Day 8 – Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like $#!+
First of all, my life is not hell, and never has been. *shrugs* Very few people have ever had the power to make me feel otherwise. None of them have ever used or abused it. Yes, there have been some rough patches. There are days when I wished I’d just stayed in bed. Sometimes I’m disappointed. Some people, at some point(s), have been less than I thought they were or could be. Sometimes, my expectations are not met. Does this make my life hell? Not even close. Would I bother to call anyone out about it? Ummm… Probably not. Can I recount a few experiences for your entertainment [read: bleeding heart] purposes? Sure! Would it be fun to read? Ummm… I don’t know. Maybe in a Oh-my-gosh-that-never-happened-to-me! or a Oh-my-goshness-me-too-girl! or Girlfriend-that-reminds-me-of-this-one-time, or Sistah-I-can-SO-top-that-story sort of way. Let’s see…
One time, in the fifth grade, the teacher decided that for the art session of class (we only had separate teachers for library, physical education, and music), we would draw the person sitting across from us. You can already tell where this is going, can’t you? The boy sitting across from me drew a terrible picture. He didn’t mean to. He just sucked at drawing. Similar to the way that I sucked at drawing. (I still suck at it, by the way. If it’s not a square, circle, rectangle, or triangle, I should just not do it.) Anyway. I hated the picture. Somehow, I internalized it and made his poor drawing my ugliness. Or something. So I cried. It was terrible. We graduated high school together. He still remembered that day.
I got braces in the third grade. It was ignorant. I didn’t even have all of my permanent teeth yet. Like, REALLY?! The orthodontist clearly just wanted the money. WHY would you put braces on a child who hasn’t changed all of his/her teeth yet?! WHY?! Because you’re a jerk, and you just want his/her parents’ money. This idiot… I had braces until the SEVENTH GRADE. No, my teeth were not that jacked up. Actually, I just had a slight space between my two front teeth and a very slight overbite. I was willing to live with it. My mother was not. The result? Three years (I skipped the fourth grade, in case you’re doing the math) of braces when it could’ve been a year or less. Gosh. I just realized that I’m still pissed about this. To add to it, the day I got the braces, teeth all sensitive and everything, my mother cooked STEAK. Yep. STEAK. That hard meat. With baked potato (thank heaven!) and corn ON THE COB. Yep. ON THE COB. She basically had to cut the steak up so small that I couldn’t taste it, and cut the corn off of the cob. She also apologized the whole time I ate. She didn’t plan that meal with me or my brand new mouth accessory in mind. *exhales heavily* I feel much better now that I’ve let that out. *throws the memory and accompanying feelings out into the ocean*
In university, I semi-dated this guy… He was nice enough to me. He pretty much showered me with everything. Cooked for me, accompanied me on errands, introduced me to people, supported me in my goals, etc. Soon enough, things got weird. I became more of an accessory than a person. I realized I was being coerced into attending events I really had zero interest in even hearing about. Yep… a guy was dragging me along and SHOWING ME OFF. We’d be in an elevator like normal people until other people entered. Then he’d be all arm-around-my-waist-ish. People even started commenting about him making it a POINT to let people know that we were together. It was ridiculous. At first it was kind of cute, but that wore off SUPER FAST. I was like, “Dude, this is weird. I don’t like. K, bye.” He was all like, “Woman, no! You will not leave me! We will get married! Everyone will know that you are MIIIIINE [echoes]!” I was all like a track star running away, and he was all like the most villainous villain you’ve ever seen, zapping me and lassoing me and stuff. We had a fight. Verbal, physical… All that jazz. It wasn’t much fun, but we did it anyway. And then he got arrested. And I got counselling. Yeah.
So, there you have it. Three moments (involving people) in my not-quite-three-decades of life that weren’t stellar. They didn’t rock my world. Or even my VERY COOL socks. (Do you know about my love for super cool socks?) They were difficult. In different ways. Still, they didn’t define me, or my life. They’re just pieces of the puzzles. Brick of the wall. Ingredients in the cake. (Definitely not the icing) You know, the raw egg doesn’t taste great by itself. Neither does the flour. Or baking soda/power. But put together with a few other (some slightly or WAY better tasting) things, a beautiful cake is made. My life is cake. Cake is my life. (I mean this in so many ways, you have no idea.) We all have some raw eggs, dry, tasteless flour, and stuff like that, but we also have cocoa powder, vanilla extract, sugar, and stuff like THAT. Mix it up. Put it together. In the RIGHT way… And we end up with a cake. Life is what you make of it, right? Similarly, cake is what you make it… All about how you combine those ingredients… What you DO with them. The oven it bakes in may feel like (your idea of) hell, but 10 minutes to cool and a little frosting, and WALAH! Stick some candles in it, and call it a HAPPY BIRTHDAY!