This is a little fun exercise I used to do last year that fell into obscurity between working and being pregnant. Soooo, I’m giving it a shot again. If you’re interested, ask away 🙂
Submit any questions, queries, or random wonderings you may have! 🙂 As always, it can be a personal question about me or my life or it can be completely random. And I promise to answer it as completely and honestly as I can! There are no rules or limitations. Let’s go!
© All Rights Reserved 2017
I remember the first day I saw you. You walked down the hallway in school and the second I laid eyes you everything stopped for a moment. You stuck out. I remember thinking, “I’m supposed to get to know him. He’s supposed to be in my life.” But I was self-conscious back then; and so you kept walking, without me ever saying a word. I remembered you though. You’d cross my mind from time to time and I’d wonder why I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Two or three months passed by and I was sitting at lunch one day when you walked up and started talking to my friends. Then, as if you’d just noticed I was there, you looked at me and asked “Who the fuck are you?” To which I so intelligently replied, “NO, who the fuck are you?”
But that was it; we immediately hit it off and you became my best friend. You were like my mirror image in a man. We loved all the same things, agreed on so many important issues; you didn’t judge my crazy family and I didn’t make fun of your completely normal one. You meant so much to me. You were friends with my then fiancée and your girl friend and I were best friends. There was never an awkward moment with you. I remember sleeping in the same bed as you during a time in my life where the only man I could sleep next to was my fiancée; and I had no issues. I didn’t stay awake all night waiting for you to make a move on me, I didn’t jump awake because of a nightmare brought on by sleeping in an unfamiliar place, I was completely comfortable with you. I trusted you; and that was something I rarely experienced.
As it turned out, the fiancée cheated on me; and all of my friends knew and never told me. You were the only one who didn’t know but when you learned of it, a year after the fact, the first thing you did was drive to my house and pick me up. You showed me the respect of telling me the truth and not getting mad when I punched holes through your bedroom wall. I loved you for that. And then you drove me to beat the shit out of the girl, like any best friend would.
A few months went by and the time came for me to move up north with my birth mom. I obviously couldn’t live with the now ex-fiancée anymore and I had nowhere else to go with the money I made from my shitty waitressing job; so I moved. You were the only friend from our area who took the hour drive to visit me. I’ll never forget when on one of those visits we went back down to our area and ate at our favorite diner with a bunch of old friends. You and I went outside to smoke a cigarette and on the way back in we sat down on a bench in the waiting area of the restaurant. I turned to say something to you and you kissed me…
And the entire fucking planet stopped spinning.
In that moment everything froze. My heart leapt into my chest and even though I had no idea what was going on I was absolutely sure that I had never experienced a kiss even close to this. It was like you reached in and wrapped your arms around the very core of me. Everything had fallen into slow motion and there was nothing in the world but you and me and the feeling of your lips on mine. Slowly we pulled away from each other and the look in your eyes could be described as nothing other than pure fire. One word left both of our moths at the exact same time, “Wow”.
We went back into the diner and pretended like it never happened.
In hindsight, had we pursued anything at that time in our lives we would have absolutely eaten each other alive. I was still damaged from my first love, you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants after having your heart broken by your first love. It would have been absolute mutually assured destruction. A fact we agreed on 4 years later when we finally caught up to each other again. After the diner incident we moved on with our lives. I built a life in Allentown and you joined the Army and married a junkie (not that you knew it at the time). After getting home from deployment you learned that your wife had slept with all of your friends and ended up in jail for possession of heroin, so you left her. Awhile later I was down in your area doing tattoos and you saw so on Facebook. You initiated contact and it turned out that I needed somewhere safe to stay while I did work on a bunch of people. So you offered and I accepted.
And it was like we had never lost contact. You were still the same man I had always known; one who could make me laugh until I cried and who I felt truly at ease with. I could always be exactly who I was with you and you loved it. You were incredible. But something was different…
I didn’t just see my childhood best friend anymore. You had grown into a very attractive man; one who reminded me of a never spoken about kiss many years earlier. You were sitting on the lounge section of the couch a couple feet from me and we were talking like we’d never missed a beat. All of the sudden the conversation just stopped and I asked you why you were sitting so far away. You moved right next to me, put your arm around me and leaned in to kiss me…
I remember wondering if the years had turned our first kiss into this unrealistic, unattainable fantasy. Could it really be as amazing, as earth shattering as I remmebered it? Had time blown that one time connection way out of proportion?
Turns out, it had not. The second your lips touched mine everything stopped all over again. Every moment between us was fluid, intuitive, in sync… You seemed to know exactly where I was going to go, what I wanted, how I wanted it. Everything just made sense.
You. Made. Sense, and I couldn’t imagine not being with you..
I didn’t go back home for two months, even after I finished the tattoos I was initially in town to do. When I did finally drive my crappy Hyundai Tiburon back to Allentown it was with you behind me, in a Uhaul full of your belongings…
To be continued…
by Ashley King
© All Rights Reserved 2017
I’ll always remember the day my mom saw deep wounds, bright red and angry, scattered about my arms. She said, “That’s going to scar; you’re not going to want all those scars when you get older.” She sent me to the bathroom to wash them and treat them with Neosporin. I distinctly remember washing them and then leaving a sheen of water on them so that if she checked, she would think I had used the ointment. Not my best plan, I admit; but she didn’t check to see that I’d done as instructed, so it was wasted effort anyway. The damage was already done after all. I had tried to tell her I wouldn’t mind the scars but she didn’t think I knew what I was talking about. What 13-year-old does, really?
To me though, those deep cuts were just one battle won in the war that was waging inside me; invisible to the untrained eye. I was poisoned, tainted, damaged; and it was killing me. And every time I dragged that blade across my skin it was in an effort to purge that poison from my body, my mind. It was my attempt at living, contrary to popular belief. It was the only thing that proved to me that I was in fact, still alive. I remember feeling so numb, so beaten down my life, that the sting of that knife felt like coming home, like breathing for the first time after drowning for years. Those marks on my flesh were proof.
Proof that I had survived. Proof that my body was mine to do with as I pleased. Proof that I was in control. Proof that I could take any pain and make it tangible, manageable, visible, even if only to myself. The scars that formed as a result of those wounds were validating. They were the battle scars to match the many wars that had been waged on my body, my mind, my soul, and my sanity. I already had a few scars that were the result of things done to me; but the deepest wounds, those were invisible. And they were poison. I remember choking on the acid of them, suffocated by their weight, screaming for relief without being heard. I just needed to do something.
And so I took that blade and ran it across my flesh; and as the sting spread through me like fire it was as if all the poison was being purged from my body. It was like the fist wrapped around my throat had finally relaxed and I could fucking breathe for once.. And every time life became too much, or the screaming in my head grew too loud, I would return to that blade and find peace again. It was my savior, my reminder that no one had control over me anymore. Proof that I could withstand anything.
I never did and never will mind my scars. I wasn’t trying to get attention; I always hid the cuts. And I wasn’t trying to kill myself; I was trying to heal. I was trying to escape. I was purging that poison from my body and mind. Erasing the stains that so many had left on me with their abuse and their words and their lies. I needed something that was just mine after a lifetime of everything being taken from me. And it worked. 13 years later and I still wear the scars. I have a beautiful life today, full of happiness, peace, and so many blessings. But I’ll never forget the fire that forged me, the poison that almost killed me, or the bad habit that set me free. These scars are the price I paid to cleanse myself, to start over, to begin to feel again. They were my way of surviving, and I can live with that…
by Ashley King
© All Rights Reserved 2017
Note from Author: This post was not written in an attempt to romanticize or suggest anyone try self harming. It is nothing more than my account of my experience with it. It is never good for a person to become dependent on self-destructive behaviors to heal, to regain control, or for any other reason. I could have achieved the same healing if I had used positive coping mechanisms or sought professional help. If you need help, if you feel like you’re drowning, or if harming yourself sounds like a good idea, then please get help!!
RESOURCES FOR HELP
- National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255
- Self Harming Hotline: 1-800-DONT-CUT
- Self Injury Foundation’s 24-hour hotline: 1-800-334-HELP
- Real Help for Teens Hotline: 1-877-332-7333
- Suicide Hotline: 1-800-SUICIDE
- https://www.thehopeline.com – website with different resources for those struggling
- http://www.selfinjury.com – website with referrals for therapists & tips on how to stop cutting
I’ve been thinking about pain a lot lately. Not the physical kind that comes with an injury; but the emotional kind that stems from trauma, break ups, disappointments. The mental kind that can be a part of hard decisions that you don’t want to make. There are so many painful things in life; it’s a shame really. But I think what makes it worse is we try to hide from it. We force ourselves into this place of denial; turning a blind eye and a deaf ear to the pain that is necessary to living a real life. We hide from the hard choices we know we should make. We hide from the heartache that we know could lead to true freedom. If only we could unburden ourselves of the lives we shouldn’t be living in the first place. So many people settle for the “easy” choice, the mediocre life, one with low risk …and low reward. We fear and denial ourselves into what’s “okay”, what’s “acceptable”, what’s “ordinary”.
The problem is, when you live your life in denial, refusing to acknowledge that you’re settling for less because it’s safer than taking a chance, you set yourself up for a lifetime of unhappiness. Maybe you’ll be numb, and it’ll be okay. But that’s it. It’s just “okay”. If you never take a chance, risk everything, removing the cloth from your eyes, then you will never experience that soul lightening, life altering happiness. You’ll never meet your soulmate, realize your dreams, experience something truly magnificent. Maybe just okay is enough for some people; but my mama, she taught me better…
by Ashley King
© All Rights Reserved 2016
Since having my daughter I have discovered that there are more rules about how to raise your children than I ever thought possible. How to and to not feed them, when and what to feed them, how to “train” them to sleep, how to burp them, when to start the “cry it out” method (that’s if you’re not one of the “momsters” who think this is akin to child abuse). Everything in the world has been regulated, researched, and written within an inch of its life. It’s fucking ridiculous! So… my idea… is to fuck the rules..
Here is a non-comprehensive list of everything I do wrong as a mom; because, fuck the rules. I mentioned “momsters” above; these are the women who are convinced they know everything about parenting, and have no problem telling you everything you’re doing wrong. They’re the people who deprive their children of syrup on their pancakes because “it’s messy”, the ones who get mad at kids for moving too much or making too much noise or you know, being kids. They are the all-seeing, all-knowing, helicopters moms of the blogosphere and world. They lie in wait, anticipating showering you with shame because you dared to be different or..*dun, dun, dun* an actual parent. Well momsters, this post is for you: take a Valium and a deep breath. I’m about to shit all over your world…
1. NEVER PROP THE BOTTLE
Lady, I can prop a bottle like a motherfuckin’ boss. Wanna know why? Because mama needs two hands and Bebe eats every 3 hours like she’s starving to death. I can hear the momsters now: “But you’ll drown your baby! She’ll die you monster!” Honey, let me tell you, if you’re child isn’t capable of turning her head to the side or spitting out a nipple with the same defiance she spits out her binkie, then that is Darwinism at work. I’m sure somewhere out there there’s some heartbreaking story about a mom who drowned her baby with a bottle but let’s be honest, it would be one of very few (and she probably “propped” with duct tape). I make sure to prop Bebe’s bottle with something soft, like a blanket, so if she turns her head even the slightest bit or tries to spit it out, it comes right out. The worst thing that happens is her shirt gets wet; and guess what? You can wash those. And I get to actually drink cup of coffee while it’s hot (shocker right?!).
2. NEVER GIVE BABY A BLANKET
Seriously? What is this, Auschwitz? I understand that your child can suffocate in a pile of blankets but it is possible to keep your child warm without that happening. Currently, Bebe sleeps in a rock and play because it’s still relatively flat but it’s angled enough to help her with her reflux and I’ve found a way to let her sleep with a blanket where it doesn’t end up piled on top of her perfect little face (sorry, mini mom gush). Before I put her in the rock and play I lay a small blanket down in the basket with a little bit hanging off the bottom edge. Then I place her in and fold the bit of blanket at the bottom up over her little body. It comes up to her nipples, keeps her warm, and doesn’t suffocate her. And guess what? Warm babies sleep longer bitches! Everybody wins!
3. CLEAN THE PACIFIER WITH…
The sheer amount of things sold for cleaning pacifiers is appalling. Pacifier spray, pacifier soap, pacifier wipes. Seriously? For generation upon generation my family has cleaned their pacifiers with two things: water and mouths. Where my germaphobes at? Are you dying yet? I bet you are you little hand sanitizer toting mother fucker, you. I watched my mom do it so many times… the binkie drops, she picks it up, pops it in her mouth, and then pops it in the baby’s. And you know what? Nothing bad has ever happened. Hell, probably builds up the immune system. Now don’t get me wrong; if i drop the nuk in a rest stop bathroom, I’m using soap. But the parents who go full throttle because it hit the counter in the kitchen or the carpet in the nursery need to fucking relax! I promise, your child will be okay. We ate dirt and drank out of garden hoses and we’re fine. Anymore these days the food we eat is giving us cancer and you’re worried about your baby’s binkie touching a floor that you clean more often than your underwear? Get your shit straight. Plus science says that exposure to the microbial environment benefits children in a multitude of ways including, but not limited to: reduced allergies, heightened immunity, and lowered occurences of eczema and asthma. Science wins. Period.
4. “SHHH… THE BABY’S SLEEPING!!”
NO! That’s a hard no. Do you know what happens when you make everyone tiptoe and whisper every time the baby’s sleeping? You end up with a baby who sleeps like shit. Yeah, good joke universe. I’ll be the first one to request everyone be a little quieter (i.e., not silent, but not screaming) when the baby has just fallen asleep and I’m trying to transfer her from my arms to her rock and play without waking her; but the rest of the time? It’s a normal noise level for my little one. I wanted to be able to do the dishes, listen to music, and walk normally when my child was sleeping so I did all those things while she was sleeping from the very beginning. From the day she came home we made the same amount of noise as we always had. As a result, my girl sleeps like a rock. As I typed that my mom rang the doorbell, causing her two golden retrievers to start barking like maniacs within 7 feet of my sleeping child’s head. She didn’t even flinch; and yes, her hearing is perfect. I’ve met children whose parents kept a silent household while they slept; and to this day, nap time and bedtime rule their households. They can’t have visitors, they can’t get chores done, they can’t talk at a normal level; their lives are controlled by an 8-20 pound tyrant with poor sleeping habits. My child is the light of my life but her sleep time is my free time and I’ll be goddamned if silence is a required part of that.
5. NEVER SAY “NO”!!
I actually read an article that said to never tell your child “no” because it’s “too harsh for your little prince/princess”. Are you fucking kidding me?! Now I can understand using more explanatory sentences such as “Please don’t do that or you may hurt yourself”; BUT sometimes a child needs to hear a quick, concrete “NO”. There seems to be this new-age parenting belief that telling your child “no” will make them lose faith and confidence in you and that it makes them feel as if their lives are limited. This is bullshit! I’m sorry but we were told “no” quite often as children and it made us respect our parents; not to mention, it sometimes when executed in a swift and sudden manner, saved our lives. The parent is the authority figure and no means no; not “I’ll give you ____________ if you do what you should be doing anyway”, and not “No until you whine so much that I cave.” No. There’s no reason you can’t explain the reason for the no after the child has stopped the undesirable behavior; but trying to calmly explain why a child should stop something when they’re neck-deep in it rarely works out. Stop the behavior, then explain.
Building your child’s respect in you takes time and it isn’t always easy but this watered down version of parenting that has become the norm today is not making our children better, smarter, or more confident. In fact, research has shown that children now are more cocky but have less actual self-esteem because they’re constantly told how amazing they are when they haven’t actually earned it and they aren’t given enough opportunities to build themselves up. Helicopter parents have stopped their children from trying things (like monkey bars or contact sports) that they could work at and succeed in, thereby creating real confidence in themselves. And momsters everywhere are demanding other parents raise their children how they do, in whatever way the latest fad demands; and more times than not, the only purpose this serves is to create even more entitled, bravado filled, demanding little brats. Sometimes you have to give and take with your child to get them to listen with the least amount of friction, I get that. But if we’re constantly bribing our children do what they should be doing in the first place then all we’re teaching them is that 1. They’re the ones really in control and 2. They deserve rewards for doing what they’re supposed to instead of something that requires an actual effort. And then we wonder why they’re so entitled? Jesus! My generation has traded in good old-fashioned parenting for bartering, bribing, begging, and conceding. So to that, I say FUCK NO. The better way is not always the easiest way; but it is what’s best for our kids and that is our fucking job: to do what’s best for our kids! I choose to parent my child in the way that I see fit, the way that works for us, regardless of what that article on parenting.com says is best. I believe in keeping my child safe, healthy, and loved. I also love her being happy; but it is my job to be her parent, not her friend (at least until she’s adult). And sometimes being a parent means that your child is not always happy. But if you do a good job, at least you won’t raise a raging doucehbag. I leave you with this..
“If you’ve never pissed your child off, you’re probably not doing your job.”
by Ashley King
© All Rights Reserved 2017