on Courtney 

Due to her estrangement from her parents, Yolanda didn’t think about having a quinceañera, but the JSA decides to throw her one with help from Yolanda’s abuelita, Socorro “Coco” Zurita, who’s played by Adriana Barraza. Aside from Tia Mimi who’s played by Marisa Ramirez and Yolanda’s cousins Josefa and Charo, played by Lee Rodriguez and Herizen Guardiola, Abuelita Coco is pretty much the only other family member besides Alex who still talks with her and she will make sure that her granddaughter has a wonderful quinces 

Yolanda was never really a big fan of big, poofy dresses because they remind her of the itchy netted dresses that she had to wear for her first communion and other big church events she had to go to as a kid. So Beth and abuelita Coco decide to surprise her by making a skirted jumpsuit instead 

And while she doesn't wear heels that often, joining Beth at her dance classes helps ensure that she rocks the Wildcat blue shoes that Courtney picks out for her 

Beth, Courtney, and Artemis all pitch in to get a cat eye necklace for Yolanda to wear at her quinces. Yolanda denies crying when they give it to her

“Are you crying?” “It’s my allergies acting up, no big deal.”

And instead of the father-daughter dance, the JSA just converges on Yolanda for one big slow group dance One Day at a Time style 

Yolanda and Courtney have more than a few slow dances together 

She has nicknames for everyone in the JSA. Courtney is Shooting Star, Beth is Sunshine, Artemis is Hawkeye, and Rick is John Bender 

“Seriously, Yolanda? You couldn’t have been more creative.” “Would you rather I call you One Minute Man?” “Ugh, just don’t say it in front of Beth.” 

Yolanda knows so many Selena songs by heart because abuelita Coco is a huge fan. She grew up singing along to Bidi Bidi Bom Bom and Como La Flor and it’s almost a Pavlovian response to sing along to a Selena song whenever she hears one on the radio during JSA car trips 

Courtney and Beth totally sing along with her while Artemis heckles them and Rick just groans and tells the girls to keep it down when he’s trying to drive 

Yolanda is the only JSA member that Beth’s goggles will work for, but she still can’t make the staff glow. However, she’s the only person (other than Courtney and Pat) who’s able to order it around 

“Wait, why is she able to order it around?” “Maybe because it knows Yolanda is a boss.” 

[prorevenge]

Wonder Twin Powers Activate

Our teacher was almost sixty, dressed in bright colors(usually pink) and would speak like she was a politician in EVERY past life. This woman was HORRIBLE but I wasn't fully aware of how at first. I know that she could be curt and liked making jokes that seemed kind of rude but at the time, I just thought it was adult humor. At this point, I had few friends but people left alone because I was considered too crazy to mess with but this teacher treated me like I was adorable, also assumed it was because she was an old lady. Bro had chosen to sit next to me, which he usually tried knowing I could answer any questions if he struggled. I had finished the paperwork early and Matt was still working on it. I told him to let me know if he needed anything as I started reading a book. I usually zone out when I read so I fell asleep on accident and my brother didn't want to wake me up so he asked the teacher. A. Single. Question. She, instead of helping an answering the question, started berating him, talking down to him. He said nevermind but she didn't like that one bit as her voice got LOUDER. He kept trying to say nevermind until I was woken up by the teacher as she LOUDLY announced to the class how worthless my brother was and what an idiot he was and anything she could say until it finally registered what was happening and I stood up with an "Excuse me?" The class goes dead quiet as the teacher says "Sit down, honey" and continues to say things, now saying my brother was obviously cheating off my homework at home and how he planned to ride my coattails to pass school. My brother is really sensitive but I have never seen him cry in public because if he doesn't value your opinion, then who cares but this woman was shredding him to me and in front of his friends who DIDN'T KNOW he had a learning disability. I let loose, insulting her beyond measure even climbing over my desk to get in her face, the teacher actually being MY height. I wasn't going to attack an adult but man, I considered it and she KNEW it. She tried to hold her confidence, saying I should take my seat or she'd fail me and give me attention and I dared her to. I told my bro to get up and that we were going to the office, the teacher demanding we take our seats and actually grabbed him. I pushed her and told her and said I knew we'd be sent to the principal's anyway. On our way and waiting in the office, Bro confesses to me that she, even though he told her on the first day had been harassing him NONSTOP and the help I was giving him at home was basically the only education he was getting on the subject and the reason he didn't say anything before because he didn't want me to stop thinking he was cool. I became LIVID.

By this point, when the secretary saw me coming she KNEW I had done something. Surprisingly enough, admin was on good terms with my family because of the bullying issues that I had previously reported and gotten into fights over and it actually ended with my dad and the principal at the time becoming friends- his name Mr. Green and he went to became superintendent so whenever I was in the office, he was called as well to meet with the principal and my parents.

I relayed all of the info to the adults, Bro being pretty much too traumatized to respond. The principal tried to defend her stating Bro was overly sensitive but Mr. Green was NOT having it. They called her in and without letting anyone get a word in, she went on a tirade stating I had attacked her and she wanted the "demon twins" out of her class because we're nothing but trouble. This raised flags with the principal now because she had apparently BRAGGED to other staff about how she basically didn't have to teach me and I didn't bother her at all. They began filing kids in who witnessed everything, the bruise on Bro's arm now turning purple and skin slightly cut from where her manicure dug into him. Safe to say I didn't see her after that but I always felt like that wasn't good enough but my mom had mental health issues and my dad didn't want to stress her out.

Oh. But its not over, my vengeful ladies and gentlemen. I got a surprise I NEVER thought possible, time for revenge.

Fast forward a few years, my mom's mental health is getting unreasonable for a house of children and my siblings are split to live with grandparents. Me and oldest Sis go to live with my mom's mom in the next state over and Bro decided to stay with Grandma in state because of his friends.

I decided to go to a public school, not wanting to enjoy a repeat of bullies that were bailed out by their entitled parents. I decided I was going to read and talk to no one to avoid fights but that actually got me a lot of friends, including our football team's HULK, a 6'3" linebacker who bonded with me over our shared love of books and even came over to help my arthritic grandmother with anything at the drop of a hat.

One day, we had a substitute teacher that everyone did not like who seemed vaguely familiar to me in a haunted sort of way but it had nothing to do with Lord of the Rings or comics so I couldn't care less. I was only in this class because I had caught pneumonia the year before and I have a serious immune deficiency AND my dad passed away so I was out of school over the allotted absence time and had to repeat two classes(still only had four classes my senior year so I nailed it). The sub was hanging around more and more when it finally hit me.

IT WAS MY MIDDLE SCHOOL TEACHER.

Apparently, she had gotten remarried and went to Japan on a teaching program which she bragged about constantly when she tried to connect to me while I was reading manga in her class. I didn't know if she had recognized me at first but it was clear by the way she was singling me out after a bit she had. I was going to ignore it thinking she was only a sub when we got news that our prev. teacher was going to be gone for a while because she was having complications with her pregnancy and this teacher was now our permanent teacher for the rest of the year.

The class hated her, half of which deciding not to do work out of blatant protest.

Not me. I finished everything at the start of class, ASAP so I could go about ignoring her- something she HATED but tried to turn in her favor often. She would even try to give me book recommendations, bash something she saw me reading or even give out spoilers.

It was only after one classmate who turned around and said "this class is stupid, I don't want to be here" and I responded with "You do know if you DO the work you WON'T have to be here AGAIN NEXT YEAR?" and she used it as an opportunity to attack that it hit me. Time for some revenge.

I spoke to the guy after class, apologizing for snapping which he understood and then asked if he wanted tutoring and to help with revenge as I explained why. Apparently, this teacher had been going after him in class like my Bro too. SHE DIDN'T LEARN.

I continued to pay her no attention in class but also took the time to offer my fellow students assistance, which she hated, telling me to get back in my seat or to not talk to the other students because if they didn't understand it when she said it, they probably wouldn't understand the material at all. One of the male student's friends in the class had been let in on the plan and had left their phone on to record anything in class of her going after students.

At this school, each year had their own Assistant Principal and I learned what day the AP for this year(technically I was a junior so sophomore), a cool dude was coming in to observe class with other admins. JUDGEMENT DAY. The lesson the teacher was going through was Protagonist VS. Antagonist. How fitting.

She was going over the nursery rhyme, Little Miss Muffet. I finished the worksheet almost right away and I glanced at the stunned looks on one of the admin's faces who saw me write quickly and open a book and the AP actually snickered and leaned over to say "She does that a lot."

The teacher was talking about what was on the projector and realized quickly that the admins were not happy because half the class was not listening or paying attention. She then went to her usual target, me who she had seated front row; it was the closest seat to both her projector and desk so yeah, I knew she was singling me out.

Teacher: "You're reading in my class while I'm trying to teach, sweetie."

Me: "Yeah, I'm done with work."

Teacher: "Yes, but I'm still in the middle of the lesson." Me: "...Okay? Go ahead." Teacher: "I'd like you to pay attention." Me: "Why? I'm already done."

Teacher: "Yes, but the rest of the class isn't." Me: "Then what are you waiting for? I'm done, I'm not going to sit here doing nothing." Teacher: *flustered but grabs my worksheet* "Alright then, let's see your work." *looks it over before getting this huge grin on her face* "You put that the spider is the protagonist but that's wrong, Little Miss Muffet is the protagonist."

She then geared up to start a speech about the importance of listening to her when I said-

"Actually, I don't think she is. I wrote why if you'd read past the first sentence."

Teacher: "No, that's wrong." Me: "I don't think it is. The story goes "Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey; along came a spider who sat down beside her, and frightened Miss Muffet away." Based on that, all it says the spider definitively did was sit next to her, it didn't say he shouted "boo!" or attacked her. She could have just went "Ah! Spider!" and ran for it. Sounds more like she made a snap judgement based on appearance."

The class is speechless.

Teacher: *composing herself* "Well, it's still wrong. For this lesson, it's wrong."

Me: "Is it though?" I can see her jaw clenching, pissed. "The questions on these worksheets say to write who you THINK is the protagonist and antagonist and explain why. So technically, its a matter of perspective and the only way to get it wrong is to not meet the paragraph requirement."

The class echoes with "OOOOOOH's and some snickering.

Teacher: "Oh, if you think you're smart enough. Why don't YOU teach the class?"

I was initially going to turn her down, only making my point for her to LEAVE ME ALONE when my classmates started volunteering me. The male student even saying "I'm going to have to ask her to explain it all again later anyways and you get mad when she tries to help us so let her teach us."

I was glad the class rallied behind me but NO. I was not prepped for it. I improv'd on the white board, turning off the projection and even using comic book examples to explain the differences until the AP chuckled and called the joke(they're not actually supposed to say anything during observation), asking me to take a seat. The teacher was angry and continued to single me out until the end of class when she asked me to stay after to speak with her. The male student lingered in the doorway with his friend to stop the AP just outside, out of view stating they wanted to talk to him. They stopped him just in time for him to hear the teacher SHRIEK at me, accusing me of ruining her life and trying to ruin it AGAIN while slinging all sorts of insults at me.

The AP stormed in and she turned paper white. The other students followed saying they wanted to show him the recordings we took of her insulting kids in class and how the only reason kids were working now was because I spoke to them because the teacher would stop the ENTIRE class and make us do nothing for full periods saying we'd be too stupid to understand the lesson so why teach if we weren't going to respect her anyway. From there we went to the office and listed how she had been attacking other students and I told her how she taught at my middle school. He told me I could go back to class as he discussed it with the other APs and our Principal and I passed the teacher in the hallway and said "By the way, my brother says hi."

I went home, called him up and told him about it and he just sat there chuckling and going "Oh my god" repeatedly for about twenty minutes.

She was still there the next day but she did not say a WORD to me for the rest of the semester and the next semester, we were all put into different classes, learning that they allowed her to finish the semester on the promise to leave me alone but that she would NOT be coming back.

I managed to get the same teacher fired. TWICE.

And guess what? I write books now so, how's that for a twist?

(source) story by (/u/awkwardbirdnoise)

[modronlotus]

I need to get something off my chest.

I've been thinking about how my family officially found out (well, somewhat) about my practice and it's clinging to me. All of the emotions are latched on to me.

I've been wanting to tell you guys about what happened. That way you can learn from my experience. Because I'm honestly no different than any of you who haven't officially said your spirituality out loud. 

So let's get this going:

--

First I want to say I don't officially know what I am. 

I know my beliefs; I love the idea as everything is energy and manipulating it creates magic. That belief is reinforced every time I do a tarot reading or practice with my pendulum. I believe in the power of chakras, meditation, and balancing your body. I believe in your right to choose what you want out of your practice and not dictate what others should and shouldn't do. I like the ideas of Buddhism and reaching a state of enlightenment. I'm an eceltic cottage witch who likes tarot, green tarot, everything that has to do with Taurus, and five-hour baths.

But I don't know what I am religiously.

I don't dabble with deities, although I have thought of working with Hecate, Chang-E, or Nox.

But I don't know what I am religiously.

This is completely the opposite of how I grew up. I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness, I was even an Unbaptized Publisher (which is pretty much a fancy title for nothing) when I was nine. 

But I remember a few things being wrong with that belief system. And I remember having a hard time with the smallest things growing up this way:

I wasn't allowed to say the Pledge of Allegiance in school. It was considered worshiping an idol. I had a teacher who refused to believe this and gave me the hardest time about it.

I remember sitting in class reading a "Young People Ask" book. Its a publication that's supposed to help explain puberty and going to school among those who aren't Witnesses to teens. There was a picture of a girl and boy kissing in a car. My grandmother came to school and whooped me because the teacher (same one as I previously mentioned) told her I was sneak reading it and being disgusting with the pictures.

I wasn't allowed to watch Scooby Doo, Harry Potter, or anything to do with ghosts, witches, demons, or anything magic. That's So Raven was off limits, especially.

I remember having a hard time explaining after Christmas break that I didn't have a Christmas. My grandparents did celebrate their wedding anniversary around that time and everyone received gifts from that, but no Christmas.

I wasn't allowed to go to Halloween parties or participate in them in school. I went trick or treating once when I was four or five; I was Blossom from PowerPuff Girls.

Birthdays aren't celebrated at all, as the two birthdays mentioned in the New Testament of Jehovah's Witnesses had someone killed. I kind of know how old my mother is and I definitely don't know how old my grandmother is because of this. It's awkward telling that to people.

I remember hearing a talk at a convention once when I had a crush on a boy who wasn't in "The Truth". We were in fourth grade, he was the son of the Vice-Principal, and was incredibly smart and sweet. A good kid. But that doesn't matter to Witnesses; you're not allowed to marry or date anyone outside of "The Truth". I remember crying my heart out during the meeting, my grandmother holding my head to her side to keep me quiet. I never told her why I was upset.

You see, growing up a Witness wasn't that bad. I didn't go anywhere really and stayed home, but I just was used to it. We weren't supposed to have friends outside the Kingdom Hall anyway.

But the problem was I felt dirty being there. I felt like an outsider. I remember looking at the two other people there that were my age and thinking about how different we were. I didn't want to be a missionary. I didn't want to give talks. I didn't want to go out in Field Service and go door-to-door. I didn't want to sit in that meeting three times a week; I constantly got in trouble for falling asleep. 

The biggest wakeup call I had was when my mother tried to kill herself. I was nine, my sister was a few months old, and my mother had just gotten back into the congregation. 

I still went to meetings with my grandmother, did everything the same, but didn't say anything about my mother. You see, my family doesn't like to talk about anything negative. Depression is a bad topic. Leaving the Kingdom Hall was worse.

My mother wasn't ever the same after that, but that's an entirely different discussion. But she plays apart in this story:

My mother has always prided herself on being "a friend to the friendless". She wears everything she does with a badge, even if it's not good. Like going to jail, being in a mental institution, or leaving her kids. She tries to make it sound like an amazing experience for her to have. 

She has friends upon friends who are some of the lowest individuals you can think of. Thieves, drunks, druggies, etc. She helps them anyway. She considers herself their friend.

I never saw it that way. I just laid in my room, quietly cried and blasted music with a million candles lit. I read books I personally bought, like Vampire Diaries or Wolf at the Door. I loved Twilight, I'm not ashamed of it. It was an escape, especially with vampires.

One day, I received a gift from an ex-boyfriend: a pentacle necklace. I thought it was beautiful. I didn't have an association with the symbol, I just thought it was gorgeous.

I wore it everyday. My grandmother saw it, called me a demon lover and possessed, and my mother had me throw away all the books I bought. Over sixty. Twilight was spared because I was letting someone borrow them at the time and I told my mother I'd give them to him. His dog tore them to pieces. 

Now, even though my family doesn't talk about and tends to forget negative things, if it's something bad that they don't like they'll never forget. Like me getting that necklace.

In December of 2015 I got married. We didn't have the money for a big ceremony, but we did our best. Bought a cake, made reservations for 15 people at a local Chinese place, and had a handfastening ceremony in the park. I made my dress from red velvet and leftover white fur from a Christmas show I was working on in college. My husband wore his interview clothes and a new cardigan. It was perfect for us.

Now, my husband wanted us to get married in winter. He hates the heat and I love the cooler time of year anyway. He chose December 21st for the first day of winter. Coincidentally that's also the winter solstice.

I got call after call, even the morning of the wedding, from my grandmother and mother about how I was being sneakily Pagan behind their back. They tried to back out of coming a good dozen times, but showed up anyway. They were the only ones from my side that did, along with my sister and my cousins under the age of seven.

I won't go into details, but my mother pretty much ruined my wedding day for my husband. I knew something bad was going to happen; I even asked my tarot cards the night before how it would go. It didn't end well.

They didnt know it, but the week before my husband and I found out we were pregnant with our daughter. I sent a letter to my mom, tried clearing the air, but before the baby was even mentioned I was pretty much disowned.

However, now that my daughter's here, my family felt a sense of entitlement. They wanted to see her. Everyone does when there's a baby. But dealing with birth and postpartum issues, I didn't want that.

So I decided a few weeks ago to call my mother and explain that I wasn't comfortable with the demanding nature of everything around my daughter. I'm still not. But she's my daughter, my decision.

She understood that, in her talking-over-me way.

Then I decided now was the time to tell her about my tarot business.

This is why: we're moving back up to where she lives soon. With how nosy everyone is, they were going to find out anyway. It's better to give a warning to avoid bigger issues down the line.

Plus my mother has a track record with hiding things like this from my grandmother. You know, to help me out and cause less drama. She'd do the same thing here, right?

Wrong.

She called me a demon, again. Didn't understand why I wanted to tell her about my business, about my spirituality. The same woman who says she'll always be there for my daughter in one sentence and then demonizes me, literally, in the next. And then she brought up my wedding day, saying I lied about getting married on the first day of winter. 

How am I supposed to take that? I'm expected to lay down, agree, say I'm sorry, and forget about it. I'm expected to let her berate me and then demand to be near my child. I'm expected to agree to being a liar when I'm not.

So I cut her off. Her and everyone else.

I've dealt with the abuse my entire life. I've dealt with the toxicity my entire life. But this conversation, this hypocrisy, is not happening to my child. I don't want her to feel support and love and then complete dismissal from a family that's been there her whole life. 

Not ever.

I wanted to share this because it's a constant conversation in the magical community about whether to stay quiet about your practice or expose it. 

I do agree with some teachings; that you need to be like the Earth; silent and speaking when it's necessary.

I agree with keeping your craft from those who would cause harm or problems.

But I also believe in putting your foot down and nipping problems in the bud.

Should I have said anything? I think so. It was going to happen sooner or later.

I was tired of the constant battle over child care and if my business really matters and when I was going to make something of myself.

I was tired of not feeling any support.

I was tired of being told I was loved by the people who said they only cared about my baby.

I was tired of my husband being excluded from everything, and in turn me.

I was tired of being seen as less than a person by the people who raised me.

And I was tired of constantly being told, "You can always go to the Kingdom Hall".

No. I can't. And I won't.

I took some to sit down and talk with Karyn from The Lost Lemurian about my experience with coming out of the broom closet.

We also talked about how difficult it is to have an ongoing practice while living at home with religious restriction.

Take a look at our conversation here; lots of tips and tricks are given for practicing in everyday subtle ways.

--

Bit of a personal post today, but I hope I was able to help you in some way. Talking about your spirituality is such a sensitive topic. I just wanted to be open and honest with you guys about my own.

I also want to say if you guys ever need someone to rant to about things like this, feel free to email me. I'll listen. I'll help in any way I can. No matter what you believe, I promise that.

[pineapple-crow]

WHY MY ENTIRE WEEKEND SUCKED

or HOW I LEARNED FAITH IS NOT INHERENTLY RELIGIOUS by me

My weekend sucked. Obviously. Or else I wouldn't be posting this, would I? But it was also wrought with symbolism, foreshadowing (who knew it could happen in real life??), and just one thing after another. This will be a long post, so bear with me, but I'm going to start at the beginning.

First, my necklace. My grandmother, for Easter, had bought my sisters and I each a different necklace. My youngest sister received one with the word "inspiration", and a flower; my middle sister, "blessing" with a little flower and a dragonfly; and I, one with the word "faith and a pink/purple butterfly. At first, it doesn't seem that important, until you consider the irony that I had, well, not *lost* my faith so much as downgraded it.

You see, I was born into a rather Christian family. For years, I never questioned the Bible, or God, or anything else I was taught in Sunday School. After all, my parents believed in it, my pastor believed in it, my teachers believed in it, and at the time I believed they knew almost everything. As the years passed, I began to experience a sort of discomfort - that of a person who didn't wholly belong. As I got older, I began to question my religion: what made us special? What gave us the right over any other religion to declare ourselves right? I never felt the need or desire to proclaim Christianity or any other religion to be false, but I always felt guilty when I tried to tell myself it was the only true religion.

As such, about a week and a half ago I became comfortable enough with myself to declare myself an agnostic - in other words, the lazy man's atheist. While this removed much of my anxiety about who I was, I still felt as though I had somehow betrayed God. This in turn was only further perpetrated by the necklace, which at the time I thought was the universe's way of mocking me and my supposed lack of faith.

Secondly, my family. I come from what is known as a "broken home"; my parents divorced almost 5 years ago, right at the beginning of my freshman year in highschool. I wasn't affected much - I had seen it coming - but my sisters were, and for the longest time my dad just couldn't let go. He in turn babied my sisters and constantly trash talked my mother. She is now married to my stepdad, and my dad has an on-again off-again girlfriend.

The babying, however, left its mark. So much so that my sisters have had many privileges stripped away, and for the past year we have pretty much not celebrated any holiday because of them - especially my younger sister. So imagine, now, me coming home from school, excited to celebrate Easter, only to be told we aren't doing anything because my youngest sister was shoving food down her ducts, stealing money from my stepdad, and even ruined a collectable baseball signed by Mark McGuire.

And third, my boyfriend. We had been going steady for over six months, and those were the best six months. He was my first boyfriend, my first kiss, and my first date, and the chemistry was so powerful that after only two months of conversation, we both said "I love you." And meant it! He wasn't tall or muscular, and he had had a rough past, but he treated me right and I did all I could to return it. We were happy, and we even began considering a long future together. He helped me become the confident young woman I am, and without him I would still be choking in the grasp of my anxiety.

Alas, my parents weren't so thrilled. Aside from the fact that I hadn't told them about dating him (we lived about 4 1/2 hours away, and though we only visited a couple of times, I always drove. To outsiders, it seems like he was using me but believe me, he wasn't.), they had a harsh judgement of him simply because of how he looked. They were constantly berating him, and telling me I could do better. I vented to my boyfriend, because he was my beacon in the darkness, as I was to him. Time and time again, I would tell him how frustrated I was with my parents, how I just wished they could see the strong and beautiful soul he was. Time and time again, I told him that I wished they would deal with it because I would always pick him first. Sappy, I know, but it was true.

Tonight, approximately 8 hours ago onwards, he told me he wanted to end it. That he wanted to break up with me. He told me he couldn't take the constant judging from my parents, and that not only did I not deserve to put up with that, but that I deserved someone better than him. All of this, right after my parents told me that if he didn't want to come down and visit, I should end the relationship right there. Once again, heavy foreshadowing that I should have noticed.

I was, quite frankly, upset. I cried and I begged, first over the phone and then, when I had to work, by text. I refused to accept the breakup, because we had been so happy and wasn't he the one who said my parents would get used to him? I told him I would fight them with him, for him, anything. I told him I would pay him back any fees he incurred while visiting. I asked him how he could just give up on a relationship we had worked so hard for, and how he could sit there and end it when all he had to do was come down, and it would be better. I even talked to my friend, who suffers from a few mental disorders (including depression, like my boyfriend - well, ex - does sometimes), and to his best friend, begging them to try and talk some sense into him. Because of his past, it's hard for him to believe that he deserves happiness, and it's not egotistical to say that our time together made him exceptionally happy.

It was no use. He was tired of stressing out because of my parents, and he was tired of being the cause of my own stress (even though he really wasn't). It hurt. It still hurts. I am still numb, and food has no real flavor. I thought that life as I knew it had ended - I would never find happiness again, and I was destined to die alone like I had believed for so long.

Now here is where the faith kicks in. He told me that though he no longer wanted a romantic relationship, he still wanted to be friends. After all, that's what we had started with, and supposedly the break up was nothing that I had caused. Just my parents. I quickly latched onto this, because yes, I still love him but also because he was such a good friend first and foremost, that I couldn't simply abandon it. And from that, it gave me faith.

I had faith that things would turn out alright. That I would one day be as happy with someone else as I had been with him. Would I *like* that person to be him? Hell yes. If he asked me to come back tomorrow I would do it in a heartbeat. If he asked me to come back a week, a month, a year from now, I would most likely go back. Healthy, unhealthy, I don't care. It's simply the truth.

Either way, I began to have faith in myself. In him. In us. In life. I regained my faith that things would look up again, and that one day my anxiety will go away for good (and not because I died). That faith only grew when, upon picking me up from work (because I didn't have my car with me), my mother informed me that though she and my youngest sister were staying at home, I would still get to celebrate Easter with my grandparents and their family.

In that moment, I realised that there really were few things stronger than faith, and that you don't have to believe in a higher being in order to have faith. Merely believing in yourself is more than enough. So happy Easter, sorry for the long post, and I hope you all enjoy​ your weekend.

[starlettemagnechalastor]

Mun’s history

I grew up in good ol’ Texas, despite being born in Virginia. My mom divorced my biological dad and move to Texas when I was 2, so I really have no memory or connection with my biological dad.

She married my stepdad when I was 5. We moved into his house, and for many years, I always thought I had a normal childhood...

Until I started therapy MANY years later.

Being coerced into thinking back made me realize how fucked the marriage was.

The fighting, the emotional and verbal abuse, the religious indoctrination..

The bullshit gender norms my stepdad tried to force on me.

Example: Women cannot wear hats. 

So my mom and I wore caps and whatever hats we liked cause fuck him.

She was miserable in the relationship, they ALWAYS fought. Once, my mom told me he wanted a divorce because I was “too smart.”

I was 6.

And unconsciously, all the abuse of my dad (He often called my younger brother and I names, and would make us paranoid by scaring the shit out of us whenever he could. Once or twice? Fine. But don’t hide behind the walls all the time and jump out at us.), the worthlessness I felt because my religion taught me I was broken and filthy without Jesus (thanks grandma).

I admit, I attempted to take my life when I was 7. I tried to swallow a bottle of pills. We had a whole medicine cabinet and I was easily able to access the medicine. My brother caught on when I gave him my prized snow globe music box and told him I didn’t need it anymore. 

My mom burst into my room as I opened the bottle. 

She hid all medications and all sharp objects for months. But I wasn’t taken to a therapist.

No professional to help me.

10 years of age:  One day, my mom snapped and attempted suicide by shooting herself with my dad’s gun. He tried to grab the gun, and a bullet fired. It hit her side and broke their bathroom sink. Police woke me up in the middle of the night, and my grandmother was there in tears.

Middle school: I was forced into a christian school, my mom was paranoid over gossip of the public middle school. And of course, when the ENTIRE class was questioned about their faith...I hesitated. Which made me an instant target for severe bullying. From people pretending to have romantic interest in me, to physically assaulting me. I kept it to myself for my entire middle school life, until the day they busted my bike, which was how I got home. And despite the school saying the damages would be covered and I’d get an apology letter, that never happened. 

My mom moved me to a charter school.

The only significant memories I have of THAT gem was that they tried to get me to CHEAT on a TAKS test and that I was bullied for being a virgin.

I told my parents about the TAKS, they confronted the school staff...and they held me back.

So, repeating 10th grade in a public high school. 

My mom, over the years, has been in and out of the hospital. Which meant my brother and I were in a house with a man who was emotionally constipated and constantly harassed, berated, and insulted his children.

But constantly reminded us about how he’s so great for marrying a woman with two children.

My mom, when she was home, had a lot of medical problems. She had a small spine, so they had to remove a part of her hip to normalize the length, she couldn’t breathe properly on her own, she had to have a nurse coming over to check on her often, she had a pacemaker, she ended up with diabetes, she had seizures that were mostly triggered by flashing lights, and she had to have certain medications injected.

This woman, my mother, was the one who got me into art, who ALWAYS supported me. I think she knew I was transgender before I did, she gave me my first short haircut that had my FAMILY, all except her brother, call me a dyke. She was always there for my lows, knew I had self-esteem issues, she bred my artistic side where I could be FREE. 

12 years old, my uncle (the only other light of my life) got engaged to a pediatric nurse. Her name was Stephanie. They had a kid together already, his name was Aiden. Stephanie asked us to come to a family reunion to meet her family.

I didn’t see any red flags when I got there, but things started being weird when I met a few of the would-be cousins. 

One man, who looked like he was in his 20s, was REALLY handsy with me. He even lifted my leg and SPANKED me while we were hanging out outside. REMINDER: I WAS 12 YEARS OLD AT THE TIME.

Then I met this kid named Matthew. 

A monster in the making.

He wasn’t handsy, he was a chill guy. He was even invited to our house and we sat at the dining room table to watch videos.

THEN

And ONLY THEN

did he start groping me.

He went as far as shoving his hand down my pants.

And I was so confused, so disturbed and horrified, that I could only quietly cry and plead for him to stop.

I never told my parents, my grandparents, never told an adult.

I only told my brother when he brought Matthew over one day, many years later. I told him he was NEVER allowed in our house again, and my brother wholeheartedly agreed, thankfully.

And thank fuck I never had to see that jerk because someone blew the whistle on him to my parents. Someone caught him groping girl’s butts at the next family reunion.

Fast forward to 14 years of age

At the time, I didn’t know she had a drug abuse problem.

She was crushing medications she was to be taking orally, mixing them with water, and injecting them.

And I helped her do it, because I thought I was helping her get better.

I wanted her SO BADLY to get better.

I prayed so hard, being a devout christian.

I begged and PLEADED for her to get better so I could have my mom back, so we could be TOGETHER again. To have her bright smile and shitty ass jokes (After my mom came home from the attempted suicide, she would always joke about how she should’ve shot herself while holding a toy gun. Or called gangsters wimps for limping after getting shot. She was weird :) And I loved that about her), I just wanted my mom.

I was only a young teen, and I was starting to figure out my gender identity. I couldn’t go to my dad, I didn’t trust him like I trusted her.

I visited her constantly, she tried to teach me more about coloring and encouraged me to practice singing. She was my teacher ^^ And because of her, I clung to teachers and befriended them. My art teachers LOVED me, they did all they could to protect me from bullies that would throw erasers at me, ruin my projects, and draw on my posters. I loved all my teachers, they were kind and understanding and helped me get through the years while my mom was unable to.

My mom gave me all the love and support I could ever wish for. She never required me to be one way, but told me no matter if I was an atheist, satanist, if I was gay or straight, NO MATTER THE CHANGE, she would ALWAYS love me.

And it scared me when she ended up with a staph infection in her heart.

The surgery went well, she managed to recover. Doctors removed the infected valve with a pig’s valve. She came home, and I stuck by her side. 

I’d sneak in cigarettes when she asked.

And..my dad tried to turn me against my own mom with texts that I had no context to go by.

I can’t really remember the texts, but I remember feeling devastated. But I still did ANYTHING she asked. 

...I lost her when I was 16. 

The staph infection was back. She only had a 10% chance of surviving another surgery. 

My dad had to explain that to me, so I skipped school that day, December 8 of 2011, to be with her on her last day.

She wasn’t conscious. 

I remember sitting there numbly, not really paying attention to the tv in the room. My dad was in and out, as well as some nurses.

One by one, my great aunts, my second cousins, and my grandmother came to say their goodbyes. 

I overheard the nurse tell my dad that once they unplugged the machines, she would be dead.

But I think she was dead long before that. Brain dead. Her heart was pumping, but she wasn’t there. 

I broke down once my grandma told her sister that, after the nurse had unplugged the machine and left us alone, that she was gone. 

I could hear my second cousin break down too. He only got support from my mom, turns out he was disowned for being gay and my mom still treated him like a human being when nobody else would. It made me realize how much of a positive impact she was on the family, and we lost it. 

My school offered therapy, which I accepted. My therapist was sweet, she brought me snacks and she reminded me a lot of my mom with her tone and attitude. She helped me realize it wasn’t my fault my mom died, because I completely blamed myself.

I know now that it was due to her drug abuse, that the needles she used caused the infection.

But I didn’t know fully at the time. So when I did, I figured it was my fault. I helped her inject medicine she wasn’t supposed to, helped her with her abuse.

My dad pulled me out of therapy because he said I didn’t need it.

And in that SAME MONTH, when he found out I was considering cutting myself, he said, “If you’re gunna cut, do it right.”

Father of the year anyone?

Fast forward to her funeral.

Open casket. The last time I ever saw my mom in person.

My uncle, my mother’s only brother, sang a song in her honor. He was 27, a musician, and already had a son. Unfortunately, he too was a drug abuser.

I don’t blame him or my mom for their abuse, they hardly had a good foundation. My grandmother didn’t raise them. She was a horrible, vindictive, and petty person. She ignored her children in favor of strange men. My mom had to raise her little baby brother, and my mom had to deal with a woman who burned her clothes, broke her rock cds, and slashed her tires. Because Jesus.

I grew more attached to my uncle after my mom passed, he was the only other positive influence in my life. He was an amazing artist, he was like my mom in a lot of ways. He called me Nikki Six and laughed at my shitty jokes, he cried to me when my grandmother berated and insulted him or treated him like crap.

We were open with each other. He wanted to join the military, be a role model for his one year old son, Aiden. I still have the video where he sang an original song, Thumb Sucking Blues, while my little cousin tried to play along with him :) He was a small little guy, but literally had his thumb in his mouth the whole time :P

Aiden LOVED his dad. 

But because of his fiance’s drug use, he was taken from them. My mom was still alive when that happened, and we had supervised visitation with my cousin.

My uncle went to rehab to get clean, yet my grandmother continued to berate and degrade him.I supported him. I wanted him to be back home with US. My brother and I.

During this time...I got a phone call that terrified me. 

My biological dad called me.

And I panicked; I didn’t KNOW him, he was NEVER in my life, and after a few months of talking and TRYING to get to know him, he vanished. 

Turns out he’s been hiding for years to avoid paying child support.

But I wasn’t too hurt he abandoned me again. All we did was talk about anime we liked. I probably got my love of anime from him to be honest :P

My uncle eventually returned home, and all seemed great. He was a good father to his son, he got him back after his rehab (which I later found out it did fuck all for him because it was just another fucking church)

July 4th, 2012. I got a call from my grandmother because I was too tired to do fireworks that night. 

Police had found my uncle’s body in an alley way.

He died of overdose, according to autopsy.

SIX MONTHS after losing one person who supported me, I lost the other. 

He was cremated and my grandmother kept his ashes.

I was deist at the time, but I kept his bible, guitar picks, and the crappy religious coins he got from the “rehab.”

I have both my mom’s and my uncle’s bibles. 

I..fell into a hard ass depression. I kept reliving the moment my mom died, the moment I heard about my uncle, I...saw his body after the autopsy. Of course, they covered it mostly, but it still hurt SO much to see him lifeless.

I graduated high school and immediately went to college, just trying to get through the shit. I just...didn’t care anymore. I lost the only two people that supported me. Both lights, my artistic inspirations, my TRUE FAMILY, gone.

My brother moved in with our grandmother, he was fed up with dad’s abuse. I..was too blind to see how abusive he was. 

I took computer classes, he told me I should because it pays well. I personally found it fascinating on learning how to troubleshoot desktops, but programming was NOT my thing. I hated it.

I actually wanted to go into art, be an artist like my mom.

My dad?

“It’s not a REAL JOB.”

He shot down my passion for YEARS. I started college in 2014. 

After nearly a year of computer classes, I was convinced to switch my major to education because I’m good with kids.

Because to my dad, good with kids = I want to be a teacher.

Kids just like me, I’m not sure why. My cousin loved me, and my cousin on my DAD’S side of the family loved me. I had patience and kindness to kids, they’re little beans that just need guidance. I don’t snap, I DEFINITELY don’t lay a HAND on a child as discipline.

So, I went into education like he said. I was just...a robot. Too scared to pursue what I wanted to do.

But there was a shining light; the Coalition club on my campus. A Gay/Straight alliance club! I ended up as their secretary, designed stickers, kept schedules, and I met SO many amazing people in that club. I felt welcomed, I felt SAFE, I could be OPEN about my gender with them, since I was too scared to say anything to my dad.

When he found out I was involved with the group, he got pissed. He’d constantly pick fights with me about how I’m focusing too much on the group and failing my classes.

Funny thing; I had As and Bs on ALL my courses.

Pretty sure that’s passing.

But..he kinda bred me to be unable to handle confrontation well. Whenever someone yells at me or talks in a strict tone, I start to cry. 

So he’d always make me a sobbing mess nearly every day.

I locked myself in my room constantly. 

I had to quit asking him to take me to HEB for me to buy groceries because I couldn’t STAND him. I was too scared to be alone with him for ANY reason. I felt like he’d find something to make me cry and ruin my day, so..I would walk to a corner store to buy easy mac, eggs, bacon, maybe some frozen pizza if I could afford it. Most of my meals were pasta-related, it was cheaper than most items. Corner store pricing and all that ^^; 

I got a job in the work-study program as an AVID Tutor. Which helps students with their work from other classes. The students instantly clung to me, being the youngest teacher. 

That job didn’t last long ;v; Apparently a button up shirt and a long black skirt wasn’t teacher apparel??? I wore dress pants too, I fit the “female gender role.” But I was fired for not dressing professionally.

I ended up working at a subway in a flea market, and everyone was SO SWEET! They were fine with my gender, and I was even defended by a rides worker when a customer complained about me using the restroom.

I was deadass exhausted though. 

My dad forced me to do MAX college hours

While I also balanced a job.

The stress was KILLING me, but locking myself in my room where I could draw?

Being in a group that loved and accepted me?

It made life bearable.

But my dad eventually started getting after me about my job, that he DIDN’T consider a job because it was only on the weekends that it was open.

He started getting more aggressive with his fights. I would literally just WALK IN THE DOOR from work, exhausted because I have panic attacks (I had no idea I had panic disorder at the time), and he’d start fights about something. 

Be it because I was atheist or that he was pissed I was STILL in college (He’s a college dropout so I just think “.________________________. boi.”) 

A few months into 2016, I came out to my grandmother and my dad about being transgender.

My grandmother’s response? “You’re not transgender, you’re just fat!”

My dad? He didn’t really get it. He had to learn from his girlfriend because he sure as fuck didn’t listen to me when I explained it.

And he’d constantly ask about it, which didn’t bother me too much because I figured he was still confused. 

Then he started to dead name me.

MY ENTIRE LIFE, I was ALWAYS referred to with a gender neutral nickname. NEVER my first because I never liked my name. I hated it. I used to be called Nikki, now I just go by Nick or Nicholas :) Cause I love that name. 

HE.

In front of his LGBTQ+ friendly girlfriend.

referred to me with my FULL NAME.

And he did this TWICE.

I was too afraid to confront him, but his gf sure as fuck wasn’t. She was PISSED.

She put an end to that.

But things got worse after I sought out therapy to see if I qualified for HRT, Hormone Replacement Therapy.

And I did. 

My dad only got more angry when he saw the letter from my therapist saying I had Gender Dysphoria and that he recommend I take HRT.

He would, from then on,, badger me about my clothes, claiming it’s what 12 year old boys wear.

Despite I paid the internet bill AND his cable bill, he’d get after me for unwinding by playing games.

He spent a fuck ton of money on a new mustang to tinker with to make a drag race car, but not a new air conditioning system for a 50+ year old house with no insulation. So while he was away, and the temperatures rose (It’s texas, it’s ALWAYS hot), I was sweating and trying to keep cool with ice packs and frozen towels. But none of THAT mattered, because I’m irresponsible for playing video games after all my work was completed.

I didn’t tell him I was starting a youtube channel in an attempt to bring in extra money, because I was only paid a little over 120 a week.

But he’s bitch about pretty much EVERY aspect of me.

But I kept quiet, kept food in my room because I was too scared to leave my safe space in fear of him insulting me further. 

I literally asked for help on hiding food online.

After 2 more years of college, I got my associate’s in education and moved onto university for my bachelor’s.

I still didn’t want the major. But I didn’t really feel like I had a choice.

But this class I took, Child/Adolescent development, helped me realize how HORRIBLE and  ABUSIVE my dad is. 

I learned in that class about emotional and verbal abuse, and the effects it had on children and adults.

I began to stand up for myself, I’d argue back with my dad instead of letting him verbally abuse me with no repercussions. 

Anything I said? 

“Liberal Propaganda”

“Well, I put my religion first”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I thank my government teacher to this day for giving me the backbone I needed. She is a headstrong woman, refuses to be referred to as Miss, but prefers “Professor.” She had a PHD and she was passionate about her job and about human rights. 

It became a much more hostile home after I started fighting back.

He would challenge my moral compass, “An atheist should have no problem lying.”

He’d pick on my gender identity and choice of fashion, “You’re trying too hard to be transgender.”

And anytime I went to houston to see my brother and cousin? My grandmother made it worse. She’d pick on my hair, call me a devil worshiper, insult my weight (This woman forced me to eat more when I was on a diet, but I never called her out on it), she was as bad as my dad to where my brother took me to the mall to avoid any further argument.

In late 2017, my dad tried to pick on me in front of his friend, Bobby. Bobby was a long-time family friend, I grew up with his kids. He knew me since I was a child.

And his friend was NOT impressed with my dad, and HE accepted my gender and even tried to explain what he was doing was being a dickhead.

He didn’t listen.

It went on like that until early 2018. 

He called me out of my room and, once again, picked a fight with me because I’m part of an LGBTQ+ group, still in college, same bullshit.

But this time, he told me to pack up and leave, that I had two weeks to move.

I panicked.

I didn’t have the funds to move into an apartment with my current job.

I thought I was going to be homeless.

I called one of my friends in tears, and he asked his mother if I could take refuge there.

For a bit of context: I used to date him and I’ve met his family. His family had me over for the holidays, and kept me there for christmas eve and christmas day after I told my friend my dad BANNED me from celebrating the holidays with him because I’m an atheist.

And BOY was she PISSED. And his mom? Veteran Including his dad. BOTH are hard veterans that firmly believe in families sticking together. 

So the kicking me out?

It REALLY blew their gaskets.

They told me to pack all I needed and that they’d be there in two weeks.

Later that week, my dad apologized and said it was cruel to do that, but...

I couldn’t stay.

I couldn’t do it anymore.

I was tired of living in FEAR, you shouldn’t be hiding food in your room to eat because you’re too scared to come out. 

I told him I was leaving.

And what pissed me off? He tried to play VICTIM.

I moved out, and unfortunately had to quit my job because transportation issues. Ubers didn’t reach out this far and even if they did, it’d be like 30 bucks a trip.

With my wage? WHEEZE. Nope.

But a lady at the flea market gave me boxes and duct tape when I was packing to leave, just so I had places to put my stuff in. :)

I started counseling at A&M not too long after I moved into my new temporary home (I say as I’ve been here for nearly a YEAR ;-; and I feel bad but they’ve not kicked me out soooo....yay?)

And after a few session, my counselor told me to seek long term treatment, and she was helping me break free of my fear of asking for help and it’s thanks to her that I got to pursue the major of my dreams! I’m so thankful that I went to see her, because I went as SOON as I could to a medical clinic to talk to a psychiatrist.

I was diagnosed with PTSD, Bipolar disorder, and Panic disorder.

I was prescribed medication.

And little by little, I was getting better.

I had already had my Bendice tumblr for a while and the more I drew, the better I felt.

And the artist community?

It’s been AMAZING! 

I’ve meet so many AMAZING people, from great friends to my art senpais. I’ve been getting better and better at honing my skills, and I feel like I really can be an animator someday.

Now, people are probably wondering why I dumped all this out.

Well...I know I’m not alone, but others might feel how I used to. 

Isolated

So very Hurt

Alone

And miserable.

I don’t want pity, I don’t want “there there”, I want to show people that might be feeling alone that they aren’t. That someone suffered just like them.

Be it for being gay

Transgender

Depressed

An artist

No matter the “why,’ all pain here is equal. 

It’s not insignificant.

YOU aren’t Insignificant.

All the pain and suffering we’ve all endured?

Is valid.

And we’re not pussies or wimps for feeling hurt.

And we’re not alone.

Thank you to those who read my entire shit storm ^^; I’ll admit I cried while writing this, but I feel good now! 

I hope my words and my story inspire someone out there to take the steps they need to better themselves, to escape toxic environments.

Because that shit SUCKS.